In Gaza, the cruelty of war does not end with death. Families are forced to bury their loved ones in makeshift graves, only to exhume them months later when the bombing subsides. Each time, they relive the pain, reopening wounds that never had time to heal. The ground itself bears witness to this cycle of loss, where farewells are rushed, and burials are temporary.

One man trembled as he unearthed his brother, fearing how time had changed him, only to find his face intact. A father laid his daughter to rest in a corner of their land, waiting for the day he could give her the dignity she deserved. When he saw her again, untouched by time, sorrow and solace intertwined in his tears.

A young woman searched tirelessly for the grave of her father, who was killed before her eyes. When she finally found him, she carried him to his final resting place, but the moment did not bring closure. Instead, it revived the horror of his last breath, the helpless cries of her siblings, and the unbearable weight of loss.

Gaza’s dead do not rest easily. Their families must say goodbye over and over again, forced to endure the agony of parting twice. In the face of such brutality, grief repeats—but so does resilience.