Even in hardship, hope lingered
I am Aya Al-Sawalhi, from the Respond Crisis Translation team in Gaza, and it is a profound honor to share my story today.
Before October 7th, I was merely stepping into my university journey — unprepared, emotionally fragile, lost in the small imagined fears of ordinary life. I would whisper to myself: “What if something like COVID confines us at home? I could focus on myself, work, and study online.”
A week later… the war shattered that fragile world.
I reassured myself: “It will only last a month. It will be over soon.”
But it was not a month.
It stretched into two relentless years.
Those two years were the heaviest of my life.
No words can capture every moment; you have glimpsed fragments of our reality.
Yet even the clearest internet feed could not carry the depth of our suffering… the truth was far heavier, far darker.
Amidst the chaos, I found Respond.
It was, without doubt, the most luminous choice I could have made during the war.
Yes, it was exhausting — endless displacement, unreliable internet, fear that never lifted — Yet Respond became a fragile, flickering light, guiding me through shadows I could not escape.
I have always loved translation, but with RCT, that love deepened, roots intertwining with my heart.
Even in hardship, hope lingered — quiet, unyielding — whispering that I could endure, that I could continue.
I endured experiences that shook me to my very core — the loss of loved ones, the destruction of my home, moments of fear and despair that words cannot hold.
Working online under such conditions was a battle in itself — a field demanding precision, research, and constant communication — all while the world around me trembled, and the connection barely held.
There were moments when I teetered on the edge, where neither work nor study mattered — I felt I was merely waiting for the end.
Yet a thought would pierce the fog: “And if I survive… would I regret wasting this time?”
I rose again, drawing strength from faith and the unwavering support around me.
There were times…
I asked myself: “What have we done? What is our fault?”
Sometimes, I felt undeservedly fortunate, my conscience aching from the very start, especially when I heard the stories of those martyred and imagined their final moments.
Shame would wash over me… shame for living while others were gone.
Once, my cousin recounted horrors in Zaykim —
a place meant for aid and assistance, yet people there are searching desperately for food — a man whose head was destroyed by an explosive bullet, a boy dangling from a moving trailer, his body and head striking the ground until life left him.
These stories haunted me, looping endlessly in my mind: “Where have we arrived, O God?”
Even when exhaustion weighed me down, I sought to contribute through projects with Respond.
I believe anyone who can help — even in the smallest gesture — must do so, especially when we share the same wounds.
I hope everyone remains steadfast, never underestimating the strength of our people.
We have endured circumstances that many could not survive.
If you can support Gaza’s youth — even with a word — it matters profoundly.
We, the youth, carry dreams and immense ambitions, and I am certain that if our conditions improve, Gaza will bloom again.
But if war returns… I cannot fathom the aftermath.
Shock would grip us all; fear runs deep, and trust has been fractured.
The war was merciless, beyond words.
Yet, unexpectedly, it transformed me…
It made me stronger.
It taught me to labor on myself,
to persevere,
to endure — no matter the storm around me.
And in the quiet of your own heart… how would you endure all of this?
