People in Gaza describe living through bombings with no way to escape

Geoff Bennett:

More than two million people live in Gaza. It's one of the most densely populated corners of the planet.

And in the six days since Hamas' terror attacks, Israel says it has dropped 6,000 bombs on Gaza. The U.N. says 650,000 people there face water shortages; 340,000 have had to flee their homes.

Nick Schifrin and producer Zeba Warsi spoke to Gaza residents, who face bombardment with no escape.

Nick Schifrin:

This used to be a safe space. But what was once a sanctuary is now shattered. These are the voices of the Odeh family, mother Diana, baby Rose, who at 1-year-old shields her ears from bombings, big brother Kareem, 4, and father Ahmed.

They sent us video of the room where their children used to sleep and the view from the window. That pile of debris was once an apartment complex destroyed by an Israeli airstrike. Israel has cut off the power, limiting conductivity. We spoke by phone.

Diana Odeh, Gaza City Resident:

As you can hear now, this is the bombing. They are going to bomb a tower beside us. We are very scared. This is the sound of my daughter. I'm feeling very bad. My emotions, I can't describe it.

I think we get used to these sounds. We get used to hear it all the time. I'm about to cry. I can't handle this anymore. The night has still began now. As you can hear, as you can hear, there is no distance between them, only 10 seconds.

Nick Schifrin:

They move to different homes every day. But when ambulances, when U.N.-schools-turned-shelters aren't safe, there's nowhere to hide.

Diana Odeh:

No place in Gaza is now safe. People are running in the streets looking for a cover from the bomb. They bomb UNRWA schools. They bomb the ambulances. They say they don't attack children., they don't murder children.

The most people who are dying are children and women. We are hoping and praying for Allah. That's our only solution. When a bomb starts, we all cover our head. We all go to the same room. We all get to the ground, hugging my kids, singing for them, telling them this is a huge storm, that's not a bomb.

My daughter gets awake every night, screaming and shouting, putting her hands on her ears. This is our terrible situations.

Nick Schifrin:

We tried to speak on video. She had to use a flashlight.

Diana Odeh:

Things here are very terrifying. They are bombing all the time. There is no electricity, no water, no food supplements.

Nick Schifrin:

Our connection kept freezing.

Diana Odeh:

The sound — even the sound of the (INAUDIBLE) in the sky is terrifying, the sound of airstrike.

We need help. We don't need money. We don't need anything, but we need a cease-fire. People are getting worse and worse.

Nick Schifrin:

Sometimes, the only light is from airstrikes, as Gazan Mosab Abu Toha writes:

Mosab Abu Toha, Poet:

Shrapnel looking for laughter. The house has been bombed. Everyone's dead, the kids, the parents, the toys.

I care about human lives everywhere, here and outside of Gaza and the West Bank. I mean, I love all people. But some people do not want us to exist.

Nick Schifrin:

Toha was born in a Gaza refugee camp. He has three children, two boys who love the beach and a daughter wearing clothes from a happier time. Today, his extended family of 22 take shelter in a three-bedroom apartment.

They and every family here have survived half-a-dozen wars.

Mosab Abu Toha:

The kids, this is — in fact, this is not their first time hitting the bombs and seeing the smoke after each explosion, and also the light, the scary light of each explosion, especially at night.

This is not the first time. But they are always keep — keeping asking me when this will stop. I mean, it's very, very worrying that these kids do not ask me who is doing this. They don't ask who. They just know that this is very dangerous, this could kill them.

Nick Schifrin:

Toha's poetry tells of the human cost of war. Today, he's losing hope.

Mosab Abu Toha:

Just yesterday, we got the very heartbreaking news that a pregnant cousin of mine was killed during an Israeli airstrike on a mosque that's adjacent to her house.

It's about humanity. They are depriving us of our humanity. They are dealing with us, they are killing us as if we were just a heap of rubble. They don't distinguish between a tree or a house or a bookshop or a donkey or a cat. We are just — we just don't exist to them as human beings.

Nick Schifrin:

It is those human beings suffering the scars of war whom Gazan photojournalist Majdi Fathi has been documenting.

Majdi Fathi, Gazan Photojournalist (through interpreter):

This area that I'm in, this square is completely empty of any residents. There's no one.

Nick Schifrin:

For years, the 43-year-old has captured the reality of life under siege.

Majdi Fathi (through interpreter):

Twenty minutes before this voice message, Israel bombed a residential building and media offices in the middle of Gaza City, near Shifaa Hospital.

Nick Schifrin:

His photographs tell the grim story of war, and war spares no one, families, the elderly, the youngest, and Diana's hope for the future.

Diana Odeh:

We all sleep in the same area. Even when we want to go to the bathroom, we go together, because if we die, we die all together.

Nick Schifrin:

Dust to dust, and they fear the worst is still yet to come.

For the "PBS NewsHour," I'm Nick Schifrin.