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In Gaza, Palestinians Risk Death in Desperate Rush for Aid

This picture taken from Israel's southern border with the Gaza Strip shows humanitarian aid being airdropped over the besieged Palestinian territory on April 2, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas. (AFP)
This picture taken from Israel's southern border with the Gaza Strip shows humanitarian aid being airdropped over the besieged Palestinian territory on April 2, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas. (AFP)
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In Gaza, Palestinians Risk Death in Desperate Rush for Aid

This picture taken from Israel's southern border with the Gaza Strip shows humanitarian aid being airdropped over the besieged Palestinian territory on April 2, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas. (AFP)
This picture taken from Israel's southern border with the Gaza Strip shows humanitarian aid being airdropped over the besieged Palestinian territory on April 2, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas. (AFP)

Omar Deeb was nearly hit by Israeli tank fire while searching for food in Gaza, and then saw people killed around him when he set out once more to feed his family in the besieged enclave.

But like many Gazans who could soon face famine he has no choice but to embark on what he calls "death missions", risking his life to provide for his six children, who live in a school shelter.

"If I go, we eat. And if I don't, we don't eat," Deeb, 37, who lives in Gaza City, told Reuters over the phone.

Securing aid has become a life or death scramble in Gaza during a six-month-old Israeli ground and air campaign that has killed over 32,000 Palestinians and wounding more than 75,000, according to Gaza health authorities.

Israel is carrying out the offensive in retaliation for a Hamas attack on southern Israel on Oct. 7 in which 1,200 people were killed and over 200 people were taken hostage, according to Israeli tallies.

The United Nations has warned of a looming famine and complained of obstacles to getting aid in and distributing it throughout Gaza. The US also says famine is imminent.

Deeb hasn't yet healed from wounds sustained when pieces of a building which were blown apart struck him as he tried grab flour from aid trucks entering northern Gaza.

Deeb also came close to death two other times, he said, first on Feb 29 when the Gaza health ministry said over 100 people were killed by Israeli fire as they ventured to get aid.

Israel said the deaths were caused when people were trampled over or run over by trucks carrying aid.

On March 23, he said Israel opened fire at an aid drop point at Gaza's Kuwait roundabout, where several other people were killed around him, mostly members of the Popular Committees, a body formed of traditional family clans and factions to secure aid convoys.

DESPERATE AND HUNGRY

"Every time (I go) it feels like the last time," said Deeb.

"Therefore, I pay farewell to my wife and children. I ask my wife to forgive me, the children too," said Deeb, whose son aged five was killed in an Israeli strike on his house in December.

Contacted by Reuters, the Israeli military had no immediate comment on the Palestinian allegation that it puts seekers of aid in danger. On March 23, the Israeli military said its forces had not fired at people in the aid convoy in the Kuwait roundabout incident, according to its preliminary findings.

Israeli officials say they have increased aid access to Gaza, are not responsible for delays and that the aid delivery inside Gaza is the responsibility of the UN and humanitarian agencies. Israel has also accused Hamas of stealing aid, a charge Hamas denies.

Underscoring the chaos in Gaza, citizens from Australia, Britain and Poland were among seven people working for celebrity chef Jose Andres' World Central Kitchen who were killed in an Israeli airstrike in central Gaza on Monday, the NGO said.

"The last time I ate meat, it was chicken -- it was a week before the war," said Deeb.

Desperate and hungry, thousands like Deeb head to aid drop points when night falls to secure some flour or canned food.

They learn about incoming drops from aid truck drivers who phone it in to their relatives, who in turn spread the word.

"When the aid trucks reach Deir Al-Balah in central Gaza, my neighbor's relative (the driver) gives him a call, and we rise up to go, regardless of what time it is," he said.

When Deeb and others scramble to aid drop spots, others like Abu Mahmoud, a member of the Popular Committees, beat their way to the food with sticks to try to keep order. Some other members, mostly from Hamas, have guns.

