A Christmas Tale from Gaza

LoopOn Christmas Day, we woke up around five in the morning to four explosions. One in particular rattled the windows of the Doctors Without Borders house like tambourines, or rather, like the clatter of zambombas, typical of these days of celebration or bombing, depending on where you happen to be born. It was the "proportional" response announced by the Israeli authorities to a Christmas Eve attack in the southern Gaza Strip that wounded an Israeli soldier. Here in Gaza, the Tió de Nadal (a traditional Catalan Christmas log) poops explosives.

We gathered in the basement and waited a reasonable amount of time, like children hiding, afraid Santa will catch them and their stockings will be left empty-handed. But in the end, the sun always comes out, and we went up to the patio to look at the sky, where drones are flying instead of sleighs. There's no coffee yet until the generator starts, which won't be until 6:30 in the morning because we have diesel rationed. Here, water is heated with electricity and, like gas or firewood, is priced like gold, frankincense, or myrrh. It's cold, and the fog that rolls in from the Mediterranean mingles with the smoke from burning plastic. Burning trash also provides warmth and, at the same time, gets rid of it.

Warships

Since it's Christmas, today we'll visit the beach in Gaza. It's the second time in over two years that the Doctors Without Borders team has set foot on the beach, even though it's barely 50 meters from our house. On the shore, you're caressed by the same sea that Serrat sings about, but on the horizon, you can see two warships watching over the small boats of Palestinian fishermen who now finally have a few meters to go out and fish for small fish. The warships are a "proportional" escort, according to Israel.

Behind us, the coast that once hosted terraces and cafes is now a sea of plastic, sheltering the most vulnerable who must face their third winter in Torn tents that do not protect from the rainNeither the cold nor the storms protect them. The tents are arranged like a string of nativity scenes on the counter of a Christmas market stall, but they are life-size, simple, and rudimentary, sheltering Palestinian families. However, these babies are apparently not the children of a virgin mother and a heavenly father. They have had the misfortune of being mere human beings, despite being born near Bethlehem. No offense to the religious; it's just a figure of speech. In this part of the world, we already have more than enough religious extremism.

Within seconds, dozens of children surround us. When I see them, I can't help but think of my own children, who will eat far too much this Christmas, as their grandmothers say, and open presents, which we try to limit every year now that Amazon is practically the fourth Wise Man. My new little companions interrogate me with the classic "What's your name? Where are you from?(What's your name? Where are you from?) and they seem to be divided between those who are Mbappé fans and those who are Lamine Yamal fans.

Their gift today will be the anecdote of having finally seen Westerners on the beach again, a hopeful sign that normality can return someday. tent during the always frugal dinner and with the warmth of a fire lit with pallet wood. Another gift is continuing to live, because they are not part of the list of 20,000 murdered children During the last few months, Israel has been responsible for the deaths. The Tel Aviv government and its allies define these deaths as "proportional" punishment in the horror of October 7th.

Although today is a holiday, we're working a little while on urgent matters, as we're healthcare workers on call. Medical cases and lots of care. A few cesarean sections. And some time in front of the computer. Back at the base, we have a special meal because, with good foresight, we packed several nougats in our suitcases. Hummus, falafels, and for dessert, Jijona and chocolate nougat, a peculiar pairing that is a unanimous success among diners of various nationalities.

I take the opportunity to listen to the radio online, which reduces the homesickness of being far from home. They say that Badalona has so many Christmas lights that it rivals Vigo, and there's also a Guinness World Record-holding metal fir tree, but their nativity scene didn't turn out quite as well: It was improvised, in the middle of a storm, under a bridgeAnd all this while they prepare Balthazar's float, a black man who's actually cool, like the Penya players, of course. "Pivots Welcome"We could say, while they expel Africans in the Mediterranean winter, that it is the "proportional" response to the inconveniences they generate, declare the Badalona authorities, while they move to go as every year to the midnight mass, because it is time to celebrate the birth, but the real one, with mercy and fear.

Since it's Christmas, I'll dare to make two wishes. First, that everyone understands and accepts that proportionality has limits, and these red lines are called principles and human rights, which we agreed upon after a world war, and which should never, ever, ever be crossed. And that it not be used as justification for committing unjust or downright evil acts, and that it bring proportionate consequences for the perpetrators. And that, instead, it be used properly, to distribute and redistribute wealth, resources, and justice proportionally.

And my other wish is that the maestro Serrat takes a break from his retirement, because the lyrics of... need updating. MediterraneanThe Mare Nostrum, where I swim and enjoy every summer of my life, but which increasingly gives me more work, here in Gaza, and in rescues. Specifically, when the song saysbecause I was born in the Mediterranean", should say "because I suffered" either "I died in the MediterraneanSerrat, please get to work. I have a feeling you're not a retiree who spends his time looking at construction sites. It's only a few lyrics that need changing. Given that it's a good proposal, proportionally, it seems like very little work.

*David Noguera is the emergency coordinator for Doctors Without Borders (MSF) in Gaza and will recount his experience on the ARA.