In a battered neighbourhood where streets have turned to dust and winter rain floods makeshift shelters, an elderly grandmother now carries the weight of an entire family’s survival. Known locally as Hajja Reda, she once lived surrounded by the homes of her five married children. Today, she lives on the rubble of what used to be her house, sharing a fragile tent with dozens of grandchildren who have no one else left.

Her journey through the genocidal war has been marked by repeated uprooting. Fifteen times she moved in search of safety that never materialised, watching the world she had spent a lifetime building collapse piece by piece. Those close to her describe a woman whose resilience is stitched together by faith and necessity, someone who endured the loss of sons, daughters, and grandchildren but continued walking so the remaining children would not face this devastation alone.

The first major tragedy struck when one of her sons and his entire family were killed in a strike on the southern coastline, leaving behind no survivors. Months later, her eldest son ventured to a market in central Gaza to find food for his family; he never returned. And within days, as the family gathered in a tent along the coast, another bombardment tore through their shelter, taking with it several more of her children and grandchildren. She awoke in a hospital unsure of who had survived, asking for each name one by one, absorbing the same devastating answer each time.

Despite serious injuries, she discharged herself early to locate the remaining grandchildren. With nowhere to go, she walked with them through the central region, sleeping in the open until a resident offered temporary shelter. Once conditions allowed, she returned to what little was left of her home in Shujaiya. There, she constructed a tent over the debris, trying to recreate a sense of stability for the 36 children now dependent on her. When recent storms drenched their shelter and destroyed their bedding, she described feeling more helpless than at any moment of personal loss. Her elderly husband, also frail, depends on her care as she struggles to support yet another generation.

Her story mirrors that of thousands of children across Gaza who now live without one or both parents. Local estimates suggest that tens of thousands have been orphaned since the beginning of the genocidal war, creating one of the largest child-protection crises in recent history. In this landscape of collective bereavement, women like Hajja Reda embody a quiet but extraordinary defiance: rebuilding family life from ruins, holding together what the world has allowed to fall apart.