Then, for a while, the calls abruptly stopped.

Among them is my relative Rami Abu Shammala. Rami’s family home stood only a few blocks from the ruins of my in-laws’ home in Hay al-Amal in Khan Younis – or what remains of what was once a vibrant, living neighbourhood.On May 4, a day after we marked World Press Freedom Day, an Israeli strike destroyed Rami’s home, killing his sister-in-law Nisreen and sending six children to the emergency department of the Nasser Medical Complex. Rami was not home and survived, but he fell into a state of grief so deep he could no longer bear witness.

Just two days earlier, journalist Norhan al-Madhoun lost her brother, Rizq, a photographer, in an Israeli air strike targeting a community kitchen he was volunteering in. He and five of the kitchen workers were murdered in an instant. In October, the family lost father Ahmed Khalil al-Madhoun when he was killed while delivering water and then another brother Haitham, who was killed the very next day.Following Rizq’s killing, Norhan posted on social media the following: “With a heart that cracks from so much loss, I mourn you today, my beloved brother and my irreplaceable rib. … Those who knew him know that he was a homeland of generosity, a haven of compassion, and a constant voice for courage and truth. But I, who have always found refuge in the word, in writing as a career, find myself helpless before the enormity of loss.”This is what silencing a journalist looks like – not just the destruction of cameras and press vests, but the destruction of families, homes and futures. Grief and shock may silence even more than intimidation.

All of this bloodshed targeting Gaza’s journalists has been happening at a time when Israel is supposedly carrying out “limited operations”. We can only imagine what will happen as its genocidal army moves in to reoccupy the strip.The world must no longer turn a blind eye. Palestinian journalists’ survival and freedom to report demand urgent, global action.

Foreign journalists cannot continue to stay silent about Israel’s refusal to allow them to report freely from Gaza. Embedding with the IOF and being shown only what it wants the media to see must be publicly rejected.

Without international media access, Gaza will continue to be a closed theatre of war, a place where crimes can continue unseen. In Gaza, the absence of cameras will be as deadly as the bombs exported from the United States.So we ate cold food for suhoor and saved the fire for iftar.

After bakeries shut down due to the gas shortage last month, reliance on fire increased – not just for our family but for everyone. Many people built makeshift clay ovens or fires in alleyways or between tents to bake loaves of bread.Thick, black smoke hangs heavy in the air – not the smoke of death from missiles, but the smoke of life that kills us slowly.

Each morning, we wake up coughing – not a passing cough, but a deep, persistent, choking cough that rattles through our chests.Then, my brother and I walk to the edge of our neighbourhood, where a man sells wood from the back of a cart. He gathers it from bombed-out buildings, fallen trees, broken furniture, and the ruins of homes and schools.