Part of the Series
Struggle and Solidarity: Writing Toward Palestinian Liberation
Hunger walks through Gaza’s streets now — barefoot, silent, and uninvited. It slips between tents and bombed-out homes, sits beside the fireless cooking pots, and climbs into the arms of children who no longer cry because they’ve learned that hunger, too, can be ignored.
This is an engineered famine — deliberate starvation under Israeli siege: Markets are empty. Aid trucks are blocked. Weeds are being boiled for soup. Parents are forced to give their children animal feed, sand mixed with flour, or expired canned goods — if anything at all. And still, the world debates: Is this a famine or not? Is it a war crime or just “collateral damage”? Should Israel be held accountable, or protected? Should ceasefire talks include conditions — or should they happen at all?
One of my deepest fears is that the world is beginning to grow used to the images of children and people with chronic illness wasting away from hunger, just as it has become numb to the daily killing of civilians. But for those of us in Gaza, mass starvation is not a distant reality. And the rest of the world cannot let it become the new normal — one that is especially deadly for young children, whose bodies cannot survive prolonged malnutrition, and for people with chronic illnesses who need consistent medication and adequate nutrition.
Save the Children warns that 93 percent of Gaza’s children — nearly 930,000 kids — face catastrophic hunger. More than 650,000 children under 5 are now at immediate risk of life-threatening malnutrition.
When 4-month-old Jinan Iskafi died on May 3, 2025, aid had not entered Gaza for nearly two months. She suffered from marasmus — a severe form of malnutrition caused by calorie deficiency — as well as dehydration, chronic diarrhea, and suspected immunodeficiency. Her family tried to find lactose-free formula, but nothing was available under blockade conditions. Her death was recorded as one of the first infant famine deaths of Israel’s current siege, marking a horrific milestone.
The death toll has continued to mount as the weeks pass and Israel’s siege continues.
In late June, Dr. Munir Al-Bursh, the director general of Gaza’s Ministry of Health, shared the story of Jouri Mohsen Ismail al‑Masri, who died in Al-Aqsa Hospital at the age of 3 months old after her family couldn’t find the lactose-free formula she needed to survive. Born into siege, she starved in silence.
That same week, a pair of infants died due to hunger in Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis.
Five-month-old Nidal Sharab’s family said they begged for formula and nutrients but were met with empty shelves and closed crossings. “He cried until he couldn’t cry anymore,” his mother said.
More than 650,000 children under 5 are now at immediate risk of life-threatening malnutrition.
Kinda al‑Hams died just 10 days after birth. The hospital lacked formula, and her condition deteriorated rapidly. Videos showed her father holding her tiny body, still warm, asking how the world could let this happen to a newborn.
A few weeks later, Mahmoud Shalha, a journalist from Gaza, underwent his first kidney surgery, to treat kidney stones as well as pain. For Shalha, the operation itself was only part of the ordeal. “This all started during the first famine in northern Gaza,” he told me, referring to the fall of 2023 after Israel destroyed agricultural infrastructure during its siege. Now, amid a second famine, he’s facing the same harsh conditions: undrinkable water, no proper food, and no supplies available for purchase. “We don’t just lack food and water,” he says. “We lack medicine, treatment, a functioning health care system. We are denied even the bare minimum needed to stay alive.”
In the hospital, Shalha couldn’t even find a bed with curtains around it. His friends held up a bedsheet to shield him as he changed into his surgical gown. “When I woke up, I had to leave immediately — not because I had recovered, but because another patient was waiting and there were no beds left,” he said. He was forced to convalesce at home or in a tent — anywhere that wasn’t the hospital.
Shalha is supposed to take five types of medication, three times a day. But, he said, “I swear to God, I couldn’t find even one meal to take them with.”
He considers himself lucky because he still has money. But even money is useless when there’s nothing left to buy.
His is just one story, but one that speaks volumes. But it is Shalha’s last remark that stays with me: “What about those who are injured, elderly, or chronically ill?”
Hunger doesn’t spare anyone. But among those who suffer the most are people with chronic illnesses: A heart patient who can’t find low-salt food. A dialysis patient whose body shrinks without nutrients. A diabetic forced to inject insulin into a starving body.
