All language subtitles for From.Ground.Zero.2024.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.BZ]

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Dear friend.

I'm writing you a letter that I hope
you will read while I'm still alive.

I wish you a happy and beautiful life,

better than mine is now.

I'd like to share with you
my daily struggles:

destruction, ruin, and death

are consuming everything around me.

It's 6 am
and I still haven't shut my eyes.

My body is tired

because of the noise of planes, rockets,

ambulances, and even
the sound of my own thoughts,

the feeling that danger could come
to my friends, my loved ones, or myself.

Sleeping in a tent
is truly exhausting.

Every morning I wait
in line for the public toilets,

listening to the stories
of refugee women.

Then I go back to my tent

to put on makeup to hide
the signs of fatigue and insomnia

that have appeared on my face.

I drink a cup of tea but the taste
has become bland and foreign to me.

It used to accompany me
gently in the mornings

and in my beautiful thoughts.

Then I put on my dress to go out,

the one that almost cost me my life
when I went to get it

from the house in Abasan Kbira
East of Khan Yunis

after we, along with over
a million others, became refugees

at the Egyptian border.

Today we're all heading to Abassan.

We're going because...

I'm visiting our house,

which we thought been destroyed

but by God's grace it's only
partially destroyed

but it's no longer the home
we used to know

By God's grace, it's still standing.

I hope it stays that way and that we'll
return one day, at the end of the war.

There's a lot of mess,
I don't recognize my home anymore.

I forgot to tell you about my cat Reema.

She refused to follow me
and stayed hidden in the house.

God, how I miss her, my home,
and my old life there.

You know, I miss my appearance
and my femininity.

Look at what I used to be
and what I have become.

Let me tell you about our bustling market.

We're looking for some pieces of bread

which is more expensive than
in Paris or London.

Even the canned goods
are often expired.

Diseases and epidemics
have spread.

People who don't die
in bombings

die from disease, hunger,
or oppression.

It is now 4 o'clock,
in this timezone of war

I'm coming back from volunteering

at the service for refugee women.

I can only think about
what might happen next.

Which makes me remember
the worst from the past wars.

Especially the war of 2014,

when they bombed my house,

killed my father and 17 people
from my family.

Despite the silence of the camp
and my need to sleep,

the overcrowding and lack
of privacy in the tent

and outside make everything uncomfortable.

But with the presence
of my little devil Adam,

I feel loved, safe,

and I regain my hope for the future.

You cannot bear to listen to the news,
but you cannot not listen either

because maybe tonight, we'll receive
news of a ceasefire.

Unfortunately,
tonight's news

is of the bombing
of my sister Nora's house

and the death of her whole family
except for her daughter Ghena,

who remained alive
for two days under the rubble.

Everyone around me is in sorrow
and suffering

but they hold on to hope
of returning to their destroyed homes.

They're attached to their land
and their identity

and refuse to relive
the scenario of 1948.

Dear unknown friend,

Of course, I don't know you,

and don't know where or when
you'll read this letter.

I forget to tell you,
in the day I await the night,

either to sleep or
to escape from this reality.

and at night I await the morning
to feel safe.

It's a strange contrast
between day and night.

I'm attaching to this letter
an electronic memory.

It's a video of my life.

Now that's the only way
to communicate with the world

outside of this place on the globe.

This corner of the world,
which today is missing

all means of communication
and transportation.

Believe me, my friend, I had
a beautiful life in a beautiful city.

I love it for itself
and for those who live there.

My advice to you: enjoy life.

Because life is beautiful

and war is ugly, truly ugly.

Omar!

Can anyone hear me?

Omar!

Nour?

Why did you come here? I told you
to stay with your grandmother!

I want to help you find dad.

Help me? Come on.

You want to help me?

Keep calling your father.
God willing, he'll answer you.

Stay here, don't move.

Omar!

Who are you? What are you doing here?

I'm gathering firewood.
Who are you? What do you want?

Who am I?
I'm the owner of the house!

Your house? This is where I gather wood,
I come here every day.

