I Lost My Son, My Support in This Life

When God blessed me with my first son, Odai, I embraced him and wished for him a successful life. I hoped he would complete his education, and find a job that would enable him to serve his community, country, and religion.

My name is Fidaa Fathi Abu Yousef. I am 40 years old and live in Nuseirat camp in the middle of the Gaza Strip. I graduated with a diploma in Business Administration from the Islamic University of Gaza in 2004. Nearly 20 years ago, I married Imad Al-Awdat and gave birth to four children: Odai, 18 years old; Raghad, 17 years old; Mohammed, 16 years old; and Leen, 11 years old. Until our separation in 2018, we lived in a house in Bureij camp.
Since separating from my husband, I moved back into my father’s house in Nuseirat camp. Here, I lived with my children in a small room that contained the kitchen, bathroom, and a place where all five of us slept.

We lived in this small apartment for over four years. I searched for a long time to find a job opportunity to improve my children’s living conditions, but I couldn’t find any. There are barely any jobs in the Gaza Strip, and unemployment rates are very high.

Several years ago, I thought of preparing and baking flatbread over a fire, which my son Odai would sell in the market. I brought my idea to life and managed to attract some customers – small restaurant owners. The work was sporadic and challenging, requiring considerable time and effort. My children helped me, and we were happy because this job provided us with an opportunity to improve our living conditions.

In September 2023, I managed to rent an apartment close to my family’s house. My son Odai started high school in September 2023, and I was determined to provide a suitable atmosphere for him to study. We were happy in our new apartment. Though we rented it for 450 Israeli shekels every month, we had our own kitchen, bathroom, and three rooms.

The Israeli war on the Gaza Strip began on 7 October 2023, less than a month after we moved into the new apartment on the fourth floor. I feared for my children due to intense bombardment. Occupation forces bombed several houses adjacent to us, and dozens of our friends, neighbours, and loved ones were martyred. I was terrified for my children, and we all began to sleep in one room. I used to tell them that if the house was bombed, we would die together, and if we survived, we would survive together.

Our financial situation deteriorated greatly during the war. The closure of all restaurants and crossings caused all Gaza Strip residents to lose their jobs and depleted food supplies from the markets. I lost my temporary job due to restaurant closures. We couldn’t even find flour to cook with. The days were extremely difficult.

My son Odai searched for work in many areas, and on Wednesday, 15 November 2023, he found a job at one of the wood-fired bakeries in Nuseirat camp. I asked him to take care of himself and stay away from bombing sites. He was my eldest son, my friend and companion. After I separated from their father, he cared for his siblings. He meant everything to us.

Odai worked alongside our neighbours’ sons. While transporting bread on his bicycle, Israeli forces bombed several residential apartments in the Salah Towers, south of Nuseirat camp. Odai was riding his bike under the tower when rubble from the bombing fell on his small body, instantly martyring him.

Neighbours’ daughters informed me that Israeli forces had bombed the Salah Towers area, very close to Odai’s new job. I rushed to the bombing site, about 800 meters from my house, searching for Odai but couldn’t find him. I searched everywhere meticulously.
I hurried to Al-Awda Hospital in Nuseirat camp, searching among the injured for Odai, but I couldn’t find him. I examined the faces of martyrs closely, searching for my son. Fear and tears overwhelmed me. I wanted my son. Where was Odai?

People told me that some of the injured and martyrs were transferred to Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Deir al-Balah. I hurried there, still hoping Odai was alive but couldn’t find him. I shouted his name in hospital courtyards and departments, but received no answer. A doctor directed me to the martyrs’ tent, and I went immediately.

Joining me in the search for Odai were my son Mohammed, brothers Jihad and Ahmed, and a neighbour. We searched among the many martyrs and found Odai’s body. I couldn’t believe I had lost him. I hugged him, held his face and body. Shrapnel had injured him behind his ear, chin, and gouged out his right eye. Odai was martyred while working to provide food for us.

With ambulances busy transporting martyrs and those injured, we couldn’t find one to take Odai’s body to the cemetery. We placed him in a car. I held him, kissed his face throughout the journey. We quickly reached home. I wished the journey could be longer to hold my son.

Family, friends, and neighbours bid farewell to Odai. We prayed for him at the cemetery, where I buried him next to the Great Nuseirat Mosque. It was the worst moment of my life. These are the worst days of my life. I lost my life with Odai’s martyrdom.

Two days before his martyrdom, Odai told me he wished to be a martyr defending Palestine. He shared this wish with friends at work, Qusay Yassin and Mohammed Al-Houm, asking if God would forgive them if martyred by a rocket. Moments later, a rocket fell, martyring Odai. Mohammed Al-Houm sustained minor injuries, but Qusay Yassin suffered a skull fracture and remains in intensive care.

Since separating from my husband, I have supported my four children alone, striving to provide for them. My dreams were to give them a decent life, but the war shattered all of my plans. I tried opening a small stall in a shelter, but lacked the capital.

My martyr son Odai dreamed of excelling in high school, attending university, and securing a job to provide a good life for us. But the occupation forces killed him, ending his dream, leaving our hearts with enduring pain.

Odai excelled in elementary and preparatory school, but his grades dipped after the separation from my husband. Despite the added expenses, I enrolled him in private lessons in Arabic, math, and English to secure for him a better future. But he earned martyrdom in this war, standing firm on Palestinian land.

Everyone who knew Odai mourns him. His math teacher, Feras Eid, expressed love for Odai, a polite, respectful, hardworking student. Odai dreamed of a better future, lifting us from hardship. His teacher wept for Odai, urging me to care for my other children, who are continuing Odai’s journey.

When Israeli forces invaded many central Gaza Strip camps, including Nuseirat camp in January 2024, I fled with my children to tents in Rafah in the southern Gaza Strip. My apartment had sheltered displaced relatives whose homes were bombed. Suddenly, the war had displaced us.

We endured severe suffering in Rafah’s tents for a month. The nights cold, the days hot, and rainwater caused hardship. Food, water, and clothes were scarce. After a month, we returned home when the occupation withdrew – a month of suffering.

Before his martyrdom, I hid Odai’s schoolbooks from visiting displaced families, unsure if he would return to school. Six months after his martyrdom, I still set a place for him at meals. His body is gone, but his spirit remains with us.

Odai cared for his siblings like a father, affectionate, sharing his allowance, buying them a lot. He dreamed of a better life for us. Now, I dream of continuing Odai’s journey, providing my children with a good life, an education, a home, and a stable job. I hope war ends soon. Eight months of continuous killing exhausts us.