This American Life - 861: Group Chat

Episode Date: June 1, 2025

Conversations across a divide: Palestinians who are outside Gaza check in with family, friends, and strangers inside. Visit thisamericanlife.org/lifepartners to sign up for our premium subscription.Prologue: The Hammash family’s group chat unfolds over texts, starting before the war. (8 minutes)Act One: When Yousef Hammash left Gaza a year ago, his sisters decided to stay behind. We hear about the toll that separation has taken on Yousef and the sister he’s closest to, Aseel. (30 minutes)Act Two: Mohammed Mhawish, a reporter who left Gaza a year ago with his family, talks to a young woman in Gaza about how she manages her hunger. Israel blockaded all food from Gaza for more than two months. (15 minutes)Coda: Chana gives a short update about Banias, a 9-year-old girl in Gaza she's been speaking with for months. (4 minutes)Transcripts are available at thisamericanlife.orgThis American Life privacy policy.Learn more about sponsor message choices.

A quick warning, there are curse words that are un-beeped in today's episode of the show. If you prefer a beeped version, you can find that at our website, thisamericanlife.org. From WBEZ Chicago, it's This American Life. I'm Chana Jaffe-Walt sitting in for Ira Glass. Family group chat created May 19th, 2023. Two years ago. Before. Youssef Hamash. Send this link to Asil, Salsebil and Heba so they can enter the group.

Manal. We are all gathered together. What a blessing. Heart emoji. I don't have Hassan or Ahmed. Youssef must add them. I sent the link above you idiots so you can send it to them.

Youssef reshares link. Send them the link. I sent it link above you idiots so you can send it to them. Yousef reshares link. Send them the link. I sent it. Manal, we want to go out tomorrow, to the beach. Okay, why is the group called the shitty family? Yeah, who's the son of a gun who names a group? Laughing emoji. Please, isn't this Yousef's doing?

It's Yousef. I did it for your sake, sister. God bless you, Pride of the Arabs. Manal wants to invite us to the beach, Hadil. I want to take you to the beach. When? We're thinking either tomorrow or Monday. I will let my children go, but what day?

We're thinking Monday. We need a watermelon. That's the most important thing. You're making conditions as well? The watermelon is more important than you. I'm being mocked. Youssef, whoever wants to go with us, like this message. I will set up a time later.

Where? To the beach. But what day? Tomorrow. Clown face. Youssef, who started this group chat for his family. He's been on our show before. Youssef, who started this group chat for his family, he's been on our show before, Youssef Hamash. He was a humanitarian aid worker in Gaza, grew up there, lived there his whole life. He started this group chat with his family months before the war, before October 7th,

when Hamas attacked southern Israel. After that, Youusuf became responsible for moving his whole family, his four sisters, their extended families, from one place to another, trying to escape Israel's bombing. After six months of displacement and near-death experiences and worrying for his children, Yusuf did something he thought he'd never do.

He left Gaza. This was last spring. He went with his wife, mother, and his kids to Egypt. His sisters decided to stay behind. And since that time, almost no one has been able to leave Gaza. That was a little more than a year ago. The group chat is still going.

What are they talking about in the WhatsApp group? I don't know. Daily life, complaining or making fun. Sometimes it's jokes, sometimes they're crying, it depends. Voice, text, photos, everything. This is like the refuge for them, where they go. More of the sisters are talking, and my mother and we just observe. We, meaning the people who are outside Gaza now. Yousef, his wife, his kids, and his mom.

Inside Gaza, the sisters make plans, talk about who they ran into that day, share pictures of their kids, of bombings. They send voice memos to each other to share news and cheer each other up. Hadeel, my sister, is feeling down. Come, Hadeel, let's go out. Let's go somewhere. I'm buying. I have Ahmad's money. My sister is feeling low, so let's do something fun. In a year plus since Youssef has left, the sisters have all moved again. They're not all together anymore and they keep moving. They've survived airstrikes, illnesses, months with no food at all coming in and they keep checking in here in the chat. Yusuf, the

problem solver in the family, the don't worry I'll take care of it guy. He keeps trying to figure out how to solve the same problems over and over When his sister a seal texts if I clean I get dizzy if I cook I get dizzy There's no edible food. It's worse than you can imagine Youssef replies buy anything a seal don't worry about me love all is okay Then they go back and forth. Aseel. One kilo of rice is 35. Yusuf.

No problem. I'll pay. Aseel. A kilo of flour is 50. Yusuf. Whatever the price. Aseel. The issue is not the price. It's the cash. Yusuf.

I don't know what one can do. Aseel. The situation has become very bad. Yusuf, I don't know what one can do. Asil, the situation has become very bad. Yusuf, the problem is I can't do anything. Even your money doesn't help you. You can't find food even if you have money. Exactly. If it's available, it's very, very expensive.