I've never seen you.

Okay, just leave, get out of here!

- Come on, Uncle!
- I'm coming!

- Did your dad answer?
- Yes, but the phone died.

- Are you sure dad answered you?
- Yes.

- What did he say?
- Hello.

- Did he sound okay?
- No.

Okay, that's enough. Stay here.

Wood guy!

- Wood guy!
- What do you want?

- Wait a minute!
- Yes, what?

When I yelled at you, I was lost.
My brother is alive!

He's been under the rubble
for two days, but he's alive.

How could he be alive?
Are you feeling okay?

It's impossible that he's
still alive, how do you know?

His daughter spoke to him, he said "Hello"
but my phone's out of battery.

Call civil defense or
give me your phone and I'll do it.

They won't come out here.

They're digging about a hundred martyrs
out of the house over there.

They told me they had
a bulldozer! Omar! Omar!

Listen to me! Listen to me!
They're out of gasoline!

Take this!
You lift there and I'll lift here.

It's getting too dangerous here,
take the girl and let's go.

We'll come back tomorrow.

We'll come back! We'll come back!

Nour. We. We have to leave.

Let's go, Nour.

Nour! Do you feel that your father
is still alive?

- Nour! Let's leave here.
- My father is still alive.

I know he's still alive.
I promise we'll come back tomorrow.

Scene 35, take one.

Three. Two. One. Action.

I am Ahmad Hassona from Gaza.

I have always dreamed
of becoming a director.

I know that's a distant
and unlikely dream.

Say you want to shoot a movie,
how do you make it happen?

And where do you screen it?

There is not a single cinema
in our country.

What drives you to confront
our society and its leaders?

I have made many documentaries.

But I wanted to direct fictions
that the whole world would watch.

I struggled and worked day and night

I wished there were 48 hours in the day

so I could write
and assemble my team

I found actors who shared my goal

and the dream of screening
this film in major festivals

of traveling and
walking on the red carpet.

After four and a half years,
the film was finally finished.

It was selected for a festival
and won an award.

Neither my team nor I could travel
with the film to receive the award.

We remained imprisoned
in Gaza, deprived of our dreams.

The title of the film is "Istrupya,"
which means "Senseless loss."

Our greatest loss was
not being able to see the film

in front of the audience
on the big screen.

But I learned a lot and became
even more committed to my dream.

My life became a marathon.

I was running after cinema,
searching for films and funding.

Now my life has became
a different kind of marathon.

Now I am running to save
my family's lives and my own.

I run, hoping

to find food and drink
for my children

who flee the bombings
from one house to another.

Ahmad!

Are you okay?

Where are you?

Get out of there!

Are you okay?

Come, come.

I struggle to endure
the things I see and hear.

Everything that is happening to us.
Everything we are going through.

I have just lost my older brother

in a random bombing

next to his house.

What?

The whole tower?

Collapsed?

At that moment, I felt
death catching up with us.

Our only chance of survival
was luck. Our only chance

of escaping the rubble,
the bombed houses, the ruins of the city.

Nowhere in Gaza is safe,
especially in the north

where I currently live.

Here, no humanitarian aid,
nor rescue,

nor civil protection arrives.
All that comes are

bombs, fear, stress,
and insecurity.

Now I wish there were
only 12 hours in the day.

Time has become my enemy.

It offers me no respite.

My only priority is staying alive

running, gathering wood
to make fire,

to cook and eat
whatever you can find.

Forgive me, cinema.

I will put the camera aside
and run with the others.

among the destroyed houses

For the moment I will abandon
you, cinema, who

shows the hunger of a people.

Today is the first time I have heard
the sound of a civilian airplane.

They call it the aid plane.

Planes fly overhead
and the people follow them.

Including me,

to feed my children.

Are they coming?

Up there.

Boys!

Run!

There! That's it.

Give me a bag!

All this flour on the ground.

Isn't this tragic?

- As you can see, we're picking up
flour and sand.

- That's all we have left to do.

We pick up whatever
we find on the ground.

