For the last year and a half, I’ve been keeping a diary to record my experiences of the war being waged on the Palestinian people in Gaza. These diary entries speak of the war taking place beyond the headlines, a war that might be even more brutal than the war of bombs and ground invasions. Famine is a weapon of war; inflation and currency shortages are a weapon of war; forced displacement is a weapon of war; making children continue their schooling online when internet is barely available is a weapon of war. The struggle to survive under these desperate conditions is a battlefield in and of itself.
Cash vs App
Summer is barely here yet, and the price of a watermelon is 70 shekels. That’s 19 dollars. The war has divided people into two groups: business owners who gobble up money and hoard cash, and the rest of us, who face a constant, humiliating struggle to obtain hard currency. I rely as far as possible on a banking app that allows me to transfer funds directly to a beneficiary’s account, though it requires an internet connection to function. Many shops, businesses, and even stalls in the street use this method because there’s so little cash to be had. Employees receive their salaries through the app; the alternative is to withdraw it in cash from an exchange service, but commission these days can run to 35% or more, meaning that for every 100 shekels you withdraw, you lose 35. And that’s if you can find a bureau in the first place.
The other day, my 14-year-old daughter told me she was craving a crêpe with Nutella. A friend of hers whose father runs a business eats crêpes with Nutella every day, she told me. It’s exam season at the moment, and I want her to have everything she wishes for while she’s busy revising, including the sugar rush of a Nutella crêpe, but the owner of the sweet shop can’t be convinced. He’s insisting he can only take cash for the portion of crêpes I order in advance by phone, which, by the way, costs 70 shekels.
I put the phone down, furious. Then I do something rash. I order 300 shekels—83 dollars—worth of crêpes and other sweets from the other confectionery shop, which does accept app payment, just to spite anyone who makes me feel like I don’t have any agency. It’s a little victory for my own humanity.
I know I must sound like someone who’s afraid of a mouse yet will brave a crocodile when they need to find something to eat. This is a struggle for survival, yes. But it’s also a struggle to maintain my own choices. Why shouldn’t we fill our bellies with all sorts of different foods instead of eating the same meal over and over again? Are we not individuals on this planet? We don’t want crumbs. It is our right to refuse. It is our right to have our own taste, to not let the war take that from us as it has taken everything else. I’d rather go hungry than eat what I’m forced to. If I starve, let it be by choice: I am a survivor, not a victim.