Over 100 Displaced People have Sheltered in my Home Since the Beginning of the War

My story of hosting displaced people began at eight o’clock on the seventh day of October 2023, the first day of the Israeli war on the Gaza Strip. On that day, my daughter, her husband, their children, and the relatives of her husband who fled from the Israeli bombardment of the Shuja’iyya neighbourhood in eastern Gaza City, sought refuge in my home in Nuseirat refugee camp in the central Gaza Strip. Everyone in the camp knows me by my nickname, “Um Ashraf,” but few know my full name, which is Rasmiyya Ahmed Abbas, 74 years old. I was born and raised in the Beach refugee camp west of Gaza City and married Mahmoud Musa Al-Da’lasa. We lived for years in the city of Khan Younis in the southern Gaza Strip, then settled in Nuseirat camp over 30 years ago.

I managed to form rapid and meaningful relationships with all the residents of Nuseirat camp. My husband worked as the director of the Khan Younis post office in the Palestinian government, and my children are involved in trade. I am a homemaker, blessed by God with three sons, Ashraf, Mahmoud, and Hassan, and seven daughters, Manal, Niveen, Nasreen, Khatam, Eman, Rania, and Alaa. I managed to marry off all my sons and daughters, and God blessed me with many grandchildren. Currently, I live with my eldest son Ashraf and his children and my son Mahmoud and his children. My son Hassan travelled with his family and settled in Germany, while my daughters live with their families in various areas of the Gaza Strip.

After the Israeli occupation forces declared the southern and central Gaza Strip areas safe, dozens of displaced persons sought refuge in our four-story home in the Nuseirat camp. Each floor is about 200 square meters. One floor is for myself and my late husband, who passed away in 2021 due to COVID-19. Another floor is for Ashraf ’s sons, another for Mahmoud’s son, and the last for Hassan, who resides outside of Palestine. The fourth floor was prepared with two fully furnished apartments for Ashraf’s sons to reside in after marriage, but with the onset of the war, the entire house turned into a shelter for displaced persons.
 
I was very happy to provide accommodation for dozens of children, women, elders, and young people. I welcomed displaced persons from the Abbas, Tamraz, Al-Aklouk, Zaqout, Nasar, Al-Khatib, Al-Khalidi, Qoush, Atiya, Al-Arouqi, Hammad, Al-Nimnim, Jundiya, and Al-Da’lasa families. Some of these families are related to us by blood, some by marriage, and some by proximity, but all of them are connected to us through our Palestinian identity and our Islamic identity. My joy in embracing them in my home cannot be described, and with the grace of God, I have been able to fulfil this trust for the eighth consecutive month of the ongoing Israeli genocidal war on the Gaza Strip.

Among the displaced persons I hosted in my home was one who suffered from Down syndrome and had special needs. His name was Musa Ismail Hammad, 49 years old. The occupation has deprived him of his right to receive treatment since the first day of the war. The Israeli bombardment caused severe nervous breakdowns and continuous panic attacks for him. The Israeli airstrikes instilled fear in everyone, but they affected Musa even more profoundly.

We tried hard to provide treatment for Musa, but we were unsuccessful. The occupation destroyed the majority of hospitals and health centres in the Gaza Strip. Musa sought refuge in my home starting in the early days of the war, after fleeing his home in Gaza City. He suffered the consequences of the war with us, from psychological traumas to seizures and extreme fear due to the Israeli airstrikes on the Gaza Strip. We tried to support and calm him, but the occupation’s missiles thwarted all our efforts. He remained in this state until he passed away due to a panic attack induced by the Israeli airstrikes. He was buried in the Nuseirat cemetery away from his home in Gaza City.

I’ve witnessed and lived through many painful human stories during this war, but one story that deeply affected all of us was the murder of a little girl who was not even two years old. My relatives from the Abbas family fled from the Beach refugee camp to the Nuseirat camp, and during their journey on foot, they lost their young daughter, Saja Nael Abbas, 23 years old, and her little daughter, Warda Ali Al-Nimnim, two years old. They disappeared while walking on Rashid Street, also known as Sea Street. Her family searched for them extensively but couldn’t find them. Her family assumed they would reunite with them at my home, but instead slept in my house for a night without Saja and her daughter Warda.

Saja searched for her family, but as night fell, her fear grew significantly. She sought refuge in a car that had been bombed by the occupation earlier. It was pitch black, and stray dogs attacked Saja and her daughter. She hugged her daughter tightly, trying to protect her, but Saja lost consciousness from sheer terror. The next morning, she woke up to find her daughter had passed away. She suffered a severe psychological shock.

The following morning, a group of displaced persons found her sitting in a bombed car filled with the bodies of martyrs. It was very dark the night before, and Saja hadn’t seen the martyrs’ bodies. They found Saja crying over her deceased daughter. They asked for her name and where her family had gone. They brought her to our house, and we buried her daughter in the Nuseirat cemetery.

