A piece by Nour, coming from Gaza

“In Gaza, we don’t just chase food we chase something bigger. Something that pulls us back to the same scene day after day, despite the fear, despite the blood, despite the bodies scattered around us. It’s a feeling that can’t be simply explained, but it takes over our bodies involuntarily. I’m talking about the overwhelming rush that hits when something surges inside us, driving us to be faster, stronger, sometimes more brutal… yes, adrenaline.

‏My brother Ibrahim had always refused to go to the aid distribution areas. He used to say, “I can’t bear to see the corpses. I can’t watch people kill each other over a sack of flour.” He thought himself too soft to handle that scene. But one day, he decided to go. And there, something inside him shifted. He saw the crowds throngs of people surrounding the trucks, each one desperate to get some food, each one willing to do anything even kill.

‏No one forgets the first time they witness a man beaten to death simply for carrying a bag of flour. It’s a scene more fitting for a horror film than real life, and yet it plays out here. In the chaos, men’s bodies react in strange ways. Suddenly, pain vanishes. Fear disappears. Eyes turn wild, hunting for their prey. The truck moves at a moderate pace, and men race, climb, fight. Who wins? The strongest. Everyone is trying to prove his masculinity, because here, manhood is measured by your ability to snatch food.

‏When Ibrahim returned home that first day, he was trembling not from fear, but from the adrenaline surging through his veins. He described how his body entered a state he didn’t recognize: emotionally numb, hyperfocused, internally sedated. Those who take part in these scenes lose part of their awareness not because they don’t feel, but because their bodies shut feelings down to cope. They enter a state of heightened unconsciousness.

‏I remember one time when Ibrahim came back from a distribution attempt his pupils were dilated, he had no shirt on, his body scratched all over. Yet he felt no pain, made no complaints. He didn’t care about the bruises. He felt only one thing: victory…Victory over fear, over risk, over death. As if he had just emerged from battle triumphant, not exhausted.

‏Since that day, he hasn’t stopped going. Ibrahim goes daily now, almost like it’s his morning ritual. As though his body craves this dose of danger and intensity to feel alive.

‏In the days that followed, he confessed that the feeling was becoming addictive. “I only feel alive in those moments. The rest of the day is just… wasted time.” His words spoke of a psychological state more complex than fear. And he’s not alone. Many of the men who fight for aid daily have developed the same need adrenaline has become their way of living, tool to numb the deep pain that news reports can’t capture.

‏What’s more terrifying is that this isn’t just a momentary response it has long term effects on both body and mind. With repetition, the body gets used to high levels of tension. Its ability to respond normally diminishes, and a person starts feeling empty when danger isn’t around. They begin to need constant stimulation threats, trucks, screams, even corpses just to feel something. It’s not an exaggeration. It’s a bitter truth forged by survival.

‏In all this, humanity hangs suspended between the rush and the awakening. Some return home crying. Some feel nothing. Some start planning the next day. All of them, in the end, are victims of a biological shift that once felt like salvation but is now deeply destructive.”

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This installation is part of a new series where State of Siege will try to share as many voices from Gaza as possible. Please continue to support the writers sharing their stories. Their work, their words, their lives have so much meaning. May they be our covenant to create a better world.