Israeli Human Rights Organizations to the Israeli Government: Aid Organizations Perform Vital Work in the Gaza Strip

22 August 2016

Approximately 1.8 million people live in the Gaza Strip. After almost a decade of siege and repeated rounds of bombardments, the economic situation is on the verge of collapse. The unemployment rate is one of the highest in the world, civilian infrastructure is in ruins, water supply is contaminated, and poverty is widespread.

Food distribution in Gaza, 5 July 2006. Photo by Ibraheem Abu Mustafa, Gaza

International aid organizations have addressed this reality for years, displaying tireless commitment in extremely difficult conditions. Given that Israel imposes conditions of poverty and isolation on residents of the Gaza Strip, the activities of humanitarian organizations are vital. Approximately 70 percent of Gaza residents are dependent on humanitarian aid.

The Israeli authorities recently indicted two employees of international aid organizations active in the Gaza Strip. On the basis of these indictments, Israeli authorities have made sweeping, far-reaching, and irresponsible allegations claiming that humanitarian operations in the Gaza Strip as a whole are connected to Hamas and serve the organization.

Any use of funds intended for humanitarian aid to support violence is illegal and is an extremely grave matter. Even if the defendants are found guilty – at present they should benefit from the presumption of innocence – this will not detract from the importance, integrity, and dedication of international humanitarian organizations assisting residents of the Gaza Strip.

We, the undersigned Israeli human rights organizations, attach great importance to the work of international aid organizations active in assisting residents of Gaza, so many of whom live in extremely dire conditions. We urge the Israeli government to refrain from impeding the activities of these organizations, and to avoid vilifying the vital work of the aid community.

Adalah – The Legal Center for the Rights of the Arab Minority in Israel - Akevot Institute for Israeli-Palestinian Conflict Research - Amnesty International – Israel section - Association for Civil Rights in Israel - Bimkom – Planners for Planning Rights - Breaking the Silence B'Tselem - Coalition of Women for Peace - Gisha - HaMoked – Center for the Defence of the Individual - Human Rights Defenders Fund

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Amneh a-Zawar’ah. Photy by Olfat al-Kurd, B'Tselem

The Gaza Strip

Amneh a-Zawar’ah, a 42-year-old mother of five children between the ages of 14 and 23 from Beit Lahiya, spoke to B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd about her life since Israel bombed her house on 13 May 2021