Saja stayed in my house for over a month. Her psychological condition was very severe. She would cry and clutch the pillow, constantly calling out for her daughter. She no longer understood what was happening around her. She attempted suicide on the rooftop of my house three times, and we managed to stop her. After she fled with her family to Deir al-Balah city, she attempted suicide for the fourth time, and she was rescued and prevented. However, the heinous crime she experienced robbed her of her ability to think, and she was no longer the same as before the war.

My granddaughter Raghad Mahmoud Al-Da’lasa got married to Youssef Tamraz in Jabalia refugee camp, in the north of the Gaza Strip, about six months before the war. She fled with her husband and his family to our home, then moved to their relatives’ house in Deir al-Balah city. Raghad suffered greatly during pregnancy due to the difficult circumstances of the displacement journey, the long walking distances, and the lack of proper medication and food.

During their displacement in a house in Deir al-Balah city in early February 2024, Raghad experienced childbirth symptoms. Her husband searched for a midwife to assist her since the conditions at Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Deir al-Balah were catastrophic. The maternity ward had been turned into an emergency department to receive dozens of daily wounded and injured.

Her husband couldn’t find a midwife, but he found a displaced nurse in a neighbouring house. The nurse helped deliver my granddaughter Raghad’s child, Abdulrahman, under very difficult humanitarian and health conditions.

My grandson Mohammed Ashraf Al-Da’lasa, 28 years old, got engaged to Shihada Ayman Al-Naqla a few months before the war. He built and beautifully furnished their apartment, setting Wednesday, 11 October 2023, as their wedding day and Tuesday for the bachelor party and henna night. He printed wedding invitations and distributed them to relatives, neighbours, and friends. He reserved the bride’s dress and the wedding hall, completing all the details and requirements for the celebration.

We were very happy for our first grandson Mohammed to get married, but the war began on Saturday, 7 October 2023, and we postponed the wedding due to the harsh war conditions. Mohammed’s apartment, which had been prepared for the wedding, was turned into a shelter for dozens of displaced persons. Likewise, the apartment of Musa, his brother, which had been prepared for his upcoming wedding, also became a shelter for the displaced. As the war continued, the bombings intensified, and we lost many martyrs, we decided to marry Mohammed despite the war.

In mid-November, after a month of the Israeli war on the Gaza Strip, my son Ashraf, his wife, my son Mahmoud, and I went to the bride’s family’s house. The groom Mohammed took his bride Shihada without any wedding ceremonies, festivities or the usual customs and traditions we’re accustomed to. There was no room for joy in the Gaza Strip. The occupation brought sadness into every Palestinian home in the Strip.

After three months of ongoing war in Gaza, we experienced the suffering of displacement like the rest of the Gaza Strip residents. The Israeli forces stormed the camps of the central governorate, including Nuseirat, Bureij, and Maghazi, and we were forced to evacuate our home for the first time during the war. My sons asked me to evacuate with them outside Nuseirat. I initially refused to leave my home, but after their insistence, I went with them.
I fled with my son Ashraf and his family to my granddaughter’s house in the Sawarha area of Al-Zawayda village, south of Nuseirat camp. The number of displaced persons in my granddaughter’s small house exceeded 25, most of them children and women. We stayed with them for about a month, then returned to our house in Nuseirat camp.

Upon our return, we were shocked by the extensive damage to our house caused by the Israeli shelling. Several neighbouring houses were destroyed, including the five-story house of Dr. Anwar Qoush and a nearby charitable women’s association. These homes were completely destroyed, and about 20 people, mostly children and displaced persons, were killed. The Israeli shelling also caused severe damage to our house, breaking windows and doors, and causing significant structural damage.

As we returned home, dozens of displaced relatives, friends, and neighbours who had lost their homes due to the Israeli shelling also returned with us. We repaired what we could of the house and covered the windows with nylon and blankets. Had we been at home during the bombing, everyone would have been killed. My sons found the remains of a child martyr from the Shabrawi family on the balcony of my son Mahmoud’s apartment. The area was completely devastated.

Now, I live in a damaged house with my sons, daughters, grandchildren, and dozens of displaced persons. The house remains open to all displaced persons, despite all the Israeli bombing that has struck Gaza for nearly the past eight months. We still love this land, and we will never leave it. We will not emigrate from Gaza even if the occupation kills us all. We will only leave Gaza by returning to Ashdod, which was occupied in 1948 – the city from which the occupation expelled my family. We hope the war will stop, and a decent life will be found for the people of Gaza. We hope the occupation will be held accountable for the hundreds of genocidal crimes committed in Gaza.

I have lived through all the wars that Gaza has faced except for the Nakba War, but I have never seen anything like this war in terms of killing, destruction, and genocide. We love our homeland, and we will never leave it.

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