But mostly, you cannot find it. What's it like for you to talk to a seal? Yeah, I was talking to her today, but it's just actually, I feel useless. Her daughter is crying, a year old, crying because there is no bread, there is nothing she can feed her. Even all what I can do being an outsider now, all what I can do is send money or just secure money, but it's not enough anymore. Youssef spent the first six months of the war experiencing everything his family is experiencing, together. And when he left, it felt inconceivable that it could go on

this way, this much longer. But it has. His phone keeps getting new messages, and he keeps reassuring and responding and arranging and trying to provide comfort. And then, these last few weeks, being unable anymore, even with all his skills and connections, to get money, cash, into his sister's hands, hearing how their children are not eating, something changed for Youssef. He felt literally dumbstruck. Even words are not helpful anymore because they are finished. I used all the words and

I think I need to start to find other languages, but I keep it like, hopefully it's going to be fine, it's going to be a matter of days, hopefully. You know, all what I can do is just to be supportive. Do you still say those things? It's useless anymore. Just even saying them became like something stupid. I didn't know what to say, to be honest. And in Arabic language we have hasbi Allah ni amin waqil.

Okay, we're in the guard against them. All these words became useless. Even these words that we were using all of our life to calm each other became meaningless because even using it became unfair. It's really painful when you communicate with anyone from Gaza. It's really, really painful. Do you think it makes you want to avoid it?

100 percent. Yeah. really, really painful. Do you think it makes you want to avoid it? 100%. Yeah. Otherwise, I won't stay safe. I will lose my mind. Leaving Gaza made Yusuf the newest member of a well-established club. There are about 5 million Palestinians living inside the West Bank in Gaza.

And the rest, about 9 million Palestinians, live all over the world. People who are trying to maintain family and connections across countries and time zones and bad cell connections. Today's show is about those conversations inside one family and between friends, colleagues. Yousef's family agreed to share all the messages they sent back and forth to each other over years. We got them translated. All the late night musings and updates and petty resentments and serious resentments

and jokes and plans and fears, intimate moments where you can see how these conversations and relationships change over time. How do you keep being a family? And we hear from other people on the outside and others inside figuring out what to say and what to keep secret. Stay with us. Support for this American life and the following message come from DataIQ. AI can be a kind of raw power.

Take control of AI with DataIQ, the universal AI platform. It's built for business teams and AI experts alike, designed for trust and engineered to scale to fit your tech stack today and tomorrow. From analytics, models, and agents, make AI flow through your enterprise. Don't just keep up with AI. Control it with DataIQ, the universal AI platform. Find out more at dataiku.com slash thisamericanlive. This message comes from WISE, the app for doing things and other currencies.

With WISE, you can for doing things and other currencies. With WISE, you can send, spend, or receive money across borders, all at a fair exchange rate. No markups or hidden fees. Join millions of customers and visit WISE.com. T's and C's apply. It's this American life, Act 1. I'm fine. Don't worry. Within any family, there's the group chat and there's the side chat. The person Yusef is always checking in with most is his youngest sister in Gaza, Asil. June 2024, Yusef to Asil.

Yo, my sister, please confirm you're well. Asil, I feel like I haven't seen you since the last century. The thing Yusef says more than anything else in these chats is, please confirm your well. The thing Asil says most? I'm fine. Don't worry. Yousuf says Asil is the one in the family who's most like him. Practical, can-do, unfazed, also stubborn.

Asil is 10 years younger than Yousuf. She's a nurse. She wants to know things and do things. He's young, but he's an expert. Usually Asil is the most... Between my sister, I look to Asil as the most wise. She looks to him the same way. She trusts him. When Asil was trying to figure out the safest place to give birth

to her first child in a war zone, the person she planned it out with was Yusuf. When she needs advice on anything, Yusuf. In the beginning of their WhatsApp chat after he left Gaza, you can see Yusuf trying to set the terms of their new situation. His point over and over, the important things have not changed. I'll call every day. anything you need. I'm here

Youself if you want anything whatever it is do not hesitate a seal jokes after all everything is cheap Youssef live and spend a seal my dear brother. I swear. I want nothing but to see you I swear, I don't need anything Youssef this is my duty, my sister. Just take care of yourself. Asil responds with a voice memo, her and her baby, Sila. Boop, boop, boop. Boop, boop, boop.

Boop, boop, boop, boop. Boop, boop, boop, boop. Boop, boop, boop, boop. Boop, boop, boop. Boop, boop, boop, boop. Boop, boop, boop, boop. Boop, boop, boop, boop. 24 hours later, Yusef, seemingly concerned

that he didn't get his point across, writes, The most important thing is that you do not lack anything. Buy whatever you want. Relationships shift all the time, sometimes suddenly. But the long, slow changes? They can be just as dramatic. Yusuf and Asiel lived within walking distance their whole lives. They saw each other in person all the time.

They shared life, a landscape. And right away, within a week of leaving Gaza, Yusuf realized how much information he gathered just by being there, seeing Asil face to face, seeing what she needed. When he wasn't there, he understood, oh, Asil isn't great at asking for things. It's something I really like about her, how decent she is and she will never ask anything.

But at the same time, I'm not there to understand the needs anymore. My other sister called me, she lost her phone, and she's like, okay, buy me a phone, send it to anyone. Yeah, okay, I'll do it. And she will never do that. And that's my issue with her. So every time Asil says, I'm fine, Youssef has to guess what he can do to help. Four months after he left Gaza,

Youssef was reading and hearing about bombing. Increasingly, the bombing was where she was living. The other sisters were moving. Youssef figured Asil would too, and made a plan for her to move to a safer area called Al Mawasi, just like he always did. He would pay for it, of course. Youssef to Asil.

