Gaza’s War Nears Fourth Year: 73,922 Dead, Children Skate on Rubble as Families Live in Tents

The war in Gaza is approaching its fourth year, and the daily reality for Palestinians there is one of displacement, loss, and the struggle to hold onto ordinary life. A series following five residents for one week reveals how people are surviving: a 12-year-old boy working to feed his family from a tent on the beach, a 76-year-old grandmother sleeping in the back of a flat-bed truck, and a skateboard coach teaching children to ride on the rooftops of damaged buildings.

The death toll in Gaza has reached 73,922, with 174,995 injured since the conflict began, according to the enclave's Health Ministry [5]. Israel's military operations continue to claim lives, with three more Palestinians killed in recent strikes [5].

For Ramadan Ghaban, a 12-year-old boy, each morning begins at 6:30am in a tent pitched on sand dunes above the coastline. Rats have chewed holes in the canvas. Sand blows in through the gaps. He shares a torn mattress with his siblings [2]. Ramadan works to support his family and lives with constant fear. "I'm afraid they'll bomb the cafe where I work, or bomb me," he says [2].

At 76, Mansoura lives in the back of a flat-bed truck. The metal frame is covered on two sides by tarpaulins and on the rear by a bedsheet. A thin mattress and a pillow with a yellow frilled cover lie on the tin floor [3]. Summer heat and mosquitoes keep her awake until 2am. She sleeps only briefly, wakes early to pray, and waits for the call to dawn prayer. When she wakes, she calls her grandson to bring a white plastic chair so she can climb in and out of the truck [3]. Her most precious possession is the key to the home she left behind [3].

For nearly a decade, the Gaza skate club has taught children to ride. Now, the war has made even that simple joy a daily struggle [4]. Rajab al-Reefi, 30, leads the club. He still remembers the day its last skateboard broke. The thin maple layers, pressed into a curve, had carried child after child over the homemade ramps. Worn far beyond their normal lifespan, they finally cracked and snapped [4]. Israel's siege of Gaza blocks a long list of ordinary goods from entering the territory. Israel says these items could be used by Hamas. Skateboards are on the banned list [4]. With few open spaces left, children sometimes skate on the rooftops of damaged buildings. Al-Reefi says he teaches children to skate to "bring some joy." But keeping that joy alive takes everything he has [4].

In Gaza, a simple wish defines peace: the ability to bury the dead [6]. For families there, peace is not an abstract idea. It means recovering a loved one's body. It means finding a grave. It means having a place to mourn [6]. "People want to bury their dead," the draft reads. "That is all" [6]. This basic human need — to know where a relative is buried and to grieve at the gravesite — is often denied in conflict zones. When bodies lie under rubble or in mass graves, families are left in a painful limbo [6]. The right to bury the dead is protected under international humanitarian law. But in Gaza, that right is increasingly impossible to fulfill [6].

The series following five ordinary residents for one week documents days that bring both difficulty and joy [1]. Their accounts trace single days in the lives of ordinary Palestinians, revealing the daily toll of the conflict as it approaches its fourth year [2][3].