My husband, Ibrahim a-Zawar’ah (54), is serving a 16-year prison sentence in Israel. He has four years left. Until 2021 we had a big, three-story house, but it was bombed in the last war. I’ve been in rough shape ever since, financially and psychologically. I can’t believe this happened to us. We had our own home, and suddenly we’ve become displaced. I’ve had no comfort since. Our house was bombed on 13 May 2021. It was completely destroyed. When the bombing happened, I was visiting relatives with my children. At around 2:00 A.M., I found out from the media that the Israeli military had bombed our house and about nine other residential buildings in the area. My son ‘Abdallah was at his barbershop, which was inside our home. We heard that members of the a-Tanani and al-Madhun families had been killed, and we were really worried about ‘Abdallah. My brothers drove there quickly and thank God, they found him outside the house. He was very scared and in a terrible emotional state. They had to carry him, he was in rough shape. I went to my house the next morning. All I found was a pile of sand and stones. All the money and work I put into that house were lost. I felt that I was falling apart, that I’d lost my entire world. For years, I put all my money and time into building that house for my children. That day, when we went to visit our relatives, we didn’t take anything with us. The house was reduced to rubble, and all our furniture and belongings we’ll never get back were buried under it. The house was simply erased. The destruction I saw, of our home and in the whole area, caused me grief and despair. My children and I needed psychiatric help and we took sedatives for two months straight, especially my son ‘Abdallah (23), who saw the houses crumble in front of his eyes and the bodies of the martyrs who died in the area. He still can’t sleep and has nightmares. After the house was bombed, we lived at my parents’. Those were very difficult days. Our nerves were frayed. We cried all day and all night. I have a large family, and the house was very crowded. I couldn’t stand living there, so after a few months, I looked for a house to rent for my children and me. I rented in the a-Sheikh Zayed area in Beit Lahiya. The rent is 200 USD a month. I paid with my own money for the first month, and then we got about 2,000 USD from UNRWA to pay rent and buy furniture and clothes for my children and me. All our expensive appliances and furniture, it’s all gone. That sum of money was not enough for us to buy everything we needed to provide for the family, and we only bought a few basic pieces of furniture. Last December, UNRWA gave us another 2,500 ILS for four months’ rent, but that doesn’t cover the water and electricity bills. There are six of us in the family. The house isn’t enough for us. It has only two bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom and a kitchen. There’s no heating or hot water. A lot of the time there’s no running waters and we go to shower at my parents’ house. Sometimes we heat water on the stovetop. The house is also a little far from my kids’ school, which also makes life difficult. Our financial situation is terrible. I built that house with my money, little by little, and they destroyed it in a single moment. It was costly. I borrowed a lot of money to build the house and was in a lot of debt. We were planning to move to the second floor. ‘Abdallah is engaged, but we have no money for the wedding and I don’t know where they’ll live when they get married. He’s also lost his barbershop, and now he works for another barber in town. No one hears our cries. We’re innocent civilians. Why was my house bombed? Why did they turn us into displaced persons? Life as displaced persons is extremely difficult, without a house of our own, without stability. This war wasn’t our fault. We weren’t warned and weren’t even given a chance to take something from the house. Our lives were turned upside down. I think about our home all the time. It brings back sweet memories of the life I had there, with all my family around me. I remember the sun-soaked roof. Every corner of the house had beautiful memories, of daily life and entertaining guests. Now, my main concern is building a home again for myself and the children.

10 May 2022

עבד א-רחים אל-ערעיר בקלנועית בה הוא תלוי כדי להתנייד. כשאספקת החשמל מקוצצת הוא אינו מספיק לטעון את הסוללה שלה ואינו יכול לצאת מביתו. צילום: מוחמד סבאח, בצלם.

The Gaza Strip

Summer 2020: Gaza’s electricity crisis deepens again, with 4 hours of daily supply