We have to eat.

Many emotions, thoughts
that I can't express

about this war,
which has ground us down.

Many details,
difficult to hear.

All I can say is:

Cinema, forgive me.

Why do I always have a bag of clothes?

Because we might be bombed,
or have to leave

or there could be a leaflet drop

telling us to evacuate,
or a ground invasion.

You grab the bag and run.

One Thursday night at 1:07

I wake up, it seems like

the house is fine

and suddenly the whole house
is in darkness.

Our things are flying everywhere.
The cat flies with his basket,

People surrounded by debris everywhere.

You can’t do anything, there's
no time to cry, to react. It's impossible.

In that moment all I want
is to save myself.

I get out, I run. A neighbour grabs me
and takes me into his house.

I scream as if it were a dream,
an unreal nightmare.

Since that day, whenever I wake up

I see myself sitting in my house
and I imagine...

I imagine myself at home.

Sleeping in the living room

even though it’s very hot.

Since we’ve been here,

sometimes I go to bed early
because I am afraid that suddenly

even though the house seems fine,

the darkness will come back
and it will start again.

Do you know where the others are?

Mum!

I’m always trying to keep busy.

Painting a lot, studying,
reading and writing.

I do all this to relieve the stress.

I am alive.

I am alive.

There are always drones
making a buzzing sound.

They are always above our heads
when we sleep, study, dance,...

When I dance, I always put on my headphones
and turn on the music.

Suddenly, I have a flashback

my brain stops because of the drones.

My thoughts scatter.

So you take refuge in your headphones.

Where should we go?

Are you alone, or are there
people in the street?

We left the park and
we want to go to another street.

Wait.

Oh, my God.

Should we go to Khalil's?

Go to Khalil's.

How can we get there? Is it safe?

Go to Khalil's.

With God's help, go quickly.

We're leaving Farah's place.

Come back, come back.

Go into any house,
get inside.

Why did you go out under the bombs?

Walk, take your brother's hand.

What's wrong, Yasmine?

Why did you go outside?

Are you there?

We're at the top of the street.

God protect us.

Quickly, quickly.

Get into the first house.

We're in front of Khalil's.

Have you arrived?

-They're not here.
-Why?

Did they go out?

If Khalil's family isn't there,
go back home.

Maybe the door is open.

Shahin, open the door.

Open the door.

Yasmine what's happening?

We're in Khalil's house.

And I'm the idiot who let you go out.

We're at Khalil's.

Get in, get inside.

There is no strength or power
but from God.

Dear God, what can I do about this war?

Nothing has ever stopped me from
doing stand-up.

Even the war.

War or no war

I will take my shower and do the show.

Damn, look at that queue.

It doesn't matter.
Even if I have to wait all day,

I need to take my shower before the show.

Hello? Yes, I'm coming.

Yes, I finally took my shower.
Yes, I'm coming.

Get ready. I'm coming.

Ok. See you in a bit.

I will do the best stand-up ever.

God.

Amazing.

It's not just that

I'm going to do stand-up

And where?
In the place most dear to me.

In Al Nuseirat.

Oh. Nuseirat, a pain in the heart

More than 200 dead in one hour.

I'm coming to perform.

There's no performance stronger than this.

Thank you.

We must not block the arm,

because afterwards we need
to be able to move it.

Since we became refugees,
I haven't seen my friends again.

When the bombing starts,

my mother panics in the camp

She drops everything she's carrying,
letting it fall and break

When she's inside, she rushes outside.

When she's outside, she runs back in.

She breaks everything.

When the bombs fell, we fled the house.

We didn't know where to go,
we stayed in the middle of the street.

All the buildings were falling down.

An ambulance told us to leave the street.

Our mother grabbed us
and we started running.

My little brother is one year old.

He can only say "daddy"

and make the sound of an ambulance.

My mother said to my aunt

"I want to write my children's names
on their arms."

While she was doing it

I asked her why.

She started crying.

When mom wrote on me, she was crying.

And so was I.

My mother also wrote my name on my body.

