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Editor’s Note: This text was originally written while the author was fleeing along with her family from one shelter to another during Israel’s genocide in Gaza. The young writer and poet has been in France since August 2026. Her family remains in Gaza.
Translated for The Key by Hadeel Jamal.
After years of bombardment, my mother's fear left its mark on her skin. I've learned to carry mine – and to hope for a quiet and swift death.
I am familiar with fear in all its shapes and colors, and how it creeps up on us. I see its’ marks colors in my mother’s hands and I remember how, after the 2014 offensive, that fear appeared to turn her skin a different shade. I was in the seventh grade back then, and together we visited every dermatologist in Gaza. They all gave the same verdict: "It is likely vitiligo, triggered by the fear of loud bombardment. It is impossible to cure, but we can try to halt its spread."
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