GAZA, June 20 (Xinhua) -- Ziad Hamouda knows the city of Ramla well: the neighborhoods, streets, orchards, and the family house where his grandfather spent summer evenings surrounded by fig and olive trees.
In truth, he has never visited the city during his 65 years of life.
Growing up in the Jabalia refugee camp in northern Gaza, Hamouda spent countless hours listening to his parents describe the city they fled during the 1948 Nakba.
For decades, Hamouda carried the identity of a refugee inherited from his family. Yet he never imagined experiencing displacement himself.
His gray hair and deeply lined face bear witness to a lifetime spent in Gaza. He grew up in a home built for his family by the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA) in the 1970s and later raised eight children there.
For years, he believed the displacement endured by the first generation belonged to history. The ongoing conflict changed that.
"I lived my entire life carrying the title of refugee, but I only truly understood the meaning of displacement during this war," Hamouda told reporters.
His last night at home came just days after the conflict erupted in October 2023. Four days later, his family fled south to central Gaza. What followed was over a year of repeated displacement between shelters, schools, and camps before returning to northern Gaza during a ceasefire in early 2025. Their home was damaged but standing.
"It wasn't fully habitable," he recalled. "But it was a thousand times better than living in tents."
For several months, the family tried to rebuild a sense of normalcy, observing Ramadan near their home and hoping the worst was over. Renewed military operations eventually forced them to leave again.
Since June 2025, Hamouda has been living in another displacement camp.
"My father left Ramla in 1948 believing he would return after a few days," he said. "Today we left Jabalia, and we don't know when we will return. The difference is that I heard the story of displacement from my father, but now I am living it myself."
According to UNRWA, about 750,000 Palestinians were displaced from their towns and villages during the 1948 conflict. Today, registered refugees and their descendants make up roughly 70 percent of Gaza's population of more than 2 million.
For generations, families preserved memories of places such as Ramla, Jaffa, Majdal and Beersheba. Stories of lost homes, orchards and neighborhoods became part of family identity.
Since October 2023, the United Nations estimates that around 90 percent of Gaza's population has been displaced at least once.
For Hamouda, daily life is dominated by uncertainty.
"There are no normal days anymore. We stay awake because of the bombardment and try to sleep when we can."
Constant fear has become routine. "For more than two years, every one of us has felt that we could be the next target."
Locating scattered relatives by phone has become a daily essential. "'Where are you?' 'Where is your son?' These are the questions we ask every day," he said. Even hours without contact trigger deep anxiety.
Yet moments of joy still emerge. Months ago, Hamouda reunited with a married daughter after nearly a year and a half apart. She had given birth to a baby girl whom she had never met. "I felt that fate had given me a small gift in the middle of all this pain," he said with a faint smile. "The family is scattered, but having them near me again gave me strength."
Nearby, Ahmed Hamouda, 36, a father of six, shares a similar story. Like Ziad, he descends from a family displaced in 1948. Today, he lives in a tent on land once used for family recreation.
"This place used to be somewhere people came for picnics," Ahmed told Xinhua, gazing across rows of tents. "Now it has become a city for displaced people."
His family fled Jabalia and stayed in a school shelter for about 18 months before returning home. But they had to leave again after about a month.
Years of uncertainty have reshaped his priorities. "We only think about what we will eat today and what we will do tomorrow." Access to clean water, food, sanitation, and electricity is a daily struggle.
"Even beautiful memories have faded under the pressure of reality," Ahmed said. "People are focused on protecting their children and surviving. We simply want the war to end and to live with dignity."
According to health authorities in Gaza on Saturday, 1,012 people have been killed and 3,208 others injured in Gaza so far since a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas began in October 2025.
Residential neighborhoods, schools, hospitals, and infrastructure have suffered extensive damage. Coastal areas and open spaces have become vast tent settlements where families queue for water and food, search for medicine, and try to maintain a sense of routine.
Between the stories of Ziad and Ahmed lies the experience of countless Palestinian families who inherited memories of displacement, only to relive them. The descendants of the Nakba now tell their own children about evacuations, shelters, and tents.
In Gaza, "refugee" is more than a legal designation. It is a lived experience passed between generations. Many now hold onto a simpler hope: a safe place to live, stability for their families, and a future in which the next generation will not inherit another story of displacement. Enditem
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