Grief and fear in Gaza I'm living in suffering every second and minute of life'

On the morning of 7 October, Neama al-Barawi got up early to prepare her children for school and make bread.

- Jason Burke

At 6.29am, the 36-year-old heard the howl of rockets being launched towards Israel from close to her home in Beit Lahia, one of Gaza's northernmost communities.

Soon rumours began to spread that Hamas, the militant Islamist organisation that had ruled Gaza for almost all Barawi's adult life, had broken through the perimeter fence built around the territory by Israel. Scared, she decided to keep her five children at home.

Next door, Youssef al-Barawi, her nephew, was getting ready for a day at Beit Lahia's university, where he studied medicine, when he heard the rockets. "That was the moment our whole life changed.

Even now, we still do not know if we are dreaming or reality, because what is happening to us is beyond imagination," the 22-year-old said.

A year later, more than 41,500 of those in Gaza who were alive on that warm autumn morning are dead, according to the local health authorities. Most were civilians, and the total represents nearly one in every 55 prewar residents. More than three-quarters have been fully identified. Ten thousand may be buried in rubble, experts believe.

When Neama had finished baking bread, she gathered her children around her and scrolled through news on her phone. An hour or so later, she heard whistles and cheers outside as a car driven from Israel by militants drove past her home.

Only later she would learn what Hamas had wrought: the murder in Israel of 1,200 people, mostly civilians, in their homes or at a music festival, and the abduction of 250 more. But Neama was already certain that Israel's retribution would be terrible, so she started gathering important documents and clothes.

When, that evening, the house of the militant she had seen driving the Israeli car was destroyed in an airstrike, her fears for the future mounted.