There's a furnished apartment in this project, 1,000 per month. Asil, oh my God, it's a lot. I don't know if the war will go on longer or not. The amount of money is a lot. Yousuf, call her, you will love it. The next day, Yousuf, have you seen the apartment? It's a good place.

Asil, it's forbidden to be extravagant. I didn't go, no. Four hours later, Asil, it's really nice, honestly, but it's expensive. Yousuf, is it a suitable place? Double question mark. Aseel, I'm fine now. If there's an evacuation, I will leave. She did not move to the apartment. Money was becoming an issue between them, in a new way.

Yusuf had always supported a lot of people in the family. But after he left Gaza, he started doing it through Asil. She'd tell Yusuf who among their family and friends in Gaza needed help. Here's how much, here's a list. He'd coordinate with her to get the money to them. Asil to Yusuf, everyone thinks I'm the finance ministry. Yusuf, let them think that.

This meant now Asil knew how much money Yusuf was giving out, how many people he was supporting in Gaza, not to mention trying to find a place for his family on the outside. Asil didn't want to add to the burden. Asil, don't worry about me, love. You're going to have travel expenses and expenses that will destroy even mountains. Don't send me money until you guys get settled and organize your matters.

Youssef, don't worry. Your brother is strong as a whale. As the months passed, Asil continued to lean on Youssef for some things, but she also quietly started trying to manage more things on her own. In August, a few months after Yousef left, Asil's baby was suffering from a terrible rash.

She couldn't figure out how to treat it. She couldn't find the cream she needed. Asil sent me pictures to see if I had any ideas, but she didn't tell Yousef, even though Yousef knows all sorts of medical people in Gaza. Youssef knows all sorts of medical people in Gaza. No, but it's just one thing that I'm hiding. Now there's a new disease that has spread targeting children, which is, I don't know, an allergy.

It's a skin rash or something like that. So I don't know how to treat her. And every time I use something, it spreads even more. Why wouldn't you tell him about the skin problem? Because he would be upset. In reality, they're not here, so he won't know what to do. He'll feel like it's his dereliction of duty Like he could have done something. I don't want him to feel that way

But couldn't use of help you get access to the medicine. Oh Yes, but he'll send his friends to look and In reality, I looked a lot and I couldn't find anything so I don't know what the solution is. I don't want them to be worried over there because I can solve this. As long as I can solve this there's no need to let them worry and no need to tell them. Keeping things from each other this became a bigger part of their relationship. Yousef was traveling around Egypt, England, trying to get asylum somewhere in the world. He told Asil about some of it, and he edited out stuff that would be too sharp a contrast to Asil's life.

He'd share a selfie from the train, but he would not tell her about taking the kids to see the pyramids, the Nile. He'd gleefully tell her he's near where David Beckham lives, but he wouldn't mention the restaurant he went to that day. Asil knew he was keeping stuff from her, and in the text she's constantly nudging him to send her pictures and updates, and when he does share something she responds quickly with hearts and says things like, I am happy just seeing your pictures. It's amazing, bro. Youssef sends a picture of himself on a bike in London. Asil, wow, smiley face, it's amazing. And an athlete, smiley face, heart.

Another time, a selfie of Youssef in Cairo. Asil, advice for you, smiley face, heart. This haircut looks good on you." Asil had pushed Yousef to leave Gaza. She considered going with him, but the cost was enormous, more than Yousef could cover, and she didn't want to leave her in-laws and extended family behind in Gaza. She's genuinely very happy for Yousef. But there's also a new, unfamiliar feeling. Whenever something happens that upsets me, I blame him for not being here. I don't say that to him, but internally I blame him. You were not supposed to leave. You were supposed

to stay here. It's like a psychological war between me and myself. Yousef knows it without her saying it, because he feels it too. You know, I always keep saying I should have taken my sisters out with me. I shouldn't listen to any objections. Despite that they couldn't do it, they have their children, they have... I should have tried more at least. I was... How often are you thinking about that, Youssef?

Whenever I have a call with any of them. Every time you talk to them? Whenever something happened, the first thing that came to my head, I should have taken everyone. One of the reasons Asil didn't leave Gaza with Yusuf is she thought the war would end soon. Another reason?

She wanted to go home, to the north, where her house is, in Jabalia. She wanted to raise her daughter at home. She thought about it every day. She was waiting and waiting for the Israeli military to allow residents of the north to return. These months and months of text messages really convey just how long she was stuck. You can see Aseel getting ground down over time.

There's no electricity, no clean water. She keeps getting sick. There's bombings and drones and just uncertainty, endless uncertainty. September, 2024, Aseel. Oh, by God, we are tired. I wish I had listened to you and gone with you. October. Aseel. Officially, I swear to God that I cannot bear the situation at all. November. Aseel. Selah has malnutrition. Yusuf. Oh, my God, what did the doctor tell you? Aseel. She told me she has malnutrition

and she's very underweight and needs vitamins. I don't know what to feed her. I didn't feed her canned food because I was afraid she gets sick. Today is the first time I regret giving birth. Youssef, may God help you, sister. January, 2025, voice memo from Asil to the group chat. I forgot to say, Happy New Year! I hope that next year, no, no, this year, yes, this year we see you all.