ATTACKS, CROWDS, THIEVES

With Israeli forces sworn to eliminate Hamas, it has become highly risky for anyone linked to the group to emerge into the open to protect aid deliveries to civilians, so the job is being done by the popular committees.

Gaza has several large traditional family clans, some of them widely believed to be heavily armed.

A former Hamas-hired public servant, Abu Mahmoud has survived death in both locations mentioned by Deeb. At one of those incidents he lost three of his friends, he told Reuters.

These men see their risky mission as no less important than fighting Israel, says Abu Mahmoud, a father of five.

"It is a mission to martyrdom," said Abu Mahmoud, who declined to give his full name for fear of Israeli reprisals.

Sources in the Popular Committees put the number of members who had been killed in the past month at about 70. According to sources in the clans and the popular committees, these 70 were killed by Israeli strikes in different aid drop locations.

Abu Mahmoud said the main obstacle for getting the aid to northern Gaza has been Israeli attacks which killed or wounded several of them everyday.

Another problem is big crowds of people who rush to get aid. Sometimes there are greedy thieves, not hungry Gazans, residents and members of the popular committees say.

"Our mission is very risky, we can't open fire at people, we don't want that. So mostly some fire into the air to disperse the thieves," said Abu Mahmoud.

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Fear Stalks Tehran as Israel Bombards, Shelters Fill Up and Communicating Grows Harder

Shops remain shuttered Tehran's historic Grand Bazaar, Monday, June 16, 2025. (AP)
Shops remain shuttered Tehran's historic Grand Bazaar, Monday, June 16, 2025. (AP)
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Fear Stalks Tehran as Israel Bombards, Shelters Fill Up and Communicating Grows Harder

Shops remain shuttered Tehran's historic Grand Bazaar, Monday, June 16, 2025. (AP)
Shops remain shuttered Tehran's historic Grand Bazaar, Monday, June 16, 2025. (AP)

The streets of Tehran are empty, businesses closed, communications patchy at best. With no bona fide bomb shelters open to the public, panicked masses spend restless nights on the floors of metro stations as strikes boom overhead.

This is Iran’s capital city, just under a week into a fierce Israeli blitz to destroy the country's nuclear program and its military capabilities. After knocking out much of Iran's air defense system, Israel says its warplanes have free rein over the city's skies. US President Donald Trump on Monday told Tehran's roughly 10 million residents to evacuate “immediately.”

Thousands have fled, spending hours in gridlock as they head toward the suburbs, the Caspian Sea, or even Armenia or Türkiye. But others — those elderly and infirm — are stuck in high-rise apartment buildings. Their relatives fret: what to do?

Israeli strikes on Iran have killed at least 585 people and wounded over 1,300, a human rights group says. State media, also a target of bombardment, have stopped reporting on the attacks, leaving Iranians in the dark. There are few visible signs of state authority: Police appear largely undercover, air raid sirens are unreliable, and there’s scant information on what to do in case of attack.

Shirin, 49, who lives in the southern part of Tehran, said every call or text to friends and family in recent days has felt like it could be the last.

“We don’t know if tomorrow we will be alive,” she said.

Many Iranians feel conflicted. Some support Israel's targeting of Iranian political and military officials they see as repressive. Others staunchly defend the country and retaliatory strikes on Israel. Then, there are those who oppose Iran’s rulers, but still don't want to see their country bombed.

To stay, or to go? The Associated Press interviewed five people in Iran and one Iranian American in the US over the phone. All spoke either on the condition of anonymity or only allowed their first names to be used, for fear of retribution from the state against them or their families.

Most of the calls ended abruptly and within minutes, cutting off conversations as people grew nervous or because the connection dropped. Iran’s government has acknowledged disrupting internet access. It says it's to protect the country, though that has blocked average Iranians from getting information from the outside world.

