It has been ten months since my family left Gaza, yet the loss and pain from the war still haunt us daily. This month, just prior to the anniversary of the conflict’s start, we endured the most harrowing eight hours we have experienced during this time.

We received a video message from my wife’s cousin in Gaza. She said, “The tanks are surrounding us and firing at us. These could be the last moments of our lives. Pray for us and do anything to save us.” My wife collapsed upon hearing this news; her uncle, aunts, and their families—26 people in total—were all under attack.

Israeli raids and advances targeting Hamas have been relentless throughout the year. For several hours, we lost contact with them amid the bombardment. Finally, we received a voice message: “Four people have been injured. Your aunt Wafaa is bleeding; her condition is critical.”

I desperately reached out to the Red Cross, the Palestinian Red Crescent, and anyone who could help. After a grueling eight hours, the Israeli army finally permitted them to evacuate, allowing the wounded to be moved on foot. Tragically, it was too late for Wafaa; she succumbed to her injuries shortly after arriving at the hospital.

We have countless relatives still in Gaza. My father is there, living in a tent in Khan Younis, which was bombed again this week. Each time I call him from Istanbul—where I’ve sought refuge with my wife and two children—I’m overwhelmed with guilt. Many are in the same predicament, scattered across Turkey, Egypt, and beyond, including the UK, the US, and Europe, searching for safety.

Not everyone has the means to escape; only those who can afford the exorbitant fees for passage are able to leave. Since November, over 100,000 Gazans have crossed south into Egypt.

In Cairo, many exiles are safe from the immediate threat of bombs, yet they struggle to provide for their families and educate their children, attempting to rebuild the basics of a normal life. At a lively open-air café in Nasr City, newly arrived refugees gather in small groups, smoking hookahs and sharing stories of their homeland. Despite their longing for loved ones left behind, they cling to hope for a swift end to the war and a return to their home.

Among them is 58-year-old Abu Anas Ayyad, a former successful businessman known as the “King of Gravel” before the war. As he listens to traditional Palestinian music, he reflects, “Every missile that hits a building in Gaza feels like a piece of my heart shattering. I still have family and friends there. All of this could have been avoided, but Hamas has a different agenda.” He states decisively, “Despite my love for Gaza, I will not return if Hamas remains in power. I won’t allow my children to be used as pawns in a dangerous game played by reckless leaders for the sake of Iran.”

Nearby, Mahmoud Al Khozondr, who owned a renowned hummus and falafel shop in Gaza frequented by the late Yasser Arafat, shares his story. His family, now living in a cramped two-room apartment, lost everything. “It’s a miserable life,” he laments. “We must rise again. We need food for our children and assistance for those still in Gaza.”

Living in exile in Egypt poses challenges, as the authorities only allow temporary stays without granting official residency. This limits access to education and other vital services. Many Gazans work to send money back home to support relatives, but the remittance fees are steep, with war profiteers taking a substantial cut. Mahmoud Saqr, a former electronics store owner, describes the process: “It’s heart-breaking to see profits being made from our loved ones’ suffering.”

These desperate times weigh heavily on us. In Turkey, I’ve tried to create a peaceful environment for my family, but every restaurant visit reminds my children of Gaza—of their favorite places, their home, their friends. Some of those friends have perished in ongoing Israeli strikes. Since October 7, time has stood still for us, and we have yet to move on from that day. We may have escaped physically, but our hearts and souls remain tied to those we left behind in Gaza.