I hope you'll be looking forward to seeing us and we'll be looking forward to seeing you and happy new year. That's it. Then, January 15th, some news. Hamas family group chat. Asil, the president of Qatar wants to announce a ceasefire soon. Oh God, get excited guys. The war is over. It's a truce. It's a truce. It's over. Oh God, a truce. Thank God." The moment Israel and Hamas agreed to a ceasefire last January, Asil began planning her return to the north, to her house. It was time, the thing she'd been waiting for. But Yusuf was against it. Yusuf to Asil. "'In my opinion, sister, you should stay where you are.

It's early, my sister, and I hear strange things in the north. Asil. But I'm tired. How long will we continue like this? Yusef. One by one, everything will be solved. Asil. But man, the house is important.

Yusef. Leave it to me. The war just stopped yesterday. Their other sisters were fine to wait and see, but Asil kept pressing to go north. Yusuf had access to satellite images, and his assessment was, if Asil went north, she'd find that she had no house anymore. I don't think any house in that area is still standing. I'm trying not to be negative with everyone's like, no, everything is livid, but I know it's not there.

You know for sure? The area where they live, it's not far from Kamal-Edwan Hospital in the northern part of Gaza. And then recently this military campaign was mainly in that area. On all of that area was livid. And honestly, for the northern part of Gaza, where I am from and all my relatives, it's impossible that any house is still standing there. Yousef and Asil's texts about this went on for weeks.

Their back and forth reads like Yousef is still that older brother who's in control. But one of the things Asil is not telling him, she and her husband Ahmed have already begun moving their things north. Yousef thinks he's still in a position to grant permission. Asil tells him, it's already done. Yousef to Asil. You can go for two days and try it, but try not to move your things. Asil. Ahmed transferred 90% of them. Smiley face. She was already there.

I came back because I know I belong to this place. I want it to come back. I want to fix up my place and live in it. I want to have my inner calm back. Is there anything there? The house was blown out and there were no walls. There were only the support pillars, the ceiling and the floors. That's what was left. So I had to make a wall out of tarp. I covered the entire house with tarp and I'm trying to adapt. What is around you?

Are there buildings and is there anything there? I still have a bit of a roof over my head, but my neighbors next door set up a tent on top of the rubble of their house. And it's the same with the neighbors all the way down the street. Those whose houses are still standing, they fixed them and they live in them now. Others set up tents on the rubble of their homes. What did Yousef think of you moving back to Jabalia? Yousef didn't know I was moving back. He only knew I was coming to check on the place and belongings and then go back south.

But then I moved back and let him deal with my decision. I shocked him with that. He didn't approve of me going back north. Okay. And what did he say when he found out you were staying? He told me to wait a bit, take more time, be careful with my decision and blah blah. I told him no, I'm going to stay for a bit. I feel that I belong to this place and I need to stay here.

Youssef saw that Asil was not alone in this decision. As soon as people were allowed back, 376,000 Palestinians returned to their homes in the north. And they returned to places with no roads or schools or hospitals or clean water, and to homes that were damaged and destroyed. But they still went back. After weeks of pushing back, Yusuf got it. It was easy to urge patients from the outside, but it was hard in the south, where they'd been forced to live for more than a year.

Towns in the south were overwhelmed by displaced people from the north. There was tension between people from the north and south. There was months and months of displacement. People were tired, degraded. It was better to be in a tent where your home was than in a tent in Rafa or Khan Yunus. Now that she was home, Asil began trying to live, not just survive. Her husband Ahmed set up a solar panel and started a phone charging station, a small business. Asil found a job with an NGO doing data entry. Yusuf

hadn't wanted her to work, thought going outside was unsafe, but Asil wanted to have money of her own. Yusuf told me despite his objections, he was proud seeing what Asil had created. For two months the ceasefire held. March 18th, Hamash family group chat. The war is back. Damn. God is sufficient for me and he is the best disposer of affairs. 2.39 a.m. Yusuf writes, call a seal. I can't get through. Seven hours later, a seal. I'm fine. Don't worry. Now that she was back north and the war was back on, all the little ways a seal had been gathering herself over the last year, making her own decisions, working for her own money, relying mostly on herself, became

essential for her survival. It's like she anticipated a time when, even with love and support from the outside, she was going to need to be entirely self-sufficient. That time was now. When Israel violated the ceasefire in March, it launched one of the deadliest days of the war. 400 people killed in a single day, in the north and also throughout the Gaza Strip.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said, this is only the beginning. Israel barred all food, aid, and any other supplies from coming into the territory, a complete ban that would end up lasting more than two months. What are you eating? What's available is rice, lentils, tuna, sardines, and other canned food. and other canned food. For food there's no flour. I ran out of flour a while ago. The flour in the market was not good for consumption because it was mixed with plaster by the sellers. May God guide them. There's a bombed house next to us and there was flour under the rubble. You dug through the rubble of your neighbor's house?

