Qasem Waleed
Mondoweiss / January 14, 2025
The Israeli onslaught has disfigured space and time in Gaza leaving a physicist like me no other choice but to use my understanding of the universe, as well as the wisdom of the ages, to navigate and survive the genocide.
A couple of weeks ago, I got lost near Nasser Medical Complex in Khan Younis, the city I have lived in my whole life. I went there shortly after sunset to buy my mother some qurshala (a traditional finger-shaped biscuit). It was a long walk, about 1.5 miles from my house to the only functioning bakery in the city center of Khan Younis. It was packed as expected, so I waited for quite some time in line.
In Gaza, we can’t always tell the time, how much time has passed, or how much is left– because time does not move in a linear fashion. How time passes depends on who is passing through it.
While under the classical (Newtonian) physics that applies to the rest of the world time marches ever forward towards the infinite future, here in Gaza time is controlled by Einstein’s general relativity.
The world recently surpassed the illusionary timeline called the “new year,” but Gaza is the only place that goes back in time. Time in Gaza limps towards the past at an accelerated pace.
The truth is, time in Gaza is neither absolute nor relative, but rather obsolete. The massive energy of bombardment is constantly disfiguring space and time in Gaza, pushing Gazans into an endless past. And I keep using obsolete techniques to adapt to my miserable primitive life.
Following Orion
ِFor example, while you might be used to using your phone or well-worn maps featuring the landmarks of your hometown, I am forced to depend on the cosmos.
Back to my story of the fresh Qurshala which was worth the wait, regardless of how much time it took to get it. I held it so carefully as I took a quick tour around the market to buy a few basic needs. The friction between my shoulder and other people’s shoulders slowed my speed, ultimately costing more units of time. It was as if we were shouldering each other’s torments.
On my way home, I found that the main road was filled with sewage after a big truck stumbled into the lumpy road, breaking one of the fragile pipes floating on the razed road’s surface. So I took a detour. I couldn’t tell which direction my house was, not only because darkness fell, but also because I was surrounded by rubble and featureless buildings.
Luckily, like old Arabs, I know the night sky by heart. So I looked up, searching for Orion. It brightens in the east at this time of winter’s nights, which is also the direction of my house. Thus, I followed Orion.
Unlike Greek mythology, which pictured Orion as a great warrior, the old Arabs imagined it as a girl hunter called Al-Jawzaa (Gemini). In the Arabic mythology, Al-Jawzaa has a sad story. Al Jawazaa’s husband Suhail (Canopus) betrayed her and broke her back, leaving her to suffer and die alone as he fled south.
All I can say is that I can relate to her story. I am also being left to suffer and face death alone every day for 460+ days that feel like an eternity.
Gaza’s warped space-time
One of the parallels between our universe and Gaza is that both are closed spaces: Gaza has been a closed space for nearly two decades. Mass and the flow of time are fundamentally connected in such closed spaces.
Before the genocide, the small, besieged coastal enclave had been described as an enormous cement cube of mass, due to the high density of its population, and because the houses were mostly right next to each other, shouldering each other.
In Newton’s first law of classical mechanics, inertia, mass is the physical entity that resists change. As I was raised by wars, all the way from the 2008 war till the May 2023 Israeli war on Gaza, I can say, yes, at those times, the masses of Gaza resisted the change by the massive Israeli bombardments.
Yet, those aggressions were nothing compared to the current onslaught. The enormous mass of the cement cube could not resist the barbarism of the Israeli army. Gaza has now been reduced to a huge, highly dense mass of rubble.
Since I am inside Gaza, I see mass differently. I see it free-falling from the sky, the same way the red apple fell on Newton’s head. Only, what I see are rockets. 2000-pound rockets fall from the sky. They shed an intense orange light. They shred and tear cold worn tents that are heavy with plight.
In his general relativity theory, Einstein states that mass is the physical entity that generates the gravitational field that curves the fabric of space-time.
The gravity of the Israeli massive bombings not only has shrunk Gaza into soulless void tents circled by incalculable mass of rubble, but also has warped and distorted the fabric of Gaza’s space. The more they shrink Gaza, the greater the gravitational field gets generated; hence, the slower the passage of time, especially on the long nights of winter.
Compressed life
Orion is a winter constellation. And again, according to Greek myths, he was a cruel warrior, feared by all creatures. In Gaza, we don’t fear Orion. We have come to fear winter itself. What was once the season of blessings and cozy family nights, has now become the cruellest season.
After Israel destroyed my neighbourhood, and damaged my house, my family and I took serious precautionary measures to lessen the brutality of winter. One of those measures is rebuilding the destroyed walls of my house with mud and unmarred stones, which we rescued from under the rubble.
Building with mud is a tradition passed on in my family for generations. Before the 1948 Nakba, my house was a guest hall for locals and travellers from outside Gaza. It was all built with mudstones mixed with pebbles and seashells. These stones are extremely solid, so it didn’t surprise me when I noticed that the majority of them survived the Israeli savagery.
My ancestors built their houses with such stones because they were highly efficient at keeping warmth, especially in chilly winters.
76 years later, I used the same stones and the same building techniques, for I’m in dire need of warmth. Still, as we are in mid-January, I doubt that building with mud provided us with adequate warmth. The whole northern side of my house is still wide open against the cold winds. While rebuilding it is an unachievable task currently.
I miss electricity although it was always scheduled in Gaza. We had electricity for 8 hours a day, and 12 hours at best. I miss the relief and euphoria I felt whenever the electricity turned on. The sound of the heater on cold nights was my favourite sound ever.
We haven’t had electricity for over a year and a half. So, sometimes, I go up on the rooftop just to look at the pulsing light of the signal tower in the Netzarim Corridor, which separates northern Gaza from its southern part. The amount of electricity there could easily run Gaza for two years at a minimum.
Israel has monopolized life; moreover, it has denied us of all but a poor outdated, and utterly limited version of it.
2024 was a leap year. The Arabic version of the leap year is Sana Kabisah (compressed year). It’s because we compress the extra four quarters of the day into the 29th of February every four years. My 2024 had a lifetime of extra suffering and agony, which were all compressed in a single year.
Every day of the 366 days I faced many deaths, and every day of those 366 days I lived only to face death again. And I still wonder how many deaths are still seeking me.
Now that the ruins of space-time have coalesced around me, I have no decent space to live in, for it got either scorched, razed, or destroyed. And I’m running out of time, as death is still chasing me relentlessly.
Gaza is no longer just a place on the map; it is a unique space-time exception, where the past and present blend into an endless vortex of suffering.
Qasem Waleed is a physicist based in Gaza who is not only interpreting nature by using symbols and numbers but also by words that vividly describe the nature and reality of everyday life in Palestine
