It is tomorrow in Khan Younis, and the Al-Zurai family wakes up in a tent launched on the debris of the cement house they once shared. The tiles that used to be the floor of their home are freely placed on the sandy floor, marking the space of what is now an improvised outdoor kitchen.
“Today, God sends us cans, so we are cooking them for children,” said Suad Al-Zurai, 57, about the canned beans that she stir in a slow pot. It is the 558th day of the war, and the children, together with the adults, are hungry, covered with dust, persecuted by death and facing another day of scraping a life of the ruins of the Gaza Strip.
The NBC News crew on the ground spent a day with the Al-Zurai family, from early in the morning to sunset, to see how they, and thousands of families throughout the enclave, live after the high fire broke, and Israel began a blockade in early March, except the entrance of food, water, medicine and other supplies in the enclave.
There are 16 members of the Al-Zurai family to share the bean pot, eight of them children. At least five more should be there with them, says Suad.
One of his children was killed along with two of his grandchildren, while another, Khaled Al-Zurai, has been missing for days after an explosion that killed one of his children. Suad is now taking care of his wife, who has cancer, and his four surviving children. His third son, Hamed Al-Zurai, and his four children also live with her. Other relatives are displaced to other parts of Gaza.
Suad’s exhaustion is palpable while shaking the pot under a burning sun.
For her, lasting survival has begun to feel like death. “We all die a hundred times, every day,” he said, “we die a hundred times a day for fear and horror.”
Their loved loved ones are the more Of 51,000 people who have been killed in Gaza, including thousands of children, according to the local Ministry of Health, since Israel launched its offensive in the enclave after the attacks led by Hamas on October 7, 2023.
Some 1,200 people were killed during attacks in southern Israel and around 250 taken as hostages, marking an important escalation in a decades conflict.
Throughout the day, concerns about food, water and other needs dominate family discussions, and find those supplies occupy much of the rest of their time as humanitarian groups warn that help is being exhausted.
At one time, Hamed Al-Zurai’s 3 year old daughter, Anwar, throws herself to the ground, shouting for rice, but there is no more to give her.
“My children are constantly crying,” he said. “They want to eat. And I answer: ‘How? There are no open crosses, so how can I get food, my love?'”
Before the war, most children spent their mornings at school. Now, they spend hours every day try to find food and water.
Pushing his fears for his missing father aside, Khaled Al-Zurai, Mohammed, 13, and Suad, 12, obediently collect his pots and pans and go to the dining room with his cousin, Shadi, 7, carrying the NBC News crew with them on the walk of approximately 30 minutes.
In the Soup Kitchen, there are already a multitude of other children, along with some women and men, waiting for food in the hot sun. The youngest Suad meets his empty pot in his hands, looking at a distance, boring and exhausted, while waiting, then joins his brother and sister and sits on a ditch in the shadow before they try again.
Rice is offered, and after waiting for an hour, they fill their pots, taking it back to their store.
While they receive food, Hamed and Young Anwar are willing to obtain water for the family. Anwar walks quickly while wears two jugs of water, each almost half of the size of his small body.
Before the war, Hamed Al-Zurai had a car and a donkey that he would use to rent transport services, but after the donkey died in the war and lost his cart, he no longer has a way to earn money. Unable to buy food or water, the family depends on fast and diminished help.
“The situation is serious,” he said.
But even in a moment of incredible darkness, there are moments of light for the al-zurais: smiles while gathering in their store, they finally share their lunch strongly.
After eating, Mohammed gives his younger brothers and rubber tires of cousins and cousins to play. Anwar smiles while crying one through the sandy floor.
As the sun puts on, the children curl up in a circle outside, laughing while playing games that take over. And for a moment, they resemble any other child anywhere else in the world.
Then, they return to their improvised store to eat a little dinner of more rice and beans, before establishing themselves for bed, curled up together on the floor, wrapped in blankets.
“We hate the night,” said Suad Al-Zurai. And, he added, “the day.”