Yes, that's correct. We were confident there was flour because our neighbor told us there was flour in his home. He also told us that if we could get it, we should eat it. Wow. We collaborated with the neighbors and got it out. I don't know if you can imagine it, but it used to be a five-story building and now it's only half a story. The whole situation was like a drowning person who's clutching at a straw.

We all hoped that we could get the flower out. They didn't get all of it out. They didn't get all of it out. I think they got about two bags and everyone ended up with a small bag. We took some of the flour and sifted it twice and ate it. There was sand and plaster in it, but we made it work. The flour lasted two days. Asil stopped working. She tried not to go out more than she needed to. There were evacuation orders for areas in the north in April, again in May, but also orders in the south and some in the middle area of Gaza, and threats of a new Israeli

ground invasion in the north, and bombs. Asil was coming back from visiting an injured relative in the hospital. She was almost home, and there was an explosion right where the car was going to drop her off. This was two weeks ago. I couldn't understand what was happening. I didn't know where to go. Suddenly children appeared and they were covered in blood. People were running, carrying martyrs. It was very bizarre to be honest. They were carrying the martyr on a donkey cart, but there was no donkey.

People were pulling it. And I said to myself, look at what we've become. What brought us to this life? I don't want to evacuate. I don't want to leave. I feel comfortable where I am and if I left, I'd be anxious all the time. It's better for me to stay in my house and maintain my dignity. And that's it. How long will you stay there? I don't want to leave, but if they bombed somewhere near me, that's when I would leave. Didn't that happen today? They bombed somewhere close to where you are. I meant something closer.

Today's bombing was close, but there was still a street between us. So they would have to bomb the street you are living on for you to leave? No, God forbid. No, no. Are your sisters or Yousef or other people trying to convince you to leave? Yes, he wasn't convinced but I'm doing what I want. What's in the news is not like what's on the ground. They exaggerate in the news. I tell them the situation where I live still allows me to wait a bit longer in my house. They should listen to me and be patient.

Did you tell Yousef you were going? Will you tell him about what happened today? Not yet. I will tell him. He'd be pretty mad, most probably. He won't be happy that I got out during this dangerous situation. He would tell me to not leave home in the first place or to go stay with my sisters. I've been telling him since yesterday that the situation where I am is good. You can see in the chat when Asil does tell him and she's right. He pleads with her to leave to go to sisters, who are sheltering in Gaza City. But she doesn't want to leave.

In her home, she managed to collect bedding, some furniture, a small generator, toys for the baby, the beginnings of something livable. If they leave, everything could be gone when they get back. And Asil tells Yusuf, nowhere is safe. And Asil tells Yusuf, nowhere is safe. May 15th, 2.25 p.m. Asil, I'm fine, my love, don't worry. Yusuf, God is sufficient for us and he is the best disposer of affairs, my sister. By midnight, that night, more bombs. Hamash family group chat. Can someone check on a seal? Banal. Youssef is talking to her. Yeah, no I don't know.

She was refusing to leave yesterday and then became nigh. Then okay it wasn't safe to move so I said okay let's see until tomorrow. Then in the night, everything changed. 1.39 a.m. Youssef, please confirm you're well. Asil, thank God for everything. We were chatting, texting each other. 1.59 a.m. Youssef, may God keep you safe, my dear.

Asil, thank God, I'm fine, don't worry. Last message at 2 a.m. and inshallah everything's fine and we'll meet soon. It's like, you know, changing nice messages. Then at 3.15, she texts me, I cannot breathe, I cannot see anything, and she sent this video. I can't see anything. Get out, my love, get out. in this video.

In the video, the camera is pointed at what looks like a pile of rubble, but it's hard to see because it's dark and they're surrounded by a cloud of dust and debris. In the upper corner of the video, there's a piece of drywall, maybe a fallen ceiling. Asil is saying, I can't see a thing, calling for her husband, Ahmed. Someone says, Ahmed is there, he's there. Aseel says, I hope they don't bomb again. Ahmed! Ahmed, get up, get up. Please go back to Yusuf one more time. And then?

I panic and I keep calling, no phone calls. Waking up, Hibban, Hadeel trying to call there, or call Alaa, Alaa so we can call her husband. She's texted 3, 18 a.m. They bombed the house next to my house, it's full of dead bodies, most of the house collapsed, everything collapsed on us, pray for us.

And she asked, pray for us that this night pass. And then she didn't respond. Yeah. I got messages from a seal that night too. She wrote, I hope to stay alive until the morning. This is the hardest night since the beginning of the war. I'm so scared." And she wrote, I feel like I won't meet my family again. Did she sound different to you than she has sounded at other scary moments? Yeah. It's not the first time that they go through this. They go through it a lot and she never reaches out.

When she knows that nothing I can do, I'm outside, especially at 3 a.m. That's quite serious. She always tried to spare me. This is, it was serious. She's not just scared. She was about to die. It took 11 hours before he heard anything. His other sister, Heba, finally got through to a seal.

They'd survived. Heba was hiring an ambulance to try to get a seal out. She wasn't injured. It was just the only way the family could figure out how to get to her. She's moving to Gaza City? Yeah. Well.

