My daughter has been crying non-stop since the Jenin assault began

I woke up today to the second day of the biggest Israeli invasion of the Jenin refugee camp since 2002. Yesterday, we awoke to the blaring of sirens that signalled the start of the assault. From then, the atmosphere was filled with anxiety and a deep sense of foreboding.

This is not an unprecedented aggression or experience, as I am reminded of the last invasion of this scale, which I also witnessed. When those rockets fell, I remember how I felt when explosions shattered the windows of my house. As a Palestinian living under Israeli aggression, we are forced into a continuous cycle of grief and trauma.

It is difficult to describe the sheer magnitude of what we have been experiencing the last few days – Israeli rocket fire targeting the centre of the camp, airstrikes destroying family homes, the constant buzzing of drones overhead, Israeli military jeeps and bulldozers lining the streets. The fear of history repeating itself has been palpable, intensifying the gravity of the situation.

The onslaught started early Monday morning, and continued through the day and into the next, showing no signs of slowing. All around me, the camp is filled with frantic, panicked families, the rubble of destroyed homes and roads – and tear gas.

Nothing was spared, not even the hospitals, which were also hit by tear gas canisters. The Israeli military has closed roads and bulldozed others, so ambulances can’t reach the injured. The infrastructure of the camp has been targeted – water and electricity are cut.

Yesterday, as Israel bombed residential areas of the refugee camp, we learned that The Freedom Theatre – my place of work and a refuge for anyone seeking a safe haven – had also been targeted.

The Freedom Theatre is a community-based cultural centre and a place of artistic expression. Families sought safety within those walls, only to have a missile dropped on the courtyard as they sheltered inside.

Other nightmarish scenes unfolded before us: watching our neighbours with their children in hand, forced to leave their homes at gunpoint, with heavily armed Israeli soldiers and armoured vehicles behind them.

Or seeing my colleague and friend, desperately trying to get in contact with her mother and sister after learning her home had been bombed, praying they were still alive and got out in time.

My children have desperately been trying to comprehend what is happening. As a father of four, I fear for their safety as much as I fear for my own. My daughter, Salma, has been crying non-stop since the invasion began and there is nothing we can say to console her. What do you say to a child who is witnessing these levels of violence, death and destruction?

Through the horror and rubble, Palestinians have come together to support each other, in incredible displays of kindness and community. Residents of Jenin and surrounding villages opening their homes to refugees, displaced by Israel once again.

It is these acts of compassion by their neighbours, rather than the horrors they experienced through their childhood, that I hope my children will take with them as they grow. The Israeli military may destroy Jenin refugee camp, but as Palestinians, we will persevere, rebuild, and forge ahead for a brighter future.

Mustafa Sheta is general manager of The Freedom Theatre in Jenin