If they bomb us, we'll be in pieces.

I don't want them to write on my body.

I don't want them to gather my pieces.

What have we decided
to make the film about?

Writing on the bodies

No! The story of my brother
and the ambulance.

The writing on the bodies is better.

And you Hassan, what do you think?

Do what you want, as long as I'm the hero.

When my mother wrote our names
on my brother's and my body

I couldn't sleep.

I ended up rubbing it off.

I wanted t o rub off my brother's.
He asked me why,

I told him "mom wanted me too"

so you can sleep

because I know you're very sensitive.

Make a small movement
and then take a picture.

And take your hand away.

No. That's too much.

We start here.

No, you can't move it like that.

You move him, you take your hand away
and you tell him to take the photo.

Move him.

Photo. Take a photo.

Take a photo.

Take a photo.

Now, we're going to zoom in,

you need to move the camera
from here downwards.

Slowly.

Zoom in a little more.

Like that we get
a close-up on his face.

Move aside and let me out.

Mom wrote on my arm.

She's afraid for us because of the planes.

If they bomb us and kill us

we'll be identified.

from our names written on our bodies.

Are mom and dad afraid of the planes?

And you? Are you scared?

I don't like ambulances.

Why are you rubbing it off?

Mom wrote it

in case we die.

I'll erase it for you so you can sleep.

Ever since mom wrote it

I've been having nightmares.

Give me the rock, Maya.

Give it to me, my darling.

Give me one.

One more.

I'm going to get some water

If I find some, I'll charge my phone

and see if there's any bread,

and while I'm at it, I'll see
if I can find some food.

Goodbye.

There's no more?

Is there a space to charge my phone here?

-Is there any chance of charging it?
-Give it to me, I'll check.

Come back in an hour.

Keep it, I'll be back in an hour.

Alright, come back later.

Take care of it.

Alright.

Too bad for the bread today.

Oh well.

No more water?

Hello.

Sorry, there's no way to charge it.

- Not possible?
- No.

Any space left?

All taken.

Thanks.

Goodbye.

- Hello
- Hello

Professor Ali?

I was one of your students
two years ago.

- That's right, that's right.
- Do you need anything?

No thank you, my friend,

I have everything I need.

But if you need anything,

I'm here.

Thank you, my friend.

Here lies Kamal Youssef
Teacher, Martyred 12/01/2024

On the 11th of November 2023

it got too dangerous.

We decided to leave Gaza,

and head North.

My mother said to take
only the essentials.

We would have to walk a lot
and could not be overburdened.

I looked at my bookshelf.

What is heavier than my grief?

I didn’t know which books to take.

The ones I had read and cherished

or the ones that might
lighten my days.

I took nothing.

We didn’t want to overburden ourselves.

Yet I took three suitcases,

heavier than any books.

I still remember that moment

as we walked under the sun,

past the soldiers and

how I carried that heavy burden

because we couldn't get tired
or drop a single thing.

I’m very surprised that we survived.

It's as if those days
are no longer part of my life.

One strange dream follows another,
and wakes me up.

It's as if I were living in my books,
guilty of leaving them behind.

Especially 'The Woman from Tantoria'.

It’s the first thing
I should have taken

but I felt it would bring bad luck.

Leaving Gaza in a crowd

reminds me of what happens in the book

when they were forced to leave
the village of Tantura,

when the occupation forced them to flee,

leaving all their belongings behind,

in 1948.

I didn't take it because
in the book they couldn’t return.

And I want to return.

I feel like I’m in a book.

I miss the sea, like Ruqqaya does.

Ruqqaya, the woman in the novel,
a daughter of the sea

was forced from her village.

We are the same.

Who am I? I'm a daughter of the sea,
forced to become a refugee

I miss the sea.

I am Ala'a. Why have I become Ruqqaya?

Who decided to trap me inside the book

until the sky freezes

and to make me live every day away from
my city of Gaza, my sea, and my books?

Ruqqaya grew up far from her home,

she died oppressed

and never returned.