Providing the population of the Gaza Strip with a 24/7 power supply requires about 600 megawatts of electricity. Yet the Gaza Strip receives only 180 megawatts — 120 directly from Israel via 10 power lines, and 60 generated by Gaza’s power plant with Qatari-funded fuel provided by Israel. As a result, residents usually receive power in eight-hour rotations: eight hours on and eight hours off. In summer, the power can go off for up to 12 hours. Israel still controls life in Gaza and cannot shirk its responsibility for this reality. Bombing the power plant 14 years ago and preventing its rehabilitation since has limited its capacity to generate electricity. In addition, Israel hampers vital repairs and upgrades to the power system and forces the authorities to buy fuel from Israel alone. To make matters worse, Israel withholds fuel from the power plant at will, as a form of collective punishment. On 10 August 2020, at the height of a blistering summer, after militants in Gaza continued to launch incendiary and explosive balloons into Israeli territory, Israel decided to close the crossings with Gaza and stop the fuel supply. Within about a week, on 18 August, the power plant shut down due to lack of fuel. This reduced the power supply to residents to a mere four hours a day. Three weeks later, on 1 September, Israel reopened the crossings and the power supply went back to eight-hour rotations. It is hard to imagine families living several dozen miles from Tel Aviv without regular electricity. With erratic, brief supplies of power, residents cannot lead a reasonable daily routine in a world that relies on electricity for everything from transporting and storing food to work, education, health and communication. Basic appliances such as refrigerators, fans, washing machines and ovens cannot function. The power cuts make life even harder for people with disabilities or medical problems, who rely on a steady supply for treatment. The outages also damage infrastructure – primarily Gaza’s water and sewage systems and the operation of hospitals. B’Tselem's field researchers collected the following testimonies from residents describing how hard and profoundly frustrating it is to try and maintain a routine in such conditions. These circumstances were not preordained or caused by natural disaster – they are the outcome of a callous, fully intentional Israeli policy. In a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 19 August 2020, Basma Khalil (61), a married mother of 12 from the neighborhood of a-Shuja'iyeh in Gaza City, related: I live with my husband, Khairi ‘Abd a-Rahman (60), in a two-story building. We live with our four sons, two of whom are married with children. There are 16 of us altogether. My husband’s been unemployed for 20 years. Ever since Israeli planes bombed the power plant, we’ve had power cuts on top of the water shortage and the suffering Israel’s blockade causes us. Sometimes there’s no power for the whole day, and it only comes on for three or four hours in the evening. Whenever there’s a war, we barely get any. The water supply is also irregular and if it comes on when the power is off, we can’t pump water to the containers on the roof. I feel like the water and the electricity are two parallel lines that never meet! The situation in Gaza is simply unbearable. The blockade has made things very tough for us financially, and we can’t buy generators to use during the power cuts. The blockade has sent us back to ancient times – we have to use very primitive alternatives, such as kerosene lamps and candles. It’s dangerous and we’ve had more than one fire. Once, I put a candle on the TV and it caught fire. Most of the household chores require electricity. Also, because of all the power cuts, our appliances often break down. It happens because I turn them all on at once when the power’s on, to get everything done before it goes off again. I clean, bake, cook, iron, turn on the water pump, turn on the sun boiler and charge all of our cellphones – at the same time. Our system can’t handle it, and sometimes it burns appliances. When the power isn’t on long enough, I have to wash our clothes by hand and bake bread in a traditional oven (taboon). It’s exhausting at my age. Sometimes I stay up late, waiting for the electricity to come on, so I can finish my chores and use the electric pita bread maker. I can barely stay awake. I bake about 30 to 40 pitas at a time. If the power goes out in the middle, I have to throw the dough out or light a fire to keep baking on the taboon. It’s tiring and stressful. I’ve often had to throw out fruit and vegetables that went bad after a long power cut. I only buy meat on the day I cook it, because I can’t keep it refrigerated. It spoils quickly. The power cuts take a huge toll on me, physically and mentally. It’s really hard to heat the house in winter and I have to use coal, even though it’s risky. In the summer, it’s boiling hot but we can’t use fans. I have trouble falling asleep and often wake up and splash water on my body. Last night, because there was no power and it was so hot, I slept on the floor. I woke up with back pain. My nephews also can’t sleep in the heat, and sometimes we go out to the street in the middle of the night to get some air. It’s also hard dealing with the dark. I bought a chargeable LED lamp for the house, but it’s very weak. In the last two days it's been especially difficult because the power only came on for three or four hours. That’s because the power plant shut down after Israel closed the Kerem Shalom crossing and banned the import of fuel for it. The school year is starting. My son Ahmad is in the 10th grade and needs light do his homework. When he comes home from school and sees the power is off, he says, “I went to school early in the morning and came back at midday, and the electricity still off! What kind of life is this?!”