‘Our flour Is soaked in blood’: Haaretz reporter Sheren Falah Saab on Gaza, fear and dehumanization
A man stands next to the body of six-week-old infant Yousef al-Safadi, who died of starvation according to health officials, at Shifa hospital in Gaza City, July 2025
Introduction
Sheren Falah Saab covers Gaza through constant contact with the people living its reality. As Haaretz’s Arab affairs correspondent, she documents the day-to-day toll of a war too often reduced to headlines – in direct, human detail.
Sheren has described reporting during a war as akin to walking a tightrope, touching other people’s pain with your bare hands. It requires talking to them while they’re at their most vulnerable – hungry, poor, in mourning. Sheren’s stories individualize the suffering, capturing moments often lost in the rush of breaking news. Diaries of survival. Parents searching for their children under the rubble. The desperate search for food. Stories that are urgent, intimate, and raw.
This Q&A was born from an open call to Haaretz subscribers. Sheren invited readers to ask her anything – about the war, about journalism under fire, about how she navigates a story where personal and political lines constantly blur. She answers in the same spirit that defines her reporting: with clarity, restraint and a refusal to look away.
Sheren Falah Saab replies to Haaretz subscribers questions on 30 July 2025:
What is the current situation regarding hunger and humanitarian aid in Gaza? To what extent is it the result of policy rather than the chaos of war?
The humanitarian situation in Gaza is worsening by the day. Palestinian civilians are entirely dependent on aid. Two critical issues have emerged in recent weeks. The first is the shooting of civilians who approach aid distribution points. “Our flour is soaked in blood,” a man from Gaza told me, as he described the struggle to survive another day while waiting in line for food distributions that are often disorganized, and even chaotic.
The second issue is that some of the aid that does get in is being sold by local merchants at extremely high prices, making it unaffordable for most families. A can of infant formula – meant to feed babies and toddlers – can cost up to $100. In these conditions, parents become helpless, unable to provide proper nutrition for their children. Some starve to death.
It’s important to remember: the issue of hunger in Gaza didn’t begin today, or even in the past few weeks. This is the result of a deliberate policy by Israeli decision-makers. Former Defense Minister Yoav Gallant declared a “complete siege” on Gaza. Far-right Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich said last August that starving two million Gazans “to death” may be the “right and moral” thing to do until Israeli hostages held in Gaza are released. National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir suggested bombing food warehouses. Likud MK Moshe Saada stated on live TV: “Anyone who says ‘I will not starve Gazans’ is mistaken. I will starve Gazans – that is our duty.” Former generals proposed an organized starvation plan. Protesters blocked food trucks. And the Israeli opposition? Not a peep.
Now, very cautiously, it must be said: Gaza is entering a new stage of dehumanization. Impractical solutions are imposed – like airdropping packages from planes. And the question remains: Should a person be expected to receive their food in such a humiliating way? The answer is no. The proper way for a human being, including a Gazan, to access food is to buy it at fair prices, to walk into a supermarket and choose what they want, from the type of cheese to the cut of meat.
Right now, the situation is anything but normal. Every man and woman in Gaza is fighting for every crumb of bread, every lentil, every chickpea.
What do Gazans think about Hamas? Is there real opposition to its rule and if so, who constitutes this opposition?
The relationship between Hamas and the inhabitants of Gaza is long and deeply complex. When Hamas seized control of the Strip in 2007, one of its first actions was to purge government institutions of Fatah members. This led to violent clashes and marked the beginning of a major rift with the Palestinian Authority, a divide that still defines Palestinian politics today.
Inside Gaza, not everyone supports Hamas, and that’s always been the case. There are clear political divisions among Gazans, but Hamas has managed to maintain power through force, repression, and by tightly controlling the Strip’s limited resources.
In 2019, inspired by the Arab Spring, a group of young Gazans launched protests under the slogan “We Want to Live” (Bidna Na’ish). These demonstrations, which broke out in cities like Khan Yunis and Gaza City, expressed frustration over poverty, the dire economic situation, and Hamas’s policies toward civilians. But they were quickly and violently shut down by Hamas forces.
After October 7, a new reality emerged in Gaza. Any lingering trust some Gazans may have had in Hamas as a governing body largely eroded. In fact, we saw new protests emerge – very authentic ones – where young people openly called to end the war and for Hamas to leave the Strip. Once again, these protests were quickly suppressed by Hamas.
At present, Hamas is a faceless organization, with no visible leadership and no direct communication with the population. This invisibility has further weakened its legitimacy. Still, it continues to hold onto power.
Why isn’t the population in Gaza turning against Hamas?
To understand why there isn’t a popular uprising against Hamas, we have to consider what it takes, both emotionally and physically, for people to resist. The people of Gaza are living under extreme conditions: they’re already oppressed, hungry and weakened; many are homeless or living in unlivable conditions. Gazans witness and experience death daily, struggling just to bring food or bread to their children. There is also deep fear of retaliation. On top of that, there’s a pervasive sense of hopelessness – the belief that even if people did rise up, nothing would change.
A recent poll suggested that 40 percent of Israelis were “considering leaving the country.” Does this include Israeli Arabs? How are they experiencing the unfolding atrocity in Gaza?
There’s no clear demographic breakdown in the data between Arabs and Jews, but there is a quiet movement happening within Arab society.
Arab couples from the upper-middle class – especially professionals – are leaving for Dubai, Europe, the U.S., and Canada. The core of the dilemma, whether to leave or not, focuses on the future of the state and what kind of future remains for Palestinian citizens in Israel.