Iranians in the diaspora wait anxiously for news from relatives. One, an Iranian American human rights researcher in the US, said he last heard from relatives when some were trying to flee Tehran earlier in the week. He believes that lack of gas and traffic prevented them from leaving.

The most heartbreaking interaction, he said, was when his older cousins with whom he grew up in Iran told him “We don’t know where to go. If we die, we die.”

“Their sense was just despair,” he said.

Some families have made the decision to split up.

A 23-year-old Afghan refugee who has lived in Iran for four years said he stayed behind in Tehran but sent his wife and newborn son out of the city after a strike Monday hit a nearby pharmacy.

“It was a very bad shock for them,” he said.

Some, like Shirin, said fleeing was not an option. The apartment buildings in Tehran are towering and dense. Her father has Alzheimer’s and needs an ambulance to move. Her mother's severe arthritis would make even a short trip extremely painful.

Still, hoping escape might be possible, she spent the last several days trying to gather their medications. Her brother waited at a gas station until 3 a.m., only to be turned away when the fuel ran out. As of Monday, gas was being rationed to under 20 liters (5 gallons) per driver at stations across Iran after an Israeli strike set fire to the world's largest gas field.

Some people, like Arshia, said they are just tired.

“I don’t want to go in traffic for 40 hours, 30 hours, 20 hours, just to get to somewhere that might get bombed eventually,” he said.

The 22-year-old has been staying in the house with his parents since the initial Israeli strike. He said his once-lively neighborhood of Saadat Abad in northwestern Tehran is now a ghost town. Schools are closed. Very few people even step outside to walk their dogs. Most local stores have run out of drinking water and cooking oil. Others closed.

Still, Arshia said the prospect of finding a new place is too daunting.

“We don’t have the resources to leave at the moment,” he said.

Residents are on their own

No air raid sirens went off as Israeli strikes began pounding Tehran before dawn Friday. For many, it was an early sign civilians would have to go it alone.

During the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s, Tehran was a low-slung city, many homes had basements to shelter in, and there were air raid drills and sirens. Now the capital is packed with close-built high-rise apartments without shelters.

“It's a kind of failing of the past that they didn’t build shelters,” said a 29-year-old Tehran resident who left the city Monday. “Even though we’ve been under the shadow of a war, as long as I can remember.”

Her friend's boyfriend was killed while going to the store.

“You don’t really expect your boyfriend or your anyone, really to leave the house and never return when they just went out for a routine normal shopping trip,” she said.

Those who choose to relocate do so without help from the government. The state has said it is opening mosques, schools and metro stations for use as shelters. Some are closed, others overcrowded.

Hundreds crammed into one Tehran metro station Friday night. Small family groups lay on the floor. One student, a refugee from another country, said she spent 12 hours in the station with her relatives.

“Everyone there was panicking because of the situation,” she said. “Everyone doesn’t know what will happen next, if there is war in the future and what they should do. People think nowhere is safe for them.”

Soon after leaving the station, she saw that Israel had warned a swath of Tehran to evacuate.

“For immigrant communities, this is so hard to live in this kind of situation,” she said, explaining she feels like she has nowhere to escape to, especially not her home country, which she asked not be identified.

Fear of Iran mingles with fear of Israel

For Shirin, the hostilities are bittersweet. Despite being against the theocracy and its treatment of women, the idea that Israel may determine the future does not sit well with her.

“As much as we want the end of this regime, we didn’t want it to come at the hands of a foreign government,” she said. “We would have preferred that if there were to be a change, it would be the result of a people’s movement in Iran.”

Meanwhile, the 29-year-old who left Tehran had an even more basic message for those outside Iran:

“I just want people to remember that whatever is happening here, it’s not routine business for us. People’s lives here — people’s livelihoods — feel as important to them as they feel to anyone in any other place. How would you feel if your city or your country was under bombardment by another country, and people were dying left and right?”

“We are kind of like, this can’t be happening. This can’t be my life.”