. He gets really upset, because he’s so frustrated. There’s no life in Gaza any more. My children always say to me, “We’re sick of this life. How long will we stay like this?”. We live in extreme poverty, and it’s a huge problem. On top of the electricity issue, I feel suffocated. I can’t take this life any more. I have no hope left. I feel like I’m dying a slow death. All we want is basic things and a normal life: a regular power supply, for my husband and kids to find a job, and of course, for Israel to stop the blockade. A little bit of empathy! We want to enjoy life, see happy days, live with dignity and have the simplest thing – electricity! In this day and age, everything depends on it runs. Electricity is the engine of life. Without it, life comes to a standstill. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 20 August 2020, ‘Abd a-Rahim al-‘Ar’ir (61), an unemployed father of eight from the neighborhood of a-Shuja'iyeh in Gaza City, said: I live with my wife Shifa (64), our two married sons and their families in a two-story building. We’re 22 people altogether. In 2012, I was on my way to work when the Israeli military fired a tank shell at an area east of our neighborhood. I was hit, along with other passersby. The doctors had to amputate my right leg and I haven’t worked since. I’ve tried to use a prosthesis, but it doesn’t really work. I've undergone heart surgery and have diabetes. To get around daily, I bought an electric mobility scooter for 2,000 dollars. It has to charge about five hours a day. The scooter means everything to me. It helps me forget that I don’t have a leg. I use it for all my errands, and when I can’t use it because the power's off, I’m paralyzed. I depend on the power supply. Every day, I wait for it to come on so I can charge the scooter. One problem is that the supply hours are irregular. Sometimes, I stay up all night or get up very early to charge the scooter. I can’t stay home all the time. I drive the scooter to the market to buy our groceries and to pray at the nearest mosque, which is about 500 meters away, five times a day. Sometimes, to save electricity, I stay there from noon prayers to evening prayers. At the moment, because the power plant is closed, we only get electricity for three or four hours a day, and that’s not enough to fully charge my scooter. If I leave home to go far, I can get stuck with a dead battery. Then I have to call someone with a large car to drive me home with the scooter. It’s exhausting. Sometimes, when I need something urgent and the scooter’s not charged, I use crutches. When I’m stuck at home because the power’s down, I feel terrible. I can’t afford to buy a generator. Sometimes, when I see the battery’s about to die, I charge the scooter at a friend’s house. He lives nearby and has a carpentry workshop with a large generator. Electricity is vital and every kind of work depends on it. We’re suffering, just like everyone else in Gaza. We have to use primitive sources of light, such as candles, kerosene lamps or smaller lamps. My wife and I do all the chores, and sometimes she has to wash the clothes by hand. I’m in charge of the electric water pump. When I’m out, I keep calling home to check if the power’s come on so I can get back and turn on the pump. The electricity crisis lasts all year round, rain or shine. In winter, when the power’s off all day, we sometimes have to heat the house with coal stoves. In summer it’s even worse, because it’s so hot. We usually have electricity for six hours, and then there’s a 12-hour break. The fruit, vegetables and meat in the fridge go off quickly. You can’t turn on fans and it’s hard to sleep at night. My little grandchildren cry because of the heat. We’ve been living this way, under the blockade, for 14 years and it’s really bad. I pray to heaven for help. Our lives are full of anguish and despair, and we want a change. We’re denied the most basic rights. The electricity problems are our biggest difficulty. I hope this nightmare ends. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Khaled al-‘Azayzeh on 23 August 2020, Yihya Sultan (62) a pensioner and married father of seven from a-Nuseirat Refugee Camp, related: I live on the seventh floor of an apartment building with my wife and four of our children, who are unmarried. Two of them are university students. We’ve been suffering power cuts for many years. We used to get eight hours of electricity, followed by eight hours off and then eight hours on again. Now, in summer and winter, the cuts are longer, and sometimes last up to 12 hours. My apartment building has two elevators. When the power goes off, I’m stuck at home. I have a lot of health problems – diabetes, a heart condition and high blood pressure – and can’t take the stairs. Sometimes, if the power comes on in the middle of the night, I’m stuck at home for more than two days, even if there are things I have to do outside. I cancel or postpone them until the power comes back on and I can use the elevator. I pay for electricity twice: to the electric company and to a man who owns a generator. I owe the electric company about 27,000 shekels (~ 8,000 USD). I currently pay for regular use and another 100 shekels (~30 USD) for accumulated debt. I also pay a neighbor who owns a generator at least 100 shekels a month for electricity. That’s enough for lights and two fans, but not for the refrigerator or the computer. When the generator goes off, we use a chargeable LED lamp that barely lasts for two hours, and then we use the flashlights on our phones to get around the house. My kids who are at university are currently at home and can’t attend classes, because I can’t afford their tuition. My daughter Salsabil (23) is studying mathematics. A few months ago, she was in the middle of an online exam when the power went off. She became hysterical and started crying, but then she changed clothes quickly, ran to my brother’s house in the opposite building and continued the exam there. Because Israel closed the crossings through which fuel is brought into Gaza, the power cuts now last up to 20 hours and we only get electricity for four hours a day. Sometimes, those four hours are late at night when we’re asleep, and we can’t make any use of them. The water containers on our roof are only enough for two days. There are large containers by our building and when the power’s on, we have to pump enough water to the roof, otherwise we’ll be stuck without running water. Yesterday, the power came on in the afternoon and I was afraid to go to prayers at the mosque, right next door, and get stuck without the elevator to get back. The power cuts have also hurt our social life. We’re virtually isolated. Whenever our children and relatives want to visit, they call first to ask if the electricity is on. Now, with only four hours a day, they don’t visit at all. I spend most of my time at home and use the internet whenever possible. Our normal life has been taken from away us along with the electricity. In a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 21 August 2020, In’am a-Sultan (48), a divorced mother of five from Jabalya, related: I have five children. I’ve been living with them on the seventh floor of an eight-story apartment building for about 14 years. There are 28 apartments, and all the tenants have suffered from the electricity crisis since Israel started its blockade on Gaza. We can’t afford a generator and the elevator only works when the power is on. I’m in very poor health. I have high blood pressure, a slipped disc in the fifth and seventh vertebrae, a heart condition and a cartilage problem in my right knee. I can’t go down the stairs so when the power’s out, I can’t leave the house. When there’s a steady supply, eight hours on and eight hours off, it’s better because at least I can plan. If the power comes on early in the morning, I go out to visit my mother, buy her groceries, help her and buy our own groceries. Many friends and relatives can’t visit us because the elevator doesn’t work and it’s hard to climb the stairs. Once, my mother was visiting and got stuck at our place until the next day because there was no electricity. Now the electricity crisis is even worse, because the power plant stopped working about a week ago. Since then, we’ve only had power three or four hours a day, with about 18 hours off. It’s a real disaster for me. I don’t leave the house at all unless I have to do something very urgent. It takes me more than 15 minutes to climb the stairs and a long time to go down. I stop to rest a few times because it’s so tiring. Sometimes, the power comes on at night, say 11:00 P.M., when I’m asleep. By the time I wake up in the morning, it’s off and I’ve missed it. If I have no choice, I stay awake to do household chores that depend on electricity, such as laundry, baking bread, ironing, and charging flashlights and cellphones. Our whole routine revolves around the supply hours. It’s exhausting. I make about 100 dinars (~140 USD) a month, so I can’t buy a small generator for the house or set up a solar system to generate electricity. When the power’s off and I can't turn the fan on at night, the heat keeps me awake. Sometimes, my daughter Ahlam and I sleep on the floor. When the power only comes on briefly, I don’t have time to fully charge the LED flashlight batteries and they only last for two or three hours. Last night, we were left in the dark. Things are so bad that I’m considering using candles, even though it’s dangerous.

