Issa Tarazi

My name is Issa Tarazi from Gaza.
On October 7, 2023, my family of four awoke to the sound of the missiles, which were strong and terrifying. We did not understand or realise what exactly was happening. Fear, panic, and terror gripped my children – a feeling that has not left them as violence has only escalated.
That day, the news began to speak of an operation on the border from the other side. Announcements were made on the radio and social media that schools and institutions were shut in the Gaza Strip. It was only then we knew life at that moment and the days that would follow were no longer going to feel normal. We were facing a difficult war.
The first night was one of the fiercest. We felt like we were in an earthquake as our home was convulsing under the intensity of Israel’s bombardment. We crammed ourselves into one room, spread out on the floor, and prepared flashlights and charged batteries – what we thought we needed for our survival. I was also afraid for my father who lived alone in the apartment opposite us, so my wife and I brought him to our home. He was terrified by the sound of the planes, and I feared for his life because he was suffering from heart disease and shortness of breath. The bombs made us all feel psychological conflict and constant fear. These events did not stop in the first days of the war. The bombs were raining down around us and next to the building in which we live. That’s when residents began to evacuate.
After speaking with my wife and father about fleeing we decided to leave our home for a nearby church, which opened its doors to us and many others seeking refuge. We hurriedly gathered a small part of our personal belongings, including clothes and papers. The road was rough, and the extent of the destruction was overwhelming. The bombing was continuing above us, and there were obstacles everywhere, as most of the streets were filled with rubble and debris. The scene was terrifying; panic and terror appeared on the faces of everyone present.
In the church, the silence of the elderly was permeated by the cries of children. They were difficult days, including when food and drink were scarcely available. The church provided us with necessary supplies, including medicine, but with great difficulty. It did its utmost to make us feel some security and remove fear from our souls. We still felt uneasy because we were not in our homes and were shocked by the events and their speed. My father was suffering from a lack of medicine, care, vitamins and healthy food at the time, so my wife was doing everything she could to help care for him and the children.
During the escalation, we all lost our homes. My house, which is located behind Al-Quds Hospital, was completely destroyed. Nothing was left. My wife lost her private office, a law firm that she had established with great effort and fatigue. I also lost my job and my workplace. Then, after several months of pain and suffering, my father died in front of our eyes. We could not treat him or transfer him to the hospital due to the difficult conditions. We could not do anything. It was a painful, frightening and unbelievable scene that happened in front of me and my family. We cried a lot, and my children were in a state of fear and terror at the scene. It was difficult to accept the separation because my children shared a close bond and attachment to their grandfather.
We began to think about leaving Gaza, to protect the psychological and physical safety of our children. What if one of us got sick? Who would we lose next? How would we act? How would we save our children from this hell and endless terror? We lost our home. The church was bombed at the beginning of the war, and we lost relatives and friends, including children, before our eyes. What next? What awaits us?
We made the decisive decision to flee as we all had a visa to visit Australia. But when we decided to travel, there was a notice that my wife Hanaa Tarazi’s visa was inactive. My wife insisted that we leave Gaza for the safety of the children, crying and begging me to hurry up and travel. She did not want us to remain in danger, hunger, thirst, illness and cold. She did not want to see the children suffer any longer. She insisted strongly and urgently that we travel without her. We hastily gathered our modest belongings and said goodbye to her – unable to process our separation in a state of shock.
The road was rugged and sandy. Every step caused difficulty, fatigue and exhaustion while walking. We travelled very long distances against time – struggling to reach Rafah before the crossing gates closed. Amid the danger, hunger and thirst, I was hiding my fear and my uncertainty from my children. What if we were stuck in the south and did not reach the crossing? Where would I stay? I have my young children. What if the crossing was closed? I would be stuck and detained in the south without returning to the north. What would happen to my wife who was left alone; separated from her children for the first time in her life? I wanted to break down crying, but my responsibility towards the children required me to continue, fearlessly.
With great difficulty and effort, we reached the Rafah border crossing – arriving at the time of the crossing employees’ breakfast. They offered us water and Ramadan breakfast meals. After many procedures, we were received by the Australian embassy team who were waiting for us since morning. My daughter cried when we arrived in Al Arish, and she and her brother hugged me. They felt they were finally beyond the grip of danger, but their wish was that their mother was with them. My daughter cried that night because it was the first time she slept without her mother’s embrace.
We headed to Cairo, Egypt, and stayed there for three days. After the procedures were completed, we boarded the plane and arrived in Australia on 6 April 2024. It was difficult because my wife was not able to come with us. My children last saw their mother suffering greatly in dangerous conditions. I now live with my children in a rented house and I bear full responsibility for caring for them in the absence of their mother. My wife is generous, affectionate and tender, and they miss her very much. I do my best to take on the role of mother and father at the same time. My heart is filled with excessive pain. I hope one day we can embrace her, and that this cloud of worries, thinking, anxiety and panic will be removed from us.
We continually listen to and read the news for fear that there might be a bombing near her, as happened in late July when a rocket fell on the church while my wife was sitting at the door of her room. The rocket penetrated the wall and windows and fell in front of her on the ground. If it weren’t for God’s grace, it would have exploded, but Hanaa sustained severe bruises on her back. She still suffers back pain after glass, aluminium and iron fell on her. Upon hearing the news, we were terrified and collapsed. We remain terrified that she might need special supplies and be forced to go out to look for them, exposing herself to extreme danger. We worry that we might lose contact with her or lose her altogether. We live in extreme fear that haunts us all.
I ask your Excellency to kindly help us renew my wife Hanaa’s visa as soon as possible, that expired on 18 October 2024. We have complete confidence in you to do so, to preserve her safety and life and reunite her with her children for Christmas. As we look ahead to the new year, we feel her absence more than ever, and ask that you allow her to be in the arms of her children and the family she loves – rather than alone in the bitter cold. You are our only hope to renew the visa. We long for the echo of her voice to fill the atmosphere of my home, which will give us peace and security. We ask you for the opportunity to start our life full of stability and work together, for the sake of our children who we’ve always wished to see happy and safe.
Thank you for your support and your continuous and permanent efforts.
Issa Tarazi