GEOFF BENNETT: For many Palestinians living in the U.S., trying to reach loved ones in Gaza has become a constant and harrowing struggle.

Thirty-four-year-old Dorgham Abusalim first came to the U.S. back in 2008 to pursue an academic scholarship.

Today, he works as a writer and communications professional in Washington, D.C., but much of his family still remains in the Central Gaza Strip.

Amna Nawaz sat down with him in his home earlier today.

DORGHAM ABUSALIM, Former Gaza Resident: For as long as I have been away from home, I have always made sure to at least call my mom once every day.

AMNA NAWAZ: Every day?

DORGHAM ABUSALIM: Every day.

Lines have not gone through.

AMNA NAWAZ: Even before the war, Dorgham Abusalim says he was often worried about his 81-year-old father, who's paralyzed, and his 68-year-old mother, who's blind, back home in the town of Deir al Balah.

But, today, after relentless Israeli airstrikes have left much of his community in rubble, he lives in constant fear for his family's safety.

Since the war started, how hard has it been to get in touch with your family?

DORGHAM ABUSALIM: Unbearably hard.

It's been very, very difficult.

I mean, the landlines definitely cannot reach them.

The mobiles, I mean, that depends if they are charged and if there is cell service.

The Internet is down most of the time.

And all I would get is probably some kind of short text message that pretty much would say that they are alive.

AMNA NAWAZ: It's been three or four days since you have been able to reach them.

DORGHAM ABUSALIM: Yes.

Yes.

AMNA NAWAZ: What are you worried about?

DORGHAM ABUSALIM: One of the things that really terrifies me and kind of turns my stomach, I mean, what would it be like for a blind person to navigate an actual bombing around her or close to her or where she might be?

I mean, is she going to run, tumble, fall to the ground and be killed just like that?

How is that for a paralyzed person?

I mean, what's the exit strategy, right?

That's what terrifies me.

AMNA NAWAZ: His parents, along with his brother and sister and nearly 30 others displaced from this war, are all sheltering in his family's four-bedroom home.

DORGHAM ABUSALIM: As of a few days ago, when I last heard, I mean, they were talking about rationing and pursuing rationing water and food and applying children's first rule in terms of the water and the food.

And the supplies are dwindling on all fronts.

I mean, I don't know if I have mentioned, but my father's diabetic.

My mom suffers from hypertension.

I mean, it's not like pharmacies or medicines are functional or available in the Gaza Strip.

AMNA NAWAZ: Have you seen what your hometown looks like on the news these days?

DORGHAM ABUSALIM: Yes.

Horrible.

I just get really shocked when I hear the names of people who have been murdered by Israeli violence that sound familiar to me.

AMNA NAWAZ: You recognize those names?

DORGHAM ABUSALIM: Right, former classmates, former childhood friends, people that our family have known, some relatives.

So it's just really quite horrific.

And, of course, the extent of destruction and damage, just seeing these familiar streets, being reduced to rubble, is really quite painful.

AMNA NAWAZ: You're seeing what's unfolding on the ground.

You know your family is there.

What goes through your mind?

I mean, how do you not just end up consumed with worry all the time?

DORGHAM ABUSALIM: I am.

I am consumed with worry all the time and fear.

And I just think of the human toll.

When I see a child being pulled out of the rubble and surviving, I mean, that's wonderful.

But I also think, what will that recovery and healing for that child look like?

You see, I mean, it's very, very easy and very, very quick to kill something.

It's much harder to heal something.

One particular video that I saw that just gave me goose bumps and then I broke in tears was of a child who was -- had survived an airstrike, an Israeli attack, but was constantly shaking.

He was completely shook, to the point where it was manifesting physically.

And people were trying to calm him down.

And I try my best to think that the worst is not going to happen, although that's probably wishful thinking at this point, given the extent of Israeli violence that we're seeing.

AMNA NAWAZ: Anyone we talk to, Israelis on the ground, Israeli officials, will say, this is also an existential threat for them, that they cannot live next to a force that has overtly said they want to end Israel, and that this response is about them protecting themselves after those atrocious attacks by Hamas on October 7.

How do you process that in balance with what your family is going through?

DORGHAM ABUSALIM: Right.

I don't think anyone in their right mind would be relishing this kind of violence on either side.

I don't think anyone wanted to get this point, particularly by choice.

Now, in terms of the question of existential threat, I think it goes both ways.

I mean, right now, in the Gaza Strip, people are learning that next door is a force that we have known has been violent, but today is being more violent than ever before.

Why should we live next to that?

AMNA NAWAZ: But no matter how dire conditions get in Gaza, Abusalim says his parents will never leave.

DORGHAM ABUSALIM: This is the only home we have ever known.

My family predates the British and the Israelis.

Our records go well into the Ottoman records.

My father is 80 years old.

Technically, he is older than the state of Israel.

So we have always been there.

And the idea that anyone should be leaving their home is really quite preposterous.

And let's just remember, in the Gaza Strip right now, the overwhelming majority of the population are refugees who are descendants of a prior Israeli aggression that occurred in 1948 and then that occurred in 1967.

So, some people could become refugees for a second time.

Some people could become refugees for a third time.

And having learned through it all that they would not be able to return to their homes, people, I think, naturally will want to stay and fight for their homes or die there with dignity.