29 October 2020

מזח דייגים בעיר עזה. צילום: מוחמד סבאח, בצלם

The Gaza Strip

Plunged into despair: How Israel's policy affects Gazan families that depend on fishing for a living

On 12 August 2020, Israel reduced southern Gaza’s fishing range from 15 to eight nautical miles, officially because explosive-laden balloons had been launched from Gaza into Israel. On 16 August 2020, Israel banned access to the Gaza sea, and on 2 September 2020, reopened the fishing zone to 15 nautical miles. This further restriction of the permitted range joins various forms of collective punishment imposed on Palestinian fishermen since Israel began its blockade of the Gaza Strip in 2007. Israel has arrested fishermen and seized their boats, banned the import of raw materials used for repairs, and fired at boats that it claimed sailed beyond the permitted range. To date, Israeli gunfire has killed seven fishermen and wounded hundreds. The restrictions have led to the near-collapse of the Gazan fishing industry: there are currently less than 4,000 fishermen, as opposed to 10,000 or so 20 years ago. Those remaining suffer from perilous working conditions imposed by Israel and live with their families in abject poverty. The following testimonies were given to B'Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd by wives and mothers of Gazan fishermen and fishmongers. Describing their painful reality and uncertain future, the women talked of constantly fearing for their loved ones and of the financial hardship created by Israel's restriction of their livelihoods – which is set to worsen due to the pandemic. In a testimony she gave on 5 August 2020, Intesar a-Sa'idi (52), a mother of six from a-Shati’ Refugee Camp in Gaza City, described the financial hardship and personal tragedy that befell her family: When my husband Marwan and I got married in 1984, he was already a fisherman. It's his only profession. My sons and their uncles are also fishermen. At first, our finances were fine and my husband's job didn't seem too risky. At that time, the Israeli military didn't shoot or arrest fishermen or confiscate their equipment. Fishermen were allowed to go quite far out and there were lots of fish. My husband earned well, 2,000 to 3,000 shekels (~600-890 USD) a week, so I had no reason to worry. He worked on his own rowboat and when our boys, Khader and a-Sayed, were young, he would take them out to sea and teach them the trade. I was calm and didn't really fear for their lives. Things changed when the blockade started. The restricted fishing range made things much worse for us. Now, fishermen have to risk their lives to put food on the table. I'm terrified my husband and children will be shot or arrested or have their equipment confiscated. Four times, soldiers arrested them and released them the same day but took away their gear. Every time I heard there'd been a shooting at sea, I was in a panic until I found out my boys were okay. To make sure, I'd go to the port and wait until I saw them get off the boat safe and sound, and only then I'd go home. In 2012 my husband stopped fishing because of back problems, and since then my two sons have been the family’s only providers. Both are married with children and we all live in the same house. Our financial difficulty forced me to sell my gold jewelry and borrow from relatives. To this day, we owe money and can't pay it back. In 2017, the military arrested Khader. We didn't hear from him and only found out he was under arrest 10 days later. They tried him and sentenced him to 16 months in prison. They said he’d gone beyond the fishing range several times and that they'd finally caught him. I suffered a lot while Khader was in prison. At first, I cried day and night. I couldn't sleep and knew no joy. On visiting days, I’d cry beforehand, during the visit and afterwards. It was a very rough time. When they arrested Khader, they confiscated his rowboats and gave them back useless – just the wood, without the gear. After Khader was released and went back to work, a disaster happened. About a year and a half ago, on 20 February 2019, he was out fishing. That night, we heard that the military had chased some rowboats and taken one to the port of Ashdod. My son a-Sayed told me that Khader had been arrested, but I had a feeling that he’d been hurt. I was in the dark for four days. The other fishermen were released, but not Khader. Finally, I learned that he'd been hit in the right eye by a rubber bullet and lost his sight in both eyes, and was hospitalized in Israel. When they brought him to a-Shifaa Hospital in Gaza, I saw him for the first time and broke down crying. Since then my life's been a tragedy. My heart is full of sorrow for Khader, who is a prisoner in his own home. He's unemployed and can't support his family. His financial situation is truly tragic. He doesn't receive any benefits or support, other than small donations from generous people. His medication costs about 150 (~45 USD) shekels a month. Khader's