Back in April, when the spring sun spread its golden rays across Gaza’s war-scarred fields and devastated neighborhoods, my family faced some serious decisions. My father was suffering a chronic heart problem and his condition had worsened over the six months of genocide we had survived. Through the ministry of health, and with the help of international organizations, we had secured a permit for him to be transferred to Egypt for treatment. The permit was for 16 May. We had also bought ( very