Gaza City awoke to silence that screamed louder than bombs. At least 29 Palestinians, including 10 children, were burned alive as Israeli warplanes struck a UN school sheltering displaced families in Al-Daraj, central Gaza. Once a refuge, Fahmi Al-Jarjawi School is now a mass grave, reduced to rubble and ash under the weight of another sleepless night.

Bodies charred beyond recognition were pulled from the debris. Survivors were few. Medical teams spoke of dozens more injured and many still missing—buried beneath what was meant to be a safe haven. Elsewhere in Gaza, the bloodshed persisted: a home and makeshift tents struck on Al-Thawra Street, four more lives extinguished. East in Jabalia, the Abed Rabbo family was all but wiped out—19 killed, most of them children.

The air assaults never stopped. Drones fired into homes in Karama. Explosive-laden robots detonated in Beit Lahia. Artillery rained down on Khan Younis. In every direction, destruction. Even the ground trembles in mourning.

For 598 days, Gaza has endured an unrelenting campaign of fire and steel. The death toll now stands at over 53,000, with more than 122,000 injured. But numbers do not capture the smell of burning flesh, the silence of orphaned infants, the fear that clings to survivors with every breath.

Hospitals barely function. Aid is trapped behind closed crossings. The World Health Organization pleads for access, for mercy. But as long as the bombs fall and the world watches in muted horror, Gaza’s night remains endless.