in a bad emotional state. He doesn't like to go out in his condition, stays at home all day and doesn't sleep at night. He's very tense. It would have been better if the bullet had hit another part of his body. It's very hard to lose your eyesight, especially for a guy who's only 32. Of everyone in the family, I'm the one most affected by Khader's situation. I'm the one who cares for his needs and provides for his children. All fishing gave him was trouble and heartache. The riches of the sea stayed in the sea, and I was left with pain over my son who lost his eyesight at sea. Today, my son a-Sayed (33) works as a hired fisherman and sometimes rents a boat. We make 500 shekels (~150 USD) a month at most – not enough for such a big family. I get a welfare benefit of 1,800 shekels (~530 USD) every three or four months, and even that's not enough to repay our debts. The problem is that the economy in Gaza is in such bad shape that there are no other lines of work available. When my grandchildren play, they imitate their fathers and build small rowboats and net-making machines. They say, “We’re going out to work!” or "Watch out for gunfire.” I look at them and say, “Don’t take up this trade. I don’t want to lose you! I’m more scared for you than I am for your fathers.” I hope the situation gets better and we see brighter days. I hope God will give Khader his eyesight back and that his mental state will improve. Nura Nu’man (22), a mother of two from a-Shati’ Refugee Camp in Gaza City, described fearing for her husband Muamen (31), a fisherman, and the family’s financial troubles: When Muamen goes to work, I worry that he won't come back. I relax only once he's home. In early 2018, Muamen went fishing and didn’t come back for a long time. I feared for his safety when I learned from other fishermen in the family that the military had arrested him. I was terrified and cried. The military was also holding his brother at the time. I was scared Muamen wouldn't come home. My son Muhammad was only seven months old. For three weeks we didn't know where they were holding Muamen, and I barely slept or ate. Finally, he was released. When he walked in, I couldn't believe my eyes. I started laughing and crying at the same time. I hugged him and was so happy. After the arrest, he went back to work despite the risk. It's his only profession. Between 2013 and 2017, the military confiscated three family boats. So far they've only given one back. Last year, Muamen's brothers bought a boat and he started working with them – five brothers in one boat. Every weekend he gets 150 shekels (~45 USD), but it isn't enough for the four of us, especially since the kids are young and need diapers and milk every day. My life revolves around loans and debts to family and friends. My mother-in-law gets 750 shekels (~220 USD) from the Welfare Ministry every three or four months and divides it among her sons. My husband uses every bit to pay off our debts. Sometimes, he takes loans to buy nets and paddles, and when he sells fish he uses the money to pay off the debt. When I hear soldiers opened fire at fishermen, I immediately call my brothers-in-law to check on Muamen and can't breathe easy until he's home. He's also scared of being arrested or killed. That makes me even more nervous. I ask him not to talk like that and to come back safe and sound, God willing. Sometimes I tell Muamen that I hope he takes up a different line of work, because of the danger he faces at sea and from the Israeli military. I ask him to look for another job and leave the sea. But he says the situation in Gaza is bad and that there's no work besides fishing. He asks me to be patient and hope for better days. I pray to God to keep the Israeli military away from my husband and from the other fishermen. I pray for our finances to improve so my little sons can have a secure future. I pray for my husband to stay safe and sound and not get hurt. ‘Ula a-Sa'idi (36), a married mother of nine from a-Shati’ Refugee Camp in Gaza City, spoke about the difficulty of depending on fishing: My husband Ahmad (42) has worked as a fisherman since we got married 18 years ago. It's a demanding job and even though all my relatives are fishermen, I don't like it because it's very dangerous. But it's our only income, so we have to live with the risk. We're in a financial crisis. After the blockade started, my husband's income dropped to 700 shekels (~210 USD) a month. Now, even though he works hard, we make 500 shekels a month at most. That's a pretty low income and isn't enough for our needs. I used to get a benefit of 1,800 shekels (~530 USD) from the Welfare Ministry every three or four months. After four years, it dropped to 700 shekels. That's not enough to live on and sometimes isn't even enough to cover our basic daily needs or buy new holiday clothes for the children. Since the coronavirus outbreak, things have grown even worse because the economic situation in Gaza is bad and people are buying less fish. There are