My friend Mariam* tells me her displaced grandfather, Mohammed, sits in silence most of the day, his body slumped in the corner of the tent he’s forced to live in like it’s too heavy to carry. He has diabetes. Every morning, he injects insulin into his thin arm, then waits for the food that doesn’t come. The doctors say he must eat after the shot — but there is nothing to eat. No bread. No fruit. Sometimes not even tea.
Mariam says her grandfather’s hands tremble. His skin turns cold. His voice disappears. His family tries to keep him awake, to stop his sugar from crashing completely, but his eyes roll back and his breath slows. He whispers that he feels like he’s falling. By some miracle, his family manages to buy a tiny — and shockingly expensive — piece of halvah, just to give him something. Mariam says she is watching him drift toward death every day — not from his illness, but from the emptiness of his plate.
He is not alone. I also spoke with Sahar*, who was diagnosed with diabetes seven or eight years ago. “My condition has always been very severe. Even eating a small amount of bread, like a quarter of a loaf, means I have to take two tablets of glucophage,” she said. “Because of the war … my treatment is not properly available. I don’t take medication regularly because the food I have is very simple — mostly lentils.”
At issue is not a lack of resources, but the denial of them. Humanitarian groups say that Israel has blocked fruits with pits or seeds that could be planted, such as olives or dates, from being sent to Gaza. “At the heart of this tactic is the outright prohibition on the entry of seeds — a targeted assault that goes beyond mere collateral damage and strikes directly at the source of life itself,” notes the People’s Coalition on Food Sovereignty. UNRWA Commissioner-General Philippe Lazzarini has condemned this deliberate destruction and blockade as a calculated act of cruelty. “The olive trees were cut down by Israeli forces, so we don’t even have olive oil or herbs like za’atar, which we normally rely on,” Sahar said.
Sahar says she now suffers from a variety of different physical symptoms: muscle cramps, brain tremors, irregular heartbeats. “My nails have turned white — almost like they’re painted white — because of the famine.”
Israel has blocked fruits with pits or seeds that could be planted, such as olives or dates, from being sent to Gaza.
“All the young people here have become thin and weak. Everyone is wasting away,” she said.
Amal*, a 20-year-old university student, says she felt she was already drowning before the genocide began. Her voice is steady, but every word she speaks is weighted with exhaustion.
“It’s not just me,” she begins. “In my neighborhood, you’d be shocked how many people are falling apart — especially diabetics. Our bodies aren’t just fighting disease now; we’re fighting hunger, trauma, and a collapsed health system all at once.”
Amal herself has a rare form of diabetes — diabetes insipidus — but she said it mimics regular diabetes in its demands and dangers. “I’ve been on medication for years. There were times I had to take insulin injections too. It hasn’t been easy even before the war.”
Now, her diet has become impossible to manage. “I used to regulate my sugar with fruit. Now fruit is a luxury. Everything is either too expensive or unavailable,” Amal said.
Amal is currently waiting to hear from the Ministry of Health about receiving a medical referral that could help her go abroad. “They told me they submitted my case. It’s rare and complex — maybe in another country I could finally receive proper care.”
But the system isn’t just failing her and other diabetics — it’s failing everyone. “Thyroid disease is everywhere now. In my own family, several people [with thyroid-related health problems] can’t find their medication. I went to Al-Aqsa Hospital and saw children — 13 to 16 years old — with thyroid dysfunction. It’s affecting their bodies. Their growth is stunted.”
Amal takes a breath, then says what she’s been holding in: “We were already in a state of collapse before this war. Now it’s total disintegration. Anyone who says otherwise isn’t telling the truth.”
Even when medical aid arrives, it barely scratches the surface. She guesses that Gaza receives “maybe 20 percent of what’s actually needed. That’s nothing. Before the war, we couldn’t even meet half the demand. People think we had well-equipped hospitals. The truth is, even with health insurance, I used to pay for my MRIs, CT scans, daily inhalers — everything.”
Amal’s experience spans more than a decade: hospital transfers, endless paperwork, and referrals to hospitals in Jerusalem. “This isn’t just my story,” she says. “It’s a system of pain. My body is only part of what’s broken.”
* The individual has requested Truthout use their first name only, as they say Israeli forces may target them due to this article.
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