When I think back to mother saying
"don't overburden yourself"

the instruction that made me
leave all my books behind

I catch myself laughing.

What is heavier than oppression?

How could I have thought for an instant
that my books weighed more?

What happened ?

How come I woke up in a body bag?

How did I end up in this bag?

What country? What life?

What happened to me yesterday?

Remember what you did yesterday.

Yesterday,
I was walking down the street.

I was looking at our life,
what it had become.

There I met my friend

We sat on the edge of the camp

with no work, no occupation.

We were happy to still be alive.

God, where were we, and where are we?

Then, I chopped wood feverishly.

I completely destroyed it.

I took out all my frustrations on it.

We cooked, ate

and then Karim, what did you do?

I went to see the sea.

Nothing remains of this city,

except the sea.

That being said,
I returned to my tent.

I was exhausted.

I wanted to sleep a little.

I had neither mattress, nor pillow,

nor blanket.

Leaving our homes,

we couldn't take anything with us.

I see myself leaving the tent
and stepping out.

Free washing and burial for the deceased.

When I took the body bag,

someone stopped me

and told me it's forbidden
to take one of these bags.

I replied: if I become a martyr,
will one be returned to me?

He said yes.

Let me then
enjoy it while I'm alive,

and not just after my death.

It's as if you feel yourself
going from Hell to Heaven.

Abed!

Abed! What do you need?

I was targeted three times in 24 hours.

The first time my cousin and I
were returning from Camp 5.

They attacked the house and
we were buried in the wreckage.

I was wounded in the eye.
An ambulance took me to the hospital.

Then we came back home.

My cousin arrived at the door
and the attack began.

Suddenly, there was no more electricity,

debris fell on us like rain.

The place became very narrow.
My cousin Khalid was close to me.

Suddenly, Khalid shouts "Mosab!"

The door handle
was preventing him from breathing.

I tried to help him but I could
only move the upper part of my body.

I tried to get him free from the door

but there were 3 meters
of debris on top of us.

I couldn't imagine
what was above us.

I thought it was doable
but I wasn't able to.

I had my phone, I turned it on,
my brother was near me.

I couldn't help them.

I started calling
for help on the phone.

It's Samy, another cousin,
talking to me.

Tell him we're coming slowly
so the rubble doesn't fall on him.

We're coming boys we're coming!

Slowly, slowly.

When they heard my voice, they knew
I was the only one still alive.

The civil defense started working.

They got me out first
after an hour and a half.

Is anyone up there?

- No, nobody, Mosab.
- My head is under pressure.

- Are you breathing normally?
- I'm fine, I'm not injured.

Do you see that? If someone breaks it
and removes this stone I can get out.

Ok, ok, one minute.

Mosab, who's next to you?

- Khalid? Is he dead?
- Yes.

Khalid, my cousin,
he was my childhood friend,

We were the same age.

We went to the same school
from kindergarten to high school.

Thank God I wasn't injured,
I could move and walk.

After going to the hospital
and burying our martyrs,

I went to my uncle's house.

We sat down
and had dinner together.

After a few moments,

we were terrified by
the sound of an explosion.

I heard
the explosion,

and suddenly we were buried
under debris again.

A part of the mosque's roof
fell on us.

The ground around us
was completely destroyed.

Our martyrs were
8 children from my family,

my aunt and her husband,

my aunt's daughter and
her 5-year-old daughter,

The third attack
was the toughest of those 24 hours.

Thank God, come out.
Let him wash his face.

- I can stand up, I can.
- Ok, enough, leave him, leave him.

Do you want to make an opening there?
The wall that supports the door,

you have to cut a meter off it.

We thank God you're alive.

When I came out,

the first thing I thought of was
my father and mother.

When I saw them under the rubble
They were beside me.

My mother, God bless her,
had her head against mine.

My father's leg
was near my head.

I could feel them.

When I came out, my brother and I
started removing the debris.

To rescue my mother and father first,
even though my sister, my niece,

my uncle, my aunt,

and five other members of my family
were under there too.