fewer foreigners in Gaza so there are fewer large events and orders. My husband works on his brother's boat with him. He goes out to sea at around 3:00 P.M. and gets back after 3:00 A.M. When he goes fishing I pray to God to keep him safe, away from the soldiers and their gunfire. I can't relax until he gets home or calls me. When he's at sea I'm very anxious, especially when I hear the sound of shooting at fishermen. I get nervous and call him right away to make sure he's okay. My kids also get anxious when they hear gunfire, wondering which of the fishermen was arrested and hoping it wasn't their dad. I try to calm them down and tell them to be patient, and that their dad will come home. When my husband is late, my son Anas (9) walks to the port of Gaza port to wait for him because he's so worried. Fishing is the worst profession for a wife. In winter my husband suffers from extreme cold, so I worry about that, too, as well as the dangers of the sea and mostly the shooting at fishermen. Whenever someone tells me that soldiers opened fire at fishermen, I feel I'm about to lose my husband. I pray to God to bring him back to us safe and sound. The military arrested my husband several times, most recently in 2018. In 2007 he was held for half a year. They also seized two of our boats and four engines and are holding them at the port of Ashdod. Usually, the military doesn't return the boats and engines it takes. I hope our situation improves one day. I wish they would give us back our boats so my husband could have his own boat, and that they'd expand the permitted fishing range. I want to live in dignity, secure my children's future and satisfy their needs and wishes. I hope they won't become fishermen. It's a tough, dangerous job. ‘A.M. (49), a married mother of nine from a-Shati’ Refugee Camp in Gaza City whose husband is a fish merchant, related in a testimony she gave on 9 August 2020: I got married in 1989. My husband has been working in fishing since he was 12. He worked with his father, who was a fishmonger, and with other relatives. I have nine children, ranging in age from six to 29. We live by the coast and many people in our family work in fishing. In our first years of marriage, there were plenty of fish and there wasn't much competition. My husband would go to the fish market at 3:00 A.M., bring home a large quantity of fish, clean them and take them to the market. Usually, he'd sell them all within two hours and come home. We had a good income of about 3,000 to 4,000 (~890-1,190 USD) shekels a month. It went on like that for years, and we enjoyed a high standard of living. We bought our own home and I had everything I needed. I even bought myself gold jewelry. We raised our children at a time when our finances were great. They lacked for nothing. We lived happily and comfortably. About 13 years ago, when Israel started its blockade on Gaza, things changed. Business suffered, the fishing zone was limited and sometimes fishing was banned altogether. Fish became scarce and costly for the merchants and the consumers. People used to buy four or five kilos in summer, when fish were plentiful. Now they only buy one or two kilos. Sometimes, my husband has to bring some or all of the fish back home. He stays at the market through the afternoon or evening, trying in vain to sell them. The power shortages make it impossible to keep the fish refrigerated, and sometimes they go off. Since the blockade started, our finances have deteriorated. My husband doesn't own a stall in the market, so he rents a space a meter or two wide for about 10 shekels (~3 USD) a day. My children work with him selling fish, but our total income doesn't exceed 1,500 shekels (~445 USD) a month for a family of 14. Two of my sons are married and one has children, but we all live in the same house. Although we're a large family, we don't get a welfare benefit as my husband is self-employed. To pay off debts and pay for my children’s weddings, I sold all my gold jewelry and 250 square meters of land I'd bought. One of our sons dropped out of university because we couldn't keep paying the tuition. Since the coronavirus crisis started, the situation has become worse: restaurants and hotels hardly ever buy fish because they're closed for long periods and Gaza has no visitors because the crossings are closed. The crisis has really hurt my husband's work at the market. It's very tough not being able to meet my children's needs. I couldn't buy them clothes for the holidays and for the start of the school year. They have to use last year’s clothes, backpacks and even shoes. My heart aches because I really wanted to give them new things! But we can't afford it and every time they ask for something, like going on a trip, I put them off again and again. It hurts, because I'd like to see their eyes filled with joy. The situation is depressing and suffocating, but I know there's no other work for my husband or for our children. I hope our situation improves.

9 September 2020