Testimony Date: 22 May 2025

Ameen Abdallah Ismail Al-Athamneh, 41 years old, resident of Beit Hanoun in northern Gaza, and currently displaced in Gaza City.

I am married and employed by the Palestinian Authority. My family consists of eight members: my wife, my six children, and me. On the morning of 7 October 2023, I was at my home in the Al-Bura area of Al-Amal neighbourhood in Beit Hanoun, near the border fence in the northern Gaza Strip. That morning, I was startled by the sound of rockets being launched. It became clear that Palestinian factions had begun a military operation. I anticipated a strong Israeli response, so I told my children not to go to school and warned them, “Stay inside.” We could hear explosions but didn’t understand what was happening. Two hours later, the Israeli army sent evacuation messages ordering us to leave Beit Hanoun.

I evacuated my home and moved to my brother’s house, located two blocks away in another alley. Only four hours later, I was shocked to see my house bombed and completely destroyed by Israeli warplanes. Had we stayed, my children and I would have been among the casualties. The next day, 8 October 2023, at around 10:00 a.m., I took my wife and children and sought refuge in upper schools near Hamdan Restaurant—specifically in Palestine School in the Al-Falouja area south of Beit Hanoun.

First Arrest

We remained at the school for an extended period until Israeli forces invaded the area and arrested me from the school on 28 December 2023. This came after the army dropped fire bombs and leaflets ordering us to evacuate to the south — instructions we did not follow due to the heavy bombardment everywhere.

I was shocked to find the army at the school gates. I saw them with my own eyes as they entered the school and called out for my brother Alaa. They handcuffed and arrested him. I stepped outside and sat with the other people. My son was in front of me, and two of my other children were behind me. I placed my son in front of me because the army had placed a chair there, and whoever sat on it would be shot.

We were sitting in the school courtyard when they ordered us to move forward in groups of five to stand in front of a camera. They removed all the women. Before I reached the camera, I was called out over a loudspeaker: “Ameen Al-Athamneh, get on your knees.” I knelt down, placing my hands on my head, and a soldier came and bound my hands tightly with a twisted wire. I told him it was too tight, but he raised my arms up and back in a way that nearly broke my shoulder. They placed me in a truck and transported me to Zikim, northwest of the Gaza Strip, inside Israel.

We remained in Zikim for three nights, lying beside the cold sea, without a single word from anyone. They only took our personal data and photographs. I was handcuffed, blindfolded, lying on the beach, and covered with a blanket. On the fourth day, a truck came and dumped us behind Al-Shifa Medical Complex in western Gaza City, where I was released for the first time.

Forced Displacement, Bombing, and Siege

I found my wife forcibly displaced, the school where we had stayed had been bombed, and all our belongings were gone. I decided to try to rebuild my life. I remained in Gaza City, at Palestine School on Al-Wehda Street, but