Ah, one second. Well, I'll be laughing. So my sister, he's texting me now saying that it was very hard to send an ambulance, and he just agreed. Hamash family group chat. Youssef to the group.

Aseel has arrived at the girl's house. Are you asking or telling? Youssef, I'm telling you upside down face. Thank God she's safe. Thank God. May God keep them safe and well, God willing. And then, 5 51 p.m., Aseel shows back up in the chat. Aseel, I'm fine guys, but I'm devastated. I got a text too. I'm fine, she said, but my psyche is broken. Aseel has not gone back since. ["I'm Fine," by Aseel plays in background.] 19 months is a long time.

Long enough to move four times, to create a home out of nothing, to start a new business. Long enough for Ase times, to create a home out of nothing, to start a new business. Long enough for Aseel to be pregnant, to deliver her first baby, and for that baby to learn to roll over, crawl, and walk. Long enough to feel certain that this cannot possibly go on any longer. The day after this terrible night, Asil sent me one more text. I'm pregnant. I don't know if I should be worried or upset or happy.

I don't know what to feel. When Asil and Yusuf shared their messages, I started reading from the beginning and didn't stop for hours and hours until I was finished, hundreds of pages and photos and videos later. After I was done, I kept scrolling back up to the beginning, to how the story starts two years ago. A family planning a day at the beach. Make a cinnamon roll, Heba, and arrange it here. Heba, I'm scared you'll ruin the cinnamon roll.

You're good at baking cake. Bake a cake. Hadil's cinnamon roll is tasty. I'll make a cake, and you won't eat it. Who told you we won't eat it? OK, I'll make you a cake. Aseel, do you want to bring the nuts? Bring the seeds and nuts.

Aseel, shall I make you a crepe? No. Aseel, shall I want to bring the nuts? Bring the seeds and nuts. Aseel, shall I make you a crepe? No. Aseel, shall I make you some pastries? Come on, Aseel. Manal and I will work with you. Do you know how to make a cinnamon roll? It felt like a shock being in the presence of a family in this way, and the banality of a moment.

I understood, oh, this is what this family was. This is what was destroyed. Coming up, a refresher. How many pounds are in a kilo again? 2.2 pounds and other memorable measurements. That's in a minute from Chicago Public Radio when our program continues. It's This American Life. I'm Chana Jaffe-Walt sitting in for Ira Glass. Today's show, Group Chat. We're hearing from Palestinians living outside the West Bank

and Gaza, checking in with people there. We've arrived at Act 2 of our program, Act 2, Week 11. Mohammed Mahawish left Gaza a year ago, around the same time as Yusuf, just before the border closed. Mohammed's a reporter, he's lived in Gaza his whole life, and he spent the last year since he left continuing to report and talk to people back home. Some are people he knows,

others he finds through his reporting. He's been trying to document each phase of the current war. Last fall, the messages and voice memos Mohammed was getting from people in Gaza were about evacuations, were about people figuring out where to move to be safe. In November and December, the messages were about the cold. Winter was coming.

Now, they've turned to food. Israel has imposed restrictions on food and supplies entering Gaza throughout the war. In March, they began a total blockade. No food was allowed in for 11 weeks. Israel said it was to pressure Hamas to release hostages. Now, just this week, Israel is allowing a trickle of food, but it's doing so through a brand new privately run system that's backed by Israel and the U.S. This new system now has only three food distribution sites running. There used to

be hundreds. A UN official has said the new system, quote, cannot possibly meet Gaza's needs. The upshot, as of the moment I'm saying this, is there's still not enough food inside Gaza, especially in the north. Mohammed has been talking to people there. Here he is. A few weeks ago, I got a phone call from my friend, Abdul Hakim Aburayas. He's in Gaza, in the north. He said, I can't explain the pain in my stomach,

in my bones, in my head. I knew exactly what he meant. Right before I left Gaza a year ago, I was in the north of the strip. There was a blockade then as well. No food or supplies. My son and I were both diagnosed with acute malnutrition. Now it's not just the north. All of Gaza is hungry. When I call people there now, all I hear are stories of hunger. The quiet and desperate tricks that people have come up with to survive.

A father living in my old neighborhood, a Dharaj, told me his family of five shared a single Snickers bar for lunch. We slice it like cake, he said. We make it a moment. I talked to a son in charge of searching for food for his whole family, who told me, We boil herbs to trick our bodies into thinking we're full. We feed the children first, then wait to see if there is anything left. Most nights there isn't. Now I'm talking a lot to another person in the north, Hodeske. She is 20 years old.

A few months ago she messaged me out of the blue. She said she wanted to be a journalist, asked me for advice on how to pitch to news outlets. These days, I message her for updates. I called her on week 11 of the blockade, week 11 of no food going into Gaza. We don't just talk about food. She has ambitions. I asked which journalists from Gaza she'd been reading lately. So I read for Hind El Khudary, her reports, and also I read for Ahmad El Dreemli, if you know him. Of course you know him. So you're not reading my work. Okay, thank you.

