Gaza – Saba:
“My son goes to collect aid wearing shoes without soles. I patch up what’s left of his old clothes,” says Sabah Ibrahim, a mother of five, now living in a tent west of Gaza City after the Israeli occupation forces demolished their house in the Shuja’iyya neighborhood.
With deep sorrow, she adds: “We’re not asking for new things, just something to cover ourselves.”
In Gaza, the suffering has gone beyond bombing and hunger—clothing has become a forgotten necessity.
Since the Israeli aggression on the Gaza Strip began in October 2023, and with the occupation banning the entry of clothing and shoes, proper attire has become an unattainable luxury. The Israeli-imposed blockade has deprived Gaza’s residents of everything, turning life into a cycle of relentless deprivation.
Ziyad Abdel Fattah, a former worker who lost his job at a tailoring workshop, told Palestine Online:
“My children’s clothes are torn, and winter is just two months away. I don’t know how I’ll protect them—neither from the cold nor the judgmental looks of others.”
He tried sewing clothes from aid fabric, but in vain: “Even a needle and thread are now beyond my reach.”
In what remains of the markets, only scraps and worn-out items are available—sold at prices no one can afford.
“Who can pay 40 shekels for a torn piece of clothing? People here can barely find food,” he added.
Rana Saeed, another displaced woman, has been wearing the same clothes for a year:
“There’s no water or electricity, so everything is dirty, and we can’t wash our clothes. We wrap our feet in torn blankets, and our worn-out shoes are the only way we can still walk.”
But for children, the hardship is even more brutal.
Eleven-year-old Khaled Hamadeh stands barefoot—his old shoes no longer fit. His mother says:
“I wrapped his feet in plastic bags, and sometimes I just let him go barefoot. No one here has anything to spare.”
Ahmad Shaheen, who owns a shop that’s been closed for months, says:
“Even those with money prioritize food, not fabric. Dignity has become a luxury. Clothing is now an impossible demand in the face of war and siege.”
Rana Darwish, a mother of three, sits outside her small tent:
“Our children are barefoot. Yes, we need food—but we also need to be clothed. This is a war on dignity.”
Human rights organizations have urgently called for the immediate entry of clothing and footwear into Gaza, stressing that the ban is not just a blockade—but a form of collective punishment that strips away the last threads of humanity from life in Gaza.
“My son goes to collect aid wearing shoes without soles. I patch up what’s left of his old clothes,” says Sabah Ibrahim, a mother of five, now living in a tent west of Gaza City after the Israeli occupation forces demolished their house in the Shuja’iyya neighborhood.
With deep sorrow, she adds: “We’re not asking for new things, just something to cover ourselves.”
In Gaza, the suffering has gone beyond bombing and hunger—clothing has become a forgotten necessity.
Since the Israeli aggression on the Gaza Strip began in October 2023, and with the occupation banning the entry of clothing and shoes, proper attire has become an unattainable luxury. The Israeli-imposed blockade has deprived Gaza’s residents of everything, turning life into a cycle of relentless deprivation.
Ziyad Abdel Fattah, a former worker who lost his job at a tailoring workshop, told Palestine Online:
“My children’s clothes are torn, and winter is just two months away. I don’t know how I’ll protect them—neither from the cold nor the judgmental looks of others.”
He tried sewing clothes from aid fabric, but in vain: “Even a needle and thread are now beyond my reach.”
In what remains of the markets, only scraps and worn-out items are available—sold at prices no one can afford.
“Who can pay 40 shekels for a torn piece of clothing? People here can barely find food,” he added.
Rana Saeed, another displaced woman, has been wearing the same clothes for a year:
“There’s no water or electricity, so everything is dirty, and we can’t wash our clothes. We wrap our feet in torn blankets, and our worn-out shoes are the only way we can still walk.”
But for children, the hardship is even more brutal.
Eleven-year-old Khaled Hamadeh stands barefoot—his old shoes no longer fit. His mother says:
“I wrapped his feet in plastic bags, and sometimes I just let him go barefoot. No one here has anything to spare.”
Ahmad Shaheen, who owns a shop that’s been closed for months, says:
“Even those with money prioritize food, not fabric. Dignity has become a luxury. Clothing is now an impossible demand in the face of war and siege.”
Rana Darwish, a mother of three, sits outside her small tent:
“Our children are barefoot. Yes, we need food—but we also need to be clothed. This is a war on dignity.”
Human rights organizations have urgently called for the immediate entry of clothing and footwear into Gaza, stressing that the ban is not just a blockade—but a form of collective punishment that strips away the last threads of humanity from life in Gaza.