There is also growing intergenerational tension. The younger generation aspires to live peacefully and freely. But Israel is no longer a country that can protect its Arab minority. Since October 7, Arabs have been politically persecuted for their speech – whether through social media posts or public statements against the war in Gaza. There have been arrests of young people, firings from jobs, and growing suspicion and violence directed at Arabs in public spaces. This is a “transparent” struggle that much of the world pays little attention to. But even if the war in Gaza ends, the persecution of Arabs in Israel will likely continue.
On a personal note, this is one of the issues that troubles me most: What will life look like in Israel a decade from now? Will there still be tolerance for Arabs? Will it still be possible to register and study at Israeli universities? Will there still be Arab Members of Knesset, or political parties able to run in elections?
The right-wing government led by Netanyahu has leveraged the war for personal political gain – including turning the Arab population into a hostile enemy and a legitimate target for harm through legislation and rhetoric. The peak of this behavior was the brutal and violent attempt to remove MK Ayman Odeh from office over a single social media post. His story reflects the severe suffering experienced by Arab citizens of Israel.
As if that weren’t enough, last week, Odeh was physically attacked. Right-wing protesters smashed his car windows and tried to prevent him from speaking at a rally in the city of Nes Ziona. An incident like that is enough to instill fear in Arabs, to silence them, and to push them away from political activity or activism altogether.
Arab society in Israel is at one of its lowest points – ironically, just after a moment that once seemed hopeful, during the tenure of Naftali Bennett and Yair Lapid’s ‘government of change,’ and Mansour Abbas’s participation in that coalition. Netanyahu and his allies have dragged Arab society back into a dark era, one that feels more like the days of military rule than a life of citizenship with equal rights. Fear and intimidation have become central tools of oppression.
While you’re reporting on the suffering in Gaza, polls show a not insignificant proportion of Israelis supporting ethnic cleansing there. How does this affect you, and what do you think you can do to move the dial among mainstream Israelis?
This mostly leaves me personally discouraged, and it raises moral questions about the role of journalism – who it is for, and what purpose it serves.
Israel is, in many ways, at a point of no return: politically, socially and morally. The mechanisms that once made it unique in the Middle East are no longer in place. The concept of a free press or freedom of expression has lost all meaning since October 7. Mainstream Israeli media has become mobilized for the war effort, with barely a drop of courage left to criticize the war – including decisions affecting civilians in Gaza, such as blocking humanitarian aid, forced displacement, and the collapse of food distribution through the GHF.
There’s something deeply depressing, heartbreaking even, about the fact that the voices of Gazans “don’t count.” Israelis, sadly, tend to prefer media that centers soldiers’ testimonies or security analysts discussing the situation, rather than listening to a woman in Gaza describe her daily life. How she lives without a kitchen, bathroom, a room with four walls.
As someone reporting on Gaza, I’m exposed daily to horror. My friends beg me for help, and some may not survive another day. It devastates me that all this suffering is silenced and still finds no expression on Israeli television. I ask myself: what are Israeli journalists so afraid of, when it comes to reporting what’s happening in Gaza? What holds them back from saying plainly that yes – there is a humanitarian crisis? What breaks me most is the disregard, the refusal to do the most basic thing: to report on what is happening on the other side.
At the same time, I take comfort in being part of Haaretz. I’m grateful every day for this news outlet, which acts like a protective wall for the remaining sense of humanity. It’s the only thing that keeps me reporting, that keeps me writing. (And maybe the only thing that still gives me hope.)
Israel is indeed headed toward its own Armageddon, as some believe, what can I – what can we – do to help stop it? Or is there nothing we can do except watch helplessly?
This isn’t just about Israel, but a deeper human question: What happens to societies that grow used to violence, to oppression, to living behind walls?
The truth is, at times, it feels to me like a march toward the abyss. Not only for Palestinians living under siege, under bombardment, under destruction – but also for those living in Israel. Life here has become numb. Blood is spilled and words lose their meaning. Violence is rising. Hatred intensifies. Conscience dulls. The extremes drift further apart, and the moderates – if they’re still here – are packing their bags and leaving. Those who still dare to speak out, to criticize the war and the policies of oppression, are a minority.
So what can be done?
First of all – continue supporting journalists like us, who live here but refuse to look away, who keep reporting on what is happening in Gaza. Be a voice for those whom Israel is trying to silence – journalists, activists, artists and ordinary people who refuse to believe that violence is destiny. And most of all: Support anyone who still seeks peace and regional stability, in both Gaza and Israel.
It’s worth noting that with all the waves of boycotts against the State of Israel, it’s precisely the group I mentioned – those who oppose the war, who criticize the situation and raise their voices – who pay the highest price.
I recently interviewed Shai Carmeli-Pollak, a Jewish Israeli filmmaker, a longtime activist in the West Bank. He made “The Sea البحر,” a beautiful film about a Palestinian boy denied the right to travel to the beach in Tel Aviv, a human story that captures the cost of the occupation. The film was a joint Israeli-Palestinian production, but he can’t find distributors so the world will likely never see it. Why? Because it’s labeled “Israeli,” and immediately boycotted.
If I have one request for anyone living outside of Israel, it’s this: see us. Understand that even within this moral ruin, there are people fighting every day for justice.
Life here, in the Israeli-Palestinian space, is far more complex than any “us vs. them,” “right vs. wrong” or “good vs. evil” dichotomies. There are people and civil groups – in both Israel and Palestine – who still believe in peace, in equality, in hope. And they must be strengthened and supported, so we can avoid total collapse.
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