Of course not. I swear, I swear I did for you. I'm sorry. I wrote some vocabularies and I will send you some photos after finishing this interview to show you what I'm reading for you. She did. Huda is a very serious student. She's studying English literature online through the Islamic University of Gaza, first in her class. She told me studying brings her peace. It was nighttime in Gaza when we talked, nine hours since she'd last eaten. And I bought a bottle of water here next to me. Every time I feel like hangry, I drink some and then I feel like, oh, I'm full. And I'm intending to drink a lot of water in the coming days in order to stay alive.

This is the only way my stomach will be full a little bit. This is how I make myself patient with hangry. It's exam time right now. Huda has been putting her headphones on and studying late into the night. I was astonished by Huda's ability to stay focused. Nighttime is terrifying in Gaza. All we could hear was explosions and the sound of drones getting closer. But Huda just studies through it.

So when all of my siblings and my parents fell asleep, I study. So when I get hungry, sometimes at night, you know what I do, I go to the kitchen and I eat a spoon of zaatar. So we have a lot of zaatar. Okay. So in order to not make my mom notice that I am eating from it, I go to the kitchen. So you sneak a bite in silence so that no one... Exactly. Thank God that my parents don't know English. Okay. And sometimes I feel like I am guilty because it's for my siblings in the morning. Oh my God. But I want to satisfy my hunger and I'm studying and I want to focus. And then I, after eating those two spoons, I drink like one or two cups of water in order to help to feel like I had a dinner. You know, I yearn for eating some cheese.

Before the war, Huda was the kind of person who liked to take pictures of what she was eating, especially when she made it. These days, when she gets hungry, she scrolls through those pictures. She said it helps her feel full just looking at them. She told me about a photo of McLooba from 2022, a screenshot of a burger ad. She told me she zooms in and pretends she's picking the crispy bits off the chicken.

I wanted to have an idea if you've ever been to the market lately and what kinds of things that are still being sold. Okay so most of the market shelves are really scarce and are empty. You can see some canned food or even lentils rice soup pasta These are the items that are currently available, but in a very very very Expensive prices like almost $11 for a candy bar a Year ago prices were high high but not this high. People still had stored food. There were still some farms. The market I used to shop at still

had stock. There was snacks and there was green leaves, some vegetables, some green vegetables. Yeah. That are not available now. I hope they was available so I can make myself busy with them while studying. There was also there was also some coffee. There was also some tea. There was some sugar that we could we would use sometimes like with we could we can sweeten some water with sugar and we can drink and so it could have some sort of a feeling of a sweet thing that could be enough for the body to feel full at some point somehow. Sugar, is it available? How much does it cost to get one kilo of sugar? Let me ask my brother how does it cost?

How does it cost? $30 for one kilo. Oh my gosh. A kilo is a little over two pounds. Before the war, a kilo of sugar cost about 25 cents, 30 cents on the high end. When I was still in Gaza, a kilo of sugar was already outrageous. $16. And it was already hard to find. Now, there's almost nothing. Farmland has been wiped out. Greenhouses turned to ash. It's not just the food that's gone. There is no fuel to cook what little might be left. Rice,

lentils. There is no fuel to even boil water. There isn't any burning wood around you right yeah there is no wood right now we sometimes put some plastics you know or nylon or whatever we find you know in the street in order to fuel the fire. Yeah. When I study, I have my notebooks, which are really close to my heart and I can't let them burn them up. Yeah.

Yeah. But, um, I have another papers. These are for my mom when she burns the food. When she cooks. She burns some of our clothes. When we burn these things I feel like we are burning some of our memories. A huge number, a huge amount of our memories. I dreamed of my cousin that was killed in the first beginning of the war just two days ago. My cousin that was killed in the first beginning of the war, just two days ago, she was telling me that she was missing me and that she wants me to eat some food.

She tells me that she feels like I am hungry. She was cooking for me something that I love, which is the pasta. In a very delicious way, she made it in the dream. And then when I woke up, I felt like I am full. I felt like I don't want to eat, you know? It's really something indescribable. And I felt so sad when I saw her in my dream. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for your loss. I'm so sorry. I remember the way hunger settled into my body, not just as pain but as a kind of relief. I remember the way hunger settled into my body, not just as pain but as a kind of relief. I remember the way hunger settled into my body, not just as pain but as a kind of relief.

I remember the way hunger settled into my body, not just as pain but as a kind of relief. I remember the way hunger settled into my body, not just as pain but as a kind of relief. Oh my god. I remember the way hunger settled into my body, not just as pain, but as a kind of silence. When I stood up, the room spun. My mouth tasted like metal. My limbs felt heavy, like I was wading through water. I stopped feeling hunger as a craving. It became something else.

A slow shutting down. I have never ever expected to reach to such level to seek food to think of food to only just want to I just want to eat food. And I feel like people are going insane. We could lose our minds if we didn't have food immediately. When I first talked to Huda, I could tell she was ambitious. She talked about wanting to be a teacher. She dreamt of getting her master's degree abroad. But just before we talked,

she had started to rethink that plan because she doesn't want to leave Gaza behind. The Israelis are trying to erase all the traces of Palestinians and uprooted them, and they are trying to put the idea of traveling and to get out of Gaza but we will not we will always stay in our home and sometimes I feel like how does the wall outside Gaza feel how is the walls you know behind that like how did you feel when you get on a plane You know, behind the Rafaq Krosain. Like, how did you feel when you get on a plane?

