Sabreen Almaseri, MSF physiotherapist in Gaza City, 20 August
The Israeli forces intensified military operations in Gaza City will have catastrophic humanitarian consequences. With 86 per cent of Gaza already under evacuation orders or militarised zones, the remaining areas are severely overcrowded and unfit for survival with almost no access to food, water, or health care. Medical facilities in the south are already beyond capacity. Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) staff themselves have been repeatedly forced to flee, some more than 11 times since the start of this war. MSF calls once again for an immediate and sustained ceasefire to spare the lives of civilians and to allow enough desperately needed aid to enter Gaza.
Sabreen Almaseri is a physiotherapist who has been working for MSF for five years. On 19 August, Israeli forces destroyed her home in Gaza City, forcing her and her family to displace for the 11th time.
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Two weeks ago, when the situation near my house in Saftawi neighbourhood seemed calmer, we decided to return home. There was new damage to the building, but I felt joy again to simply be inside my home—the home that is a part of my soul, the place I love dearly. My house represented a 13-year journey of struggle and perseverance.
Until yesterday.
I was coming home from work when I saw people running, women screaming and crying. My phone rang—it was my husband. He told me, “Turn back quickly. They have warned the whole area. They are going to bomb it.” He said we had only a few minutes. I met him and our daughters on a nearby street; they were crying in fear. I hugged them tightly and we moved to a nearby street. Moments later, we heard the strike. The explosion did not just shake the ground; it shattered our hearts. Our house, with all our memories, was gone.
I have been working for MSF since 2018. From the beginning, my goal has always been to do everything I can to help patients and treat injured people recover from physical trauma.
I was never just a physiotherapist. I supported my patients emotionally, listened to them, and gave them comfort as they shared their pain. Behind every patient was a heartbreaking story, another life scarred by suffering. People here are exhausted, broken, yet still try to go on and find reasons to smile.
The day our lives changed forever
I will never forget the first time we were forced to leave our home in northern Gaza just one week into the war. A ring of fire surrounded us; my husband, daughters, and I clung to each other, thinking we were taking our last breaths. It was terrifying, shrapnel was flying over our heads. Our building was damaged; the doors and windows had been blown away by the strikes. Blood was on the ground, dust, stones, and ash filling the air. My middle daughter was vomiting from fear, my youngest was begging us to hold her tighter. We formed a circle, embracing each other, before finding ourselves out on the street, crying, displaced again.
After we were displaced from Safatawi, we moved to another place in Gaza City. Soon after, we narrowly survived another bombardment that claimed over 500 lives. Later we were forced to flee to the south. I couldn’t return to northern Gaza until the ceasefire in mid-January 2025. For a year and a half, we lived between displacement and fear, waiting and longing for my parents, my siblings, and for the home I had left behind without knowing what had become of it.
A moment of peace
When I finally saw my house once more - during the ceasefire - I could breathe again. It was still standing, partially damaged, but still liveable. We repaired what we could. We closed holes in the walls, covered broken windows with plastic sheets, and built makeshift doors. We cleaned away the rubble and moved back in. But our joy was short-lived, as the truce ended and the bombing returned with even greater intensity. We fled again, this time within Gaza City, living in a tent, enduring the suffocating summer heat, the hardship of carrying water, and the harshness of daily life in displacement. Two weeks ago, after we finally returned to our home, we hoped that perhaps finally we would be safe. But that hope is now gone again – crushed along with our house and our belongings.
Once again, we are displaced. This is the eleventh time we have been forced to flee since the beginning of this war. But this time is the hardest, because I know I will never return to my home again.
