Every morning, Sami stands in front of a cracked mirror in the dim corner of his damaged house, splashing cold water on his face to wake himself from what feels like a never-ending nightmare. Sami, whose last name we are withholding to protect his security, stares into his own eyes and whispers the same question: “How will I feed my children today?”
It’s a question no parent should ever have to ask. But for Sami, a father of six from central Gaza, it’s become his cruel daily ritual. Ever since Israel fully closed the blockade of Gaza in early March, humanitarian aid organizations have been completely shut out of the region, leaving no way to deliver crucial supplies such as food, medicine, and fuel. The United Nations has called this a man-made famine. Families like Sami’s are living it.
Sami used to be a taxi driver, making a stable living that enabled his family to live a joyful and dignified life in Gaza City. But in April 2024, his taxi’s engine gave out after weeks of fleeing from one neighborhood to another under bombardment. Sami says repairs are far beyond what he can afford—if the spare parts are even available in the region anymore—leaving him with no source of income.
Now, Sami and his family of eight—including a six-month-old baby boy—are living on meals of salt dissolved in warm water.
“We boil water and add salt to it,” he tells me, his voice cracking. “It tricks our stomachs into thinking we’ve eaten something. We do this to survive.”
As I speak to Sami, his daughters, Sama, Soud, and Noura, sit quietly in a corner, too weak to complain. His older sons, Mohammed and Rezek, take turns searching for any leftover scraps from previous aid distributions by humanitarian organizations like the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA). But those rations ran out weeks ago. His wife, Mariam, tries to keep hope alive with whatever is left in their house.
“I make a pot of soup—just water with a little spice or rice if we’re lucky,” she says. “We stretch it the whole day for everyone. It’s not food. It’s survival.”
The couple’s youngest son, Abdel-Rahman, is just six months old. He depends on formula to survive, but the baby formula shelves have long been empty, and Mariam, weakened by hunger herself, can’t produce enough milk to breastfeed him.
More than 2,700 children in Gaza under the age of five were diagnosed with acute malnutrition in the second half of May alone. According to the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC), more than half of Gaza’s population—around 1.1 million people—is facing “emergency” level food insecurity, while 22 percent face “catastrophe,” which is the highest level of hunger classified by the United Nations. That includes more than 3,500 children under the age of five at immediate risk of dying from starvation-related causes, according to Gaza’s Government Media Office. Fifty-seven children have already died from starvation.
Yet, the borders remain closed.
Before the war, Gaza’s aid and goods flowed through the Kerem Shalom and Rafah crossings. Since March, Israeli military orders have sealed both shut. International aid convoys have been blocked or bombed and U.N. warehouses have been looted or destroyed. The U.N. World Food Programme warned in mid-May that if access is not restored immediately, “famine will become widespread, and irreversible damage will be done to the people of Gaza—especially children.”
Sami sees that damage unfolding right in front of him. “This isn’t war. This is starvation as a weapon,” he says. “We are being sentenced to death in silence.”
In April, Human Rights Watch accused Israel of using starvation as a method of warfare, a potential war crime under international law. Still, political negotiations stall, and the blockade tightens.
“We feel forgotten,” Mariam says. “But we are still here, trying to stay alive, trying to keep our children breathing.” As we speak, Abdel-Rahman stirs in her arms, his cheeks pale and his tiny lips trembling. She rocks him gently and hums a lullaby—one she barely has the strength to sing.