I miss my family, my home
and my work.

Every stage of my life was demolished
in front of my eyes.

It's God's will.

Today is one of the hardest days
of my life.

Today, I saw my future
slip through my hands.

What I held most dear
in life is gone.

I have just lost the one I love.

Nour has gone.

We had agreed

that I would propose to her soon.

I didn't know

this would be our fate.

She's gone

and her family too.

We had agreed
on the names of our children.

The first boy would be named Jad

and if it was a girl, Nathalie.

She's under the rubble.

You know what...

even they could not bring her out.

I feel such oppression.

I can't even cry.

God.

God.

When will this war end?

I...

Come here

I can't help it, I love her.

Eat, Wanissa

Bakery

I'm Etimmad,
director of the short film "Wanissa"

As I was filming,

I was crushed by a tragic event.

I learned about the death of my brother
Nassem and his children.

It shattered me.

I was depressed

and I lost the desire
to continue this work.

I was just starting
but I couldn't continue filming.

I gave up, I felt alone,
unable to do anything.

I had planned an ending

where Ahmad, my character, would die
in a bombing

and Wanissa, the donkey,
would return home alone.

I realized, after the tragedy,
that I couldn't finish the story.

I could only finish it
with my testimony.

Every thing of beauty
is an offering to the gods.

And we are the offerings
of the present time.

I became a writer with the wish to free myself
from the traditional Palestinian narrative.

I chose to tell stories of our society
and I decided

to talk about life, hope, and love.

Since the war, I didn't know if I could
approach these subjects in the same way.

Displaced, I suddenly moved
from one life to another

As if I had opened a door
into another time...

full of tents
and sad people,

dusty faces,

streets flooded with sewage.

The markets, the canned food,
everything is too expensive.

You need a fortune just
to find something to eat.

Today, I want to tell you
a story. Are you ready?

I want to tell you the story
of my grandfather Khaled.

When he fled Jaffa, he landed in Gaza.

He lived in tents

like the ones
we live in today.

They displaced us from Jaffa to Gaza.

They displaced us from Gaza
to other places

so that we would forget Jaffa.

But we will never forget.

I fell over when I picked up
that brochure for you.

We have lost many relatives,

friends, family, a father.

The most painful thing
is that they are just numbers now.

We know they had a past,
dreams, a life, and a future.

But when the news comes, they tell us
100, 200 martyrs, a family wiped out,

Numbers.
No recognition of the human beings.

What's that over there?

Can you see the fire?

I don't know when the war will end.

We will all need therapy
to endure all the pain.

No one is okay.

Take me away, oh God,
from this mournful garden.

I want to live in peace.

Hello Hana.

What if we filmed people from Khozaha

who have come home after the fighting?

These people have found
their homes destroyed,

and they have very powerful testimonies.

Listen Hanaa,
I was just at the camp

and I saw a man in the sea
because he had no water to wash himself,

and women washing dishes in the sea.

Listen Hanaa, there's a story
that no one has told yet.

a house was bombed and most
of the bodies were removed from the rubble

Three are still under the rubble.

The family whose house it was

or rather the surviving members

wrote on the rubble that Omar, Abdulah,
and Mazin are still buried underneath.

What do you think of this subject
that noone has touched so far?

No Ahmad, I don't want any
of the stories you've just proposed to me.

Listen, I'm looking for a subject that
speaks of joy, happiness, hope, love

with music

Who makes music in Gaza, Ahmad?

Who makes music in Rafah?

Ahmad

Hello, how are you?
What have you found?

I have the music you're looking for

Great

I'll call Saïd.

Hello, how are you?

-What are you doing these days?
-Nothing, nothing.

Hey it's hot in here.

Hello everyone.

Thank you.

I'm against everything that's happening.

On October 7th, I said to myself
"no no no".

No, it's not possible.
It can't be real.

I reject despair,
frustration, and ugliness.

When I decided to make a film
during the war,

I chose people like me.

I chose you.

And what if we sang a song
dedicated to love and hope?

Shall we?

