IN HER OWN WORDS: REEMA’S STORY PREGNANT AND LIVING THROUGH STARVATION Before the war, I was managing three small businesses: tailoring, cooking, and teaching. My fiancé had just arrived from Belgium a few days before the war. Life was busy, but full of hope. We got married one month after the war started. It was supposed to be the happiest time of my life, but instead it felt like the world collapsed. Everything became extremely difficult. We fell into depression because of food and water shortages, overcrowded shelters, the destruction of our homes, and the loss of everything we had built. Although I had not planned to get pregnant during the war, it happened, and now I am in the final trimester. Pregnancy should be a joy, but in Gaza it feels like fear and hunger. We live in a rented house with a large family and no privacy. Everything is shared: food, water, cooking supplies. My husband developed severe depression, and it affected both me and the baby. We have no income, and we cannot meet our basic needs. There is no cash and no food. My health has worsened. I suffer from malnutrition, anemia, and weight loss because there is not enough food. We often go to bed with empty stomachs. Hygiene is nearly impossible. Cleanliness is gone, in our bodies, in the house, in the tools we use. Most days we go to sleep hungry. For me, pregnancy makes it unbearable. The hunger burns inside my stomach. This is not just famine. It feels like an engineered starvation, a slow death designed for us to endure. We ration the bread. My husband gives me his share because I am pregnant. Sometimes I visit my mother, and if she has food, she gives it to me. Otherwise, I go without. There is no community support. Aid organizations tell me they have nothing. We are left alone to starve. All of these challenges have had a serious impact on our mental health. Depression, fear, and sadness overwhelm us every day. For me, hunger is no longer just about food. It is about the loss of dignity, the constant anxiety, and the trauma of living without stability. Both men and women suffer in these conditions, but women face unique burdens. Men have stronger bodies and can sometimes push through dangerous aid lines, while women risk harassment and abuse. In displacement camps, women live under constant scrutiny and stigma. If a woman tries to get food, she risks being insulted, harassed, or even assaulted. Even in community kitchens, women face verbal harassment and humiliation. Food preparation also requires firewood, which is sold at extremely high prices. As a pregnant woman, sitting by the fire and inhaling smoke harms my health, yet many days I am forced to do it. I have also burned myself while trying to cook under these unsafe conditions. For women, hunger is not just pain. It is humiliation, exposure, and fear. Being pregnant in these conditions adds another layer of suffering. Every bite I eat feels like a fight for survival for both myself and my baby. The struggle is compounded by poverty. I have sold my gold, my clothes, even the few pieces of furniture we had left. We have no income and no aid. Prices are outrageous: one kilo of flour costs 85 shekels, more than 22 US dollars. We need over 100 dollars a day just to have a light meal, and even that would not be enough for two family members. I will never forget the time I went three days without eating. Desperate, I asked someone I knew for a small loan to buy one kilo of flour, but she refused. That refusal broke me. Hunger stripped me of dignity. I have not been able to buy a single thing for my baby. No clothes, no diapers, no milk. I could give birth at any moment. I am terrified my husband’s condition will worsen, and that I will be left to raise this child alone. I hope things get better after I give birth. I hope I can buy clothes and diapers and meet the baby’s needs. And I hope I can help others. God willing, the war will end, and better days will come for all of us. I pray for peace, food, and dignity. I pray to live again. 10