Can you tell me? I was surprised by Huda's question, and I had trouble answering it. It slammed me back to the moment as I was crossing into Egypt. No drones, no sounds of war. People were just living, only 30 minutes away from Gaza. Sipping sodas, grilling on the street, kids heading to school, others coming back from college. The world outside Gaza, it's an overwhelming mix of things. My mouth isn't capable of what it wants to speak. I think it's good for us to be in other parts of the world to share what is happening back home. But to do that, I had

to leave everything behind, knowing I may never go back. My home is out of reach. This is kind of breaking my heart. Huda texted me after our call and surprised me with another question. She asked what I had for breakfast. I lied. I said coffee and toast. These two things are still available somewhere in Gaza. I did not tell her I had one egg, a cookie, and a cup of tea.

Muhammad Mahawish is a journalist and writer from Gaza. Diane Wu produced this story. You can find more of Muhammad's reporting in Al Jazeera and MSNBC. He's also a contributing writer for The Nation, which is where we first read about his experiences with hunger. Hoda's access to food has not changed since Mohammed spoke with her two weeks ago. One last thing before we end today's show. Almost every day someone asks me about a kid we put on the show six months ago. Banyas. She's in Gaza. The thing people always want to know. How is she doing?

This is a question I find very difficult to answer. But here we go. I'm gonna try. Banyas is still in central Gaza where she's been displaced from the north. She turned nine during the ceasefire in January. She's living in an apartment with a yard. There are long stretches when she can't go outside when it's not safe enough. When she can go out, there are kids nearby she plays with. She draws. She pretends to be a naturalist. Banyas loves bugs. She does remote school for a few hours each week. She's skinnier. Banyas' family has far more resources than most people in Gaza, but still, her parents

spend most of the day trying to find food lately, or waiting in lines to access an oven where they can cook bread if they have flour. Most days, they don't. They eat lentils and rice, or lentils and pasta. They're running out of canned food. Her mom told me on a good day they'll also share one fried potato for the family of four. How is Banias doing? Should be a really simple question. Banias is wonderful. She's

charming, endlessly curious and energetic and bursting with things to say. She's very funny and Banias is still incredibly good at creating her own reality. I'm so happy today. I'm really, really, really happy. Yeah, why? The kids are playing in the backyard, and I'm standing here in the balcony.

Uh-huh. There is our clothes. Uh-huh. Sometimes it was loud, bumping around us. That's sometimes. Oh, here's one. Yeah, I just heard it. It's not close of us.

This is a lemon tree. I want to show you an olive tree we like to climb. This olive tree is so easy to climb. I just stepped, oh oh, I was about to fall. Okay, I'll switch the camera to show you. I'll hold the phone tightly and you step. Are you climbing the tree right now and and i'm climbing look this is the olive tree and i'm here i'm here here am i i'm the king of the garden i'm the queen of the garden! I'm the queen of the garden! Oh, Banius, is it safe there? It is safe. Don't worry about us.

But there's some shooting around us. Yeah, I can hear it. So, don't go to hide places. I'll just get down. Yeah, maybe come down. So, I doesn't get shoot it yeah Tisha maybe you should go back inside no it's okay it's it's it's far away from us it sounds close if you're scared we can um we can go inside yeah why don't we go inside Baaah. We can go inside. Yeah, why don't we go inside?

You don't, you want to go inside? Yeah. Alright, let's go! That's how Binyas is doing. Fiercely protecting and inventing a childhood for herself. A childhood that is constrained in every way by shooting and bombing by a lack of nutrition, education, and safety. That's how she's doing. It breaks all of our hearts to know that you just want to come on home. So come on home, the telephone.

And it just doesn't seem to do to let you know how much it's true that we love you. Yeah, we love you. Oh, person, person, person. Oh, person, person, person. Oh person, person, person. Our show today was produced by Lily Sullivan. Nancy Updike edited the show. The people who put our show together include Michael Cometay, Angela Gervasi, Ira Glass,

Cassie Howley, Valerie Kipnis, Seth Lind, Miki Meek, Catherine Raimondo, Stone Nelson, Nadia Raymond, Anthony Roman, Alyssa Shipp, Christopher Swatala, and Marisa Robertson-Texter. Our managing editor is Sara Abdurahman, our senior editor is David Kestenbaum, and Manuel Berry is our executive editor. Special thanks today to Hanny Huesli, Laura Albas, Rania Mustafa, Dana Balut, Rachel Strom,

Emna Gjall, Lizzie Ratner, and Suzanne Gabber. Thanks also to KCRW in Los Angeles where I've been recording this week and have had help from Katie Gilchrist, Phil Richards, Mike Stark, and Mike Newport. Voice over for Aseel in Act 1 was performed by Tara Aboud. Our website, thisamericanlife.org. If you become a This American Life partner you'll get bonus content, ad-free listening, and more. To join go to thisamericanlife.org slash life partners. That link is also in the show notes. This American Life is delivered to public radio stations by PRX, the Public Radio

Exchange. I'm Khanna Jaffe-Walt. Ira Glass will be back next week with more stories of this American life.