Tomorrow we will forget the crises.
They will pass

and we will see beautiful smiles again.

Tomorrow, we will forget the crises,
they will pass

and we will see beautiful smiles again.

Forget and try to stay calm.

It's certain,
the happy days will return.

Leave what's passed behind you.

Ahead of you, beautiful days
and beautiful years await.

Amidst the greatest crises,
we are all with you.

Pursue your dreams and build Palestine.

Tomorrow, we will forget the crises,
they will pass

and we will see beautiful smiles again.

Forget and try to stay calm.

It's certain,
the happy days will return.

In fact, I say no to all this despair.

If we're not convinced
to say no to all of this...

As long as you have the power to say no,

then you can have hope.

If you don't insist,
deep inside you

on saying no,
even with those close to you,

It will be impossible.

I say no in order to be able
to keep giving and to continue.

In certain situations,
the children are sad. Why?

That becomes my responsibility. When
I play or sing, it makes them happy.

So I do it.

Look how eager the children are.
They're waiting for the whistle.

We want to laugh, rejoice,
sing and express our emotions.

Yes, there are bombings
and destruction

and many other things

that take us back to zero.

But that only increases
our challenge to overcome.

Our ambition was
as big as the world.

With great ambition, we dreamed,
worked hard and planned.

Now my ambition is
to find a safe place to sleep.

I've put my family and
my sisters in a safe place.

Relax, oh sea.

We've been absent for a long time.

Send my regards

to Gaza, who raised us.

Rhaff, what would you say "No" to?

No to injustice,
No to violence,

No to the violation of human rights

No! To everything that goes against
humanity, joy, life...

against our smiles...

the smiles of our children

our dreams,

No to everything that destroys our hopes

No to everything that destroys us.

My cousin died. His name was Yehya.

Everyone was shocked.

It was night-time.

They went to bury him at 10 p.m.
It was very late.

When we heard about his death,
we were all in shock.

I was trapped under
the rubble for 6 hours.

I was calling for my brothers
and my mother.

I wanted my brothers and my mother.

I was shouting "Help us, Help us.

Voices were asking if
there were any survivors.

I shouted: “Yes, I am Myriam, help me!”.

So the civil defence
were able to locate me in my room.

They pulled me out after 6 hours.

My room was here, and
that was my parents’ room

and my brother’s room was over there.

That was the kitchen, and that's
the remains of the terrace...

That’s the bed from your room.
Look, there.

Yes, that’s where
they pulled me out from.

I am very afraid of the night.
Night means bombings...

All those who died as martyrs,
my friends and family.

We got the news of their deaths at night.

So, when night comes, it’s a nightmare.

The night scares me. I dont' like it.
I don’t want to lose anyone else.

Whenever the sun goes down
and the moon comes out, I lose somebody.

I was tidying my wardrobe when suddenly
the rubble of the house fell on me.

I was scared for my mother
and my whole family.

When they pulled me out,

I learned that my mother was dead.
So were my sisters.

I'm still terrified.

My aunt is still under the rubble.

The noise of the rockets makes
an unbearable pressure inside my ears.

The sound of the rockeks is very close.

When they are shooting, I feel it inside
my ears and it hurts a lot.

I have many good memories
of my life in this house,

of going to school and coming back home.

Mum used to take care of me,
help me with my homework,

and give me advice...

I miss her a lot.

I also miss my sister,

terribly.

My grandfather, my aunt, family members...

In total 24 people died in the building...

I often wish that this war would stop.

Our mental health is ruined.
We cannot live with this war any longer.

I have no news of my school friends.

Are they alive or dead?

Do they live in tents or houses?
I don’t know.

I am exhausted..
I have lived through difficult days.

I can’t go on living like this...

We are so tired.

These are the sketches from my project.

This project was my hope
of being recognized at university.

but they blew up the university
about two weeks ago.

Now I don't have any project left
anywhere

in the workshop, at university,
or anywhere.

This is the following version

of the sketch from my graduation project

but the explosion blew all that away,
from here to over there.

In Gaza, the only horizon we have
is the sea.

And it's lucky that the sea exists.

Without it, I don't know
what would become of us.

I managed to capture the waves,
the waves of the sea of Gaza.

But it's been about five months
since I last saw it.

Now I'm afraid to go there.

This one is called "Living Peace".
It represents a dove.

Because every time we saw
a white dove,

it gave us hope.

I covered them with pearls,

to express serenity.

Serenity comes from peace,
the dove calls for peace.

But there is no more peace.

And anyway, there's no more
possibility of a culture of peace.

The peace we have now
is a murderous peace.

I was taking a risk with this one

with this idea
of shards of mirror

covering the form.

I was afraid this work
would be misunderstood.

or that it might even be attacked,
but on the contrary, people liked it

and it attracted a lot of attention.

This is a wide view of the city of Gaza

We often imagined Gaza from afar.

We imagined its beauty.

But if you look more closely at Gaza,

you'll see that it's
charged with history.

The details of every stone,
the old stones

the stones tell stories,
the stories of our lives.

If you focus on each stone,
you can read those stories there.

So I chose
an overview of Gaza.

I was preparing
to participate in exhibitions

and even in international exhibitions

but I could never have imagined that
everything would be destroyed like this.

Even when the war started,
I never imagined

that it would be like this.

But the war spared no one.

There is still hope, Ranin!

It's strange that
hope is still here.

Majd, Majd.
Where are you? Come out and play.

- Mum, I want to go and play with Oussama.
- Where are you going to play? Don't go too far.

Mum, I don't understand.

You say "Don't play in front of the tent,
your dad is sleeping"

"Don't go too far, I'm scared."

What can I do? Do you want me
to play on the roof of the tent?

Just don't go far, that's all.

And bring back some boxes for the fire.

Good God, they're even bombing our tents.

Where can we go?

Are you okay, son?

Are you both okay?

Ah! Aren't you Seham? My wife?

Did you call me Seham? Your wife?

Do you really remember me?

Do you really remember me, Khaled?

Have you come back to us, Khaled?

Why? Where have I been?

Who is this boy?

This is your son Majd.

I was pregnant
during the 2014 war.

An explosion made you lose your memory.

For we Palestinians, that is how it goes.

One explosion makes us leave

and another makes us return.

The explosion just now has woken you up.

The 2014 war?

But what year is it now?

Why are we in a tent?

Are we camping on the beach?

We have traveled a long way, it's true

but not to the beach.

We have taken refuge in Khan Younis.

Are you my son?

Can this be possible?

I closed my eyes

and when I open them again

I learn that I have a son
as beautiful as you?

Have I awoken in the future
or in the past?

Wasn't the Nakba in 1948?

Or has the order of
numbers changed too?

Listen to me, Dad.

Oh, I love to hear that word... Dad

but I still have to get used to it.

This war is not like all the others.

This time there is nothing left.

They have destroyed everything.

Everything is gone.

Good God... Good God...

Everything is gone?

Tell me...

what else?

Mum took us and we fled to Khan Younis.

Everyone in the city was displaced.

And the Arabs? And the Muslims?

What is everyone doing?

I told you, Khaled

everything is gone.

It's as if the earth ceased to exist.

Everyone is just watching

Everything is gone.

It looks like there is no one left.

Everything is gone.

If everything is gone

then let’s go

back to where I was.

Where do you want to take us, Dad?

To a safe place?

I am dying of fear.

Let’s all lose our memories.

And forget everything.

No Khaled, we will never forget.

The safest thing is to stay together.

You know Seham, you are
the only one I never forgot.

Every time I see you

I feel like my heart is
going to explode.

Dad...

Every day, the siege.

Every day, we sing.

They destroy and we rebuild.

We are peaceful lovers of flowers
and of the music of the rabab.

The child slowly learns to write.

We are the tide that has returned to
raise up love and to raise the boats.

We are the sun that shines
and illuminates the planets.

Every day, the siege,
Every day, we sing.

They destroy and we rebuild.