Reading “The Eyes of Gaza” from wartime Ukraine
by Kate Tsurkan
As I rode the overnight train from Chernivtsi to Kyiv, a city increasingly targeted by missiles and drones in recent weeks, I finally had the chance to read Palestinian journalist Plestia Alaqad’s memoir, The Eyes of Gaza.
I vividly remember seeing her videos on social media when Israel’s siege on Gaza began. Yet, amid the events of the war here in Ukraine, it became harder to keep up. It is difficult—shamefully so—to stay deeply engaged with the details of one war while living through another, no matter how outraged or heartbroken you are by it. Still, we cannot turn a blind eye to suffering anywhere in the world if we hope that others will care when we are the ones in need.
The Eyes of Gaza is divided into two parts: first, the diary Alaqad kept during the beginning of Israel’s siege on Gaza after the October 7, 2023 attacks; and second, her reflections on life in exile as Israeli strikes that have already killed more than 55,000 Palestinians continue on her homeland.
Reading about the war in Gaza, I was repeatedly struck by how much Alaqad’s reflections resonated with the wartime reality here in Ukraine, especially her refusal to let Palestinians be cast as “perfect victims,” and the risks that come with not rejecting that role. In her writing, the impossible moral burdens imposed on people living under constant attack are laid painfully bare.
“The perfect victim. That’s what the world expects Palestinians to be. Over the years, the world has passively watched as we’ve been killed, displaced and stripped of our basic rights,” Alaqad writes.
“This normalization of violence against us has resulted in our dehumanization in the eyes of the world. We are no longer seen as individuals with dreams, families and futures, but as mere statistics in an endless cycle of oppression. Killing us has become an accepted norm, and our existence is reduced to a narrative of suffering.”
From the beginning pages of The Eyes of Gaza, Alaqad reasserts her humanity by sharing details of her education and the path that brought her to journalism. She recounts meeting friends in cafes, making plans to study together at a university in Cyprus. Though they have already survived Israeli bombardments on Gaza before—and know all too well that the occupation of Gaza can derail one’s dreams overnight — her generation of young Palestinians continued to do what they can to live their lives to the fullest.
This enduring reality of Israeli occupation also forges small, vital rituals of humanity that bring Palestinians together. Alaqad recounts how, when an Israeli airstrike reduces a home to rubble, it becomes a communal duty to sift through the wreckage in search of what can be saved. If loved ones are absent or unable, others take on the task in their place. When her friend’s house is destroyed while she is abroad, Alaqad fulfills her friend’s sole request: that she tries to retrieve her perfume collection from the ruins.
War strips people of everything that once distinguished them—class, language, gender—until only shared suffering remains to bind them together. Finding intact keepsakes from the rubble of their homes is just one example, however tenuous, of how deeply Palestinians maintain ties to their homeland.
Alaqaad also observes that what most Palestinians fear is not the Israeli army itself but the prospect of losing their land entirely and dying separated from their loved ones. Nobody wants to be forced from their home, despite Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s cynical claim during his recent visit to the U.S. that he didn’t want Gaza to be a “prison” and that he wanted Palestinians to leave if they felt compelled to—as if it were so simple.
In the face of this utter destruction, Alaqad personifies her native Gaza as almost if an effort to revive it, commanding: “Speak to me. Tell me it will get better. Tell me you’ll rise again, stronger than before. Lie to me if you must, but say something, anything. Your silence is deafening.”
Alaqad also remains painfully clear-eyed about the impossibility of documenting a war while trying to survive it. “I don’t want this to become a normal scene. I refuse to accept that this is my life now,” she laments.
At various points during the documented first month of the Israeli siege on Gaza, Alaqad’s desperation over the loss of her former life is unmistakable. She exposes the reader to the rawest corners of her mind without pretense: her bitter hope that the bombing of a major hospital might somehow have a “positive” outcome by finally sparking enough global outrage to end the war; her stark realization that if she were to lose a limb or have her face disfigured in an Israeli airstrike, death might be kinder than living with such wounds; her breaking down at the sight of suffering children who, like her, deserved at least a chance at a normal childhood; and her inner struggle over whether to stay behind—even when her family can flee to safety abroad—so she can continue telling the world what Gaza endures.
At just 23, Alaqad’s debut leaves little doubt that future books will follow—her skill and clarity of vision are already evident. She is poised to become an indispensable chronicler of Israel’s occupation of Palestine and its enduring consequences. For international audiences, The Eyes of Gaza serves as an entry point to understanding the war, like when she evokes the trauma of the Nakba—the mass displacement of Palestinians by Israeli forces in 1948—which her grandfather lived through, demonstrating how history continues to shape the present. Though full history of the Nakba is not examined in detail — understandably so, given that this diary centers on the day-to-day survival of Alaqad and her fellow Palestinians — its mention is crucial, providing a starting point for readers who wish to delve deeper.
At the same time, certain topics often invoked by some of Israel’s supporters to challenge the Palestinian cause receive limited context from Alaqad. A note at the end of the book reveals that the manuscript was reviewed by lawyers to address these concerns. Yet, this understandable caution results in a reluctance to fully engage with potentially contentious issues — an approach that may ultimately weaken the book’s impact. For example, Alaqad never refers to Hamas by name—they are simply “Palestinian fighters.” There is also a carefully-worded line in which she conveys her conflicted emotions about the Hamas-led attacks on October 7, 2023, which killed over 1,000 Israelis, noting that “history didn’t start (on that day).”
I would have been interested to hear more of her perspective on Hamas, as well as its role in Palestinian society leading up to October 7, 2023, and whether Palestinians believe that the attacks organized by the group ultimately set back the Palestinian cause by what happened on that fateful day.
Yet, upon having such thoughts, I had to check myself—I know the anger that rises within me when someone brings up NATO expansion, Russia’s strategic “interests,” or the legacy of Ukrainian nationalist leader Stepan Bandera while discussing Russia’s full-scale war. The most urgent task for Ukrainians and Palestinians alike is currently to survive, and explaining away genocide doesn’t change the simple fact that innocent people are still dying. It only deflects from it.
As I see it, Ukraine-Palestine relations, despite the interference of geopolitics, have been grounded in principles of resisting occupation and defending basic human rights. Ukraine has supported U.N. resolutions opposing Israel’s occupation, and in 2014, Palestine’s ambassador to Ukraine condemned Russia’s invasion and occupation of Ukrainian territory.
Since the start of Russia’s full-scale war in 2022, however, ties between the two countries are admittedly more complex. Ukraine has unsuccessfully sought military support from Israel, while Russia continues to attempt to exert its influence in the region for its own political gains. Palestinian authorities didn’t explicitly condemn the full-scale war, claiming to not want to complicate relations with Ukraine or Russia. Still, despite its own farmland under constant Russian attacks, Ukraine has pledged wheat to Palestine and, while Kyiv has condemned the October 7 attacks, it has also spoken out against the abject and disproportionate suffering of Palestinians that followed in its wake.
Reading The Eyes of Gaza from Ukraine, I was reminded of how no war occurs in a vacuum—the fight for survival, freedom, and justice is never isolated, but part of a larger human story. We would all benefit from recognizing these connections and standing in solidarity with those resisting occupation and injustice, no matter where they are.
Note from the editor:
Hey there, it’s Kate Tsurkan, editor-in-chief and the author of this book review. Literary magazines like Apofenie are able to remain up and running first and foremost thanks to the support of their readers. Please consider becoming a paid member today and helping our community grow.
