In Gaza, hunger has taken on new forms. Alongside broken buildings and bombed streets, queues are forming outside grain mills—not for flour, but for pasta. Mothers like Inaya Marouf arrive clutching bags of dried spaghetti, hoping to grind it into something resembling bread. But even this fragile lifeline is uncertain. When fuel runs out, the machines stop, and the wait becomes another heartbreak.

With every crossing sealed and aid trucks blocked for more than two months, Gaza is being starved into silence. The World Food Programme and UNRWA have both confirmed what Palestinians feared: flour stocks are gone. Markets are empty. Prices soar. And families are left to improvise with whatever they can find.

Grinding pasta into flour might seem absurd elsewhere, but here it’s survival. Inaya, like many others, discovered that pasta bread tastes surprisingly close to the real thing. That discovery spared her children from going hungry one more night. But she knows this isn’t sustainable. “Our bodies are exhausted,” she says. “There’s nothing left to fight with.”

Alaa Abu Humaidan shares the same struggle. With white flour long gone, she began soaking pasta and lentils to make dough, carefully mixing it with scraps of regular flour when she can. “It’s not just about food anymore,” she says. “It’s about dignity. We’re doing everything we can so our children don’t starve in front of us.”

Every loaf in Gaza today is a small act of defiance. Behind each piece of bread is a mother who stood for hours, walked for miles, and found a way to feed her family when the world looked away. Gaza is not just running out of food—it is being forced to live without hope.

Yet even in this silence, the people endure.