I found it yesterday. A piece of shrapnel, cold and brutal, weighing no less than two kilograms, lying beside the bed of a boy no older than nine. He slept, or perhaps only pretended. His breathing was shallow but steady, as though his soul had learned to hide from the world.

There is no medicine left here. Not for the body. Not for the soul. I have long spoken of the disintegration of Gaza’s hospitals: how we labor beneath roofs that leak shrapnel, beside beds where children lie half-alive. The World Health Organization calls it a collapse. Collapse

Utterly sickened by the hullabaloo over Glastonbury acts denouncing our politicians and screaming for freedom for Gaza....meanwhile Dr. Ezzideen quietly informs us they have run out of saline and almost all medicines....no front page for his words....

They have redrawn the map again. But not with ink. With fire. This morning, the voice came from the sky, a metal voice, sharp and sexless, without soul or breath. It said what it always says: Evacuate. Now. Leave your homes. Leave everything. Again. As if the people of Gaza

This beautiful writing wreathed in the pain and desolation of a man who has stood in the midst of an unimaginable horror Dr. Ezzideen

I read every message. Every comment. Every trembling echo left beneath the of my words. I read them with the eyes of a man standing in ruins, and yet, I still dare to hope. And I know, deeply and painfully, that I cannot stop this monstrous war. I cannot summon rain to loosen

They came at dusk: a woman and two children. Not walking, exactly. Drifting, as if carried not by their own will but by a force more ancient and merciless than gravity. The kind of force that drives insects toward flame or the lost toward confession. One of the children pulled a

I read these notes as Dr Ezzideen posts them. They break my heart but through the darkness, his utter humanity shines through and his words, so beautifully written, evoke that most slender of threads in the godforsaken and abandoned beauty of Gaza .Hope.We hold onto it and him

While headlines, including those of Al Jazeera, shift between “progress” and “setbacks” in ceasefire negotiations, and while studios summon experts to analyze the death of a single Israeli soldier, calling it a “turning point” or a symbol of Gaza’s resilience, the truth remains

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BREAKING: The only meal hospital staff in Gaza were receiving — provided by World Central Kitchen — has stopped. WCK has run out of food. Doctors, nurses, paramedics — already collapsing from exhaustion — now have nothing to eat. They are saving lives while starving. This is

We have no food We have no food We have no food We have no food Thank you to everyone who will retweet this and amplify our voices.

Dr. Ezzideen 💔 Terrible. I’m sorry. Not in my name.

My cartoon in today's Irish Examiner. #Gaza

Today I saw the face of what we’ve become: and it was buried in trash. It was after the hospital. My hands still smelled of blood and iodine, as if I had just pulled death out of someone’s lungs. I stepped into the street not as a man walks, but as a shadow stumbles: worn,

I have tried to write. I swear I have. Since yesterday, I have sat with pen in hand, but the words, those traitorous, trembling things, refuse to come. What does one write from hell? What language is left when every syllable is soaked in blood and betrayal? This morning, I saw a

He speaks such terrible truth and we blithely repost and hope that somebody else listens..who can do something, anything..but Dr. Ezzideen is so right...it is over, has been over, we wait for the final denouement when we can breathe and remember there was nothing we could do. SHAME

I have always believed that adaptation is a quiet, treacherous defeat, not the surrender of the body to hunger or of the flesh to cold, but the deeper betrayal, when the soul itself begins to bow before the monstrous, when the conscience grows accustomed to the obscene and no

Last December, when they emptied the hospitals of the north, when the cries of the sick echoed in the cold streets with no walls to contain them, when mothers pressed the heads of their children against their own breasts to silence their agony because there were no doctors left

For days I cannot breathe. My chest burns, my throat closes. We wander like madmen, deranged, waiting for the blow, for the command that will tear us away again. We have known war, yes, two endless years of it, gnawing at us like rats gnaw at the bones of a corpse, but this…