Friday, 3rd November

Yesterday's blog about hope makes hard reading today. We spent the morning travelling around the south of the Gaza strip, visiting homes that have been demolished or riddled with bullets by the Israeli army. Abandoned sandals, copy books, carpets and curtains lie among mangled metal and concrete rubble, the shells of people's lives - people who sometimes had only ten minutes to leave their houses before the tanks rolled in.

On our way back to Gaza city we tuned in to the UN station on our walkie talkie. The latest Israeli incursion into Beit Hanoun in the Northern Gaza Strip is said to be in response to Hamas missiles being fired into Southern Israel. Once again the term 'collective punishment' comes to mind, as tanks and F16s send a resounding message to the people of Gaza. We listen on the walkie talkie as the numbers of casualties rise. 21 dead and 45 seriously injured at the last count. We meet for lunch with the wife of a surgeon at Gaza City's hospital. She is sorry he cannot make it for lunch - he is dealing with a huge amount of serious injuries, lost limbs, organ damage.

As we queued this evening to leave Gaza through the Erez crossing in the north of the Gaza Strip, the dull thud of shelling was not far away. Strangely I didn't want to leave - I had been welcomed so much into a place in such turmoil. And as we drove to the relative safety of Tel Aviv, I felt that we were walking out on people whose voices can barely be heard above the bombing, the hysteria, the empty promises and the international double-speak.