The massacres that tore my life apart

In this harsh and prolonged war, which has lasted for over a year, I have lost many of my relatives and friends who have been victims of horrific massacres. I will attempt to recount some of them in this article.

The first massacre was the Hijazi massacre, which took place in the Al-Tuffah area during the first week of the war, specifically on October 11, 2023. On that day, my family and I were sitting in our home in the Tel al-Hawa area, hearing the sounds of shells from all directions, when we received a call from one of our relatives informing us of the martyrdom of my cousin Dalal, her husband, and their five children.

We were in shock and unable to leave the house to confirm this news. To this day, we have found no trace of them, neither their bodies nor their clothes. We couldn’t bury them or bid them a final farewell. My cousin wasn’t killed alone. In this brutal massacre, which targeted a three-story residential building that was leveled to the ground, two of her husband’s brothers, along with their wives and children, were martyred. The total number of martyrs from this massacre was 14.

On November 7, 2023, my mother wanted to celebrate my older sister’s birthday to help us forget the atmosphere of war. However, the massacres refused to allow us to steal moments of joy and happiness.

At that time, we were displaced and staying at my grandmother’s house near al-Shifa Hospital. My cousins came to inform us that they had lost contact with their younger brother and his family for three days. I rushed with the family to al-Shifa Hospital to search for them, hoping they might be among the injured and no one had informed us. We didn’t find them among the unidentified injured, so we hurried to search for them among the bodies. There were tents containing unidentified bodies. We headed there, our hearts filled with fear. I will never forget the shock that struck us all when we found that my cousin, his wife, and their two young daughters, the eldest of whom was not even four years old, had been killed. We couldn’t recognize them by their faces, as the missile had turned the small family into pieces. We identified them by their clothes; his wife was wearing her prayer clothes, and we recognized her by them. We buried them all in one grave. Hani was martyred at the age of 33. He loved life and didn’t want to die with his small family in that way. 

I wished the world had ended at that moment.

The third massacre relates to my cousin Mishaal Hamdouna, which took place in March 2024, the sixth month of the war, specifically on March 1, 2024. At this time, my family and I were displaced in the middle area of Gaza Strip, Deir Al-Balah, when we received a phone call informing us of a horrific massacre in the northern Gaza Strip. The victims included my cousin, his wife, their five sons, their wives, and children, as well as his three daughters and their children, totaling 22 martyrs. The massacres continued one after another, with close family members lost, and we couldn’t bury them or bid them farewell. The bombing was severe at that time in the north, particularly in the Beit Lahia area. The family had gathered together to hold a mourning ceremony after the martyrdom of their son Nasim two days earlier in the Flour Massacre, also known as the Nabulsi Massacre, which claimed 150 lives and left 800 wounded on Thursday, February 29, 2024. Their martyrdom remains a testament to the genocidal war against our people in steadfast Gaza.

The massacres did not only affect my family but also took the lives of friends and neighbors.

The last massacre I want to talk about is related to the Abu Daher family. This family has been friends with my family for over twenty years, and we know them very well. However, this resilient family refused to leave the north and insisted either to stay or to become martyrs. At the time, my family and I had been displaced to Rafah, moving from one place to another due to the intense shelling. This time, we were in the southern Gaza Strip, staying in the home of strangers who decided to take us in rather than leave us to live on the streets. We received a phone call telling us that our friends in the north had suffered a horrific massacre on December 4, 2023, in which 23 martyrs were killed. The bombing in the area was intense that day, especially in the Falouja area in the north, so the family decided to head to one of their relatives’ homes in the Jabalia refugee camp. They fled from death only to encounter death again when a missile struck the house they had sought refuge in, killing the sons, their wives, and grandchildren. Only the elderly grandmother remained, alone, without support, displaced from one house to another in the north until now. This was the last message she posted on her Facebook account, mourning the loss of her entire family:

“I have lost all of my children. I swear, I die a million times a day. They were my support and strength after God. They were my mother, father, brother, friend, beloved, and dutiful son. They left me orphaned and weak. I have become a walking corpse, a body without a soul. I swear, my pain and suffering is known only to God. May He ease my sorrow and give me patience in your absence, and may He gather me with you in the highest gardens of paradise. Pray for them for mercy and forgiveness, and pray for me to have patience.”

I would like to tell you that all the martyrs I mentioned, neither I nor my family were able to see them or bid them farewell for the last time, nor were we able to bury the bodies of those whose remains were found. The war deprived us of the simplest of our rights, even the opportunity for a final farewell.