Birth and Death Under Israeli Bombs

As the Israeli war intensified on the Gaza Strip, especially in the northern area and in Gaza City, thousands of families have been forced to flee from the north to the central and southern parts of Gaza. Among the families forced to flee was my son’s wife’s family. After they fled during the war, they lived with us in our house in Nuseirat refugee camp in central Gaza. My home is located in the midst of a cluster of UNRWA schools, which prompted many of our relatives, who considered the area safe, to seek refuge with us. We live south of the Gaza Valley, which the occupation classified as a safe area. However, on Saturday afternoon, 17 February 2024, the occupation forces bombed my house with several missiles, resulting in the complete destruction of my house and the martyrdom of ten of my family members, most of whom were women and children.

At 58, with so many members of my family taken from me, I must complete the remainder of my life with what’s left of my family.

I am a sick man suffering from blood cancer. I have been suffering from the disease for several years and have undergone intensive treatment sessions to control and limit its spread in my body. However, I lost my immunity and became susceptible to the simplest of diseases, which forced me to leave my job and kept me from moving too much. I used to go from my home to the mosque and then to visit my daughters and relatives. That was my life.

I married my soul mate, Ahlam Mohammed Abu Sultan, in 1987. She is from the town Hamama, which was occupied in 1948. My marriage to her was a gift. We have three sons, Nabil, Mohammed, and Ahmed, and six daughters, Falastine, Fidaa, Reem, Noor Al-Huda, Aya, and Mina. Four of my daughters got married, and one of my sons got married. God blessed me with nine grandchildren from my daughters and my son Mohammed. I lived the most beautiful of days with them, and my wife and I were happy with what we had achieved for our children. We got to see them grow up, get married, and we were able to witness our grandchildren before our death. My wife was my biggest supporter throughout my illness and the crutch who I leaned on at all times.

The occupation killed my two infant grandchildren. My middle son, Mohammed, got married on 1 March 2023, to a woman named Sajaa Al-Mamlouk. Mohammed’s wife was five months pregnant when the war broke out and she suffered greatly. She gave birth to my granddaughter, Jouri, on 27 January 2024. We couldn’t celebrate her arrival due to the intensity of the war and Israeli bombardment.

Jouri is my first granddaughter from my sons. We had planned a big celebration for her arrival. Before the war, my wife and I agreed to buy a cake and invite our relatives and friends to the party. But the occupation ruined everything we planned and destroyed the joy of welcoming our granddaughter. My daughter Reem married a man named Alaa Issa and gave birth to a baby boy named Ahmed. They were happy with the birth of their first child. But during the bombing, my daughter’s husband, Alaa, and their infant son, Ahmed, were killed, along with the wife of my son, Sajaa Al- Mamlouk, and their infant daughter, Jouri. The occupation robbed us of our joy and deprived us of all our loved ones.

My granddaughter Jouri was two months old when she was killed, and my grandson Ahmed was five months old. They were born during the war and died in the war. We couldn’t obtain birth certificates for them because all government facilities in Gaza are closed. We only have birth notifications for them. Now, we will obtain death certificates for them instead of birth certificates.

I have no dreams left after the departure of my wife Ahlam.

My marriage to Ahlam made me one of the happiest people. Our marriage was the beginning of a beautiful future, and with her, I managed to achieve my dreams. She was beautiful in every aspect, loved by everyone, and had a good relationship with everyone she knew. She never hurt anyone; she had a pure heart. Israeli bombs deprived us of her company.

 My wife and I dreamed of seeing our eldest son Nabil, 33, married. My wife searched a lot for a bride, and we were close to arranging his marriage, but the war prevented us from celebrating this. I told her that the first thing we would do after the war would be to finalize Nabil’s marriage. The occupation ruined this dream. The occupation killed Nabil and killed my wife when our home was bombed.

Nabil was kind to me and his mother. He chose to delay his marriage so that he could work and support my wife and I. His younger brother married before him, and he was happy with that. He worked as a salesman in a grocery store in Nuseirat camp and he had memorized the Quran at the nearby mosque.

Nabil would give all his money to his mother. He told her to use it for household expenses. He cared more about our welfare than his own. I wished to rejoice with him and marry him off. I wished to live to see the day when I could embrace Nabil’s children and play with them. Instead, I embraced Nabil as a martyr and buried him with my own hands in the soil. There are no words that can describe the great tragedy and sadness that the occupation has caused me and my daughters.

The martyrs in my family are my wife Ahlam, my sons Nabil and Mohammed, my infant granddaughter Jouri, the wife of my son Sajaa Al-Mamlouk, the husband of my daughter Alaa Issa and their infant son Ahmed, as well as the brothers of my son’s wife, Abdullah and Malik Al-Mamlouk, and Iyad Abu Hatab. They were civilians who sought refuge in my house, fleeing from the bombardment, but the occupation’s rockets pursued and killed them in what they thought was a safe place.

My son Mohammed was seriously injured in the bombing. He woke up a few days before his martyrdom and learned of the martyrdom of his mother, brother, wife, daughter, and relatives. He lived ten days of regret, pain, and despair in the intensive care unit, then he passed away from his injuries and was buried next to his wife and daughter. Some of us survived.

 We couldn’t find enough open space in the cemetery to bury the martyrs, so we dug on top of the graves of our relatives who had passed away earlier and buried our martyrs in the same spot. I can only walk with the help of a wooden crutch, but I asked my relatives to allow me to bury my wife, sons, and grandchildren. My tears flowed heavily as I placed soil over the bodies of my loved ones, my hands following my tears. I couldn’t bear to complete their burial, so my relatives pulled me out and tried to calm me, but no words or expressions could alleviate my grief and pain, as my loss is too great for words to contain.

The occupation bombed my house while I was visiting my mother to give her medication. My daughter Manar was playing near her uncle’s house with her friends, and the mother of my son Mohammed’s wife was at the market with her daughters, so they survived the bombing, but her sons were martyred.

My daughter Reem was in the kitchen preparing a bottle of milk for her infant son Ahmed when the bombing occurred. She suffered various injuries, and her infant son and husband were martyred. The occupation killed her hungry infant son; his mother wanted to feed him, but the occupation deprived her of that opportunity and wiped out her entire family. My daughter Aya, 17 years old, was injured in the bombing. She suffered tissue damage in her left eye along with a tear duct rupture and fainting in the same eye. She also suffered facial deformities, injuries to her eyelid and lip, bruises and fractures in her foot, knee, and other parts of her body, and underwent multiple surgeries. She still needs further surgeries outside of Gaza.

Many animals were also killed in the Israeli bombing. We owned many sheep and birds, but only one bird, which my son Nabil had bought before the war, survived the bombing. I will never slaughter it; it’s a memento of my martyred son, and I will continue to take great care of it.

My son Nabil was injured before his martyrdom in a previous bombing that targeted a neighbouring house where he worked. He suffered a pelvic fracture. We lost our family and our home. Now, I live with my young daughters Reem, Aya, Manar, and my son Ahmed in my elderly mother’s house. We have no shelter. We fled, like all the residents of Gaza, during the Israeli forces’ invasion, from Nuseirat camp to Rafah. We have now returned to Nuseirat camp.

All I wish and dream for is for the war to stop, for the Israeli forces to be held accountable for their crimes, for the world to be just to us and restore our occupied land, and for the reconstruction of the Gaza Strip to be expedited so that we can live the remainder of our lives in dignified homes.

If you have questions or concerns, please contact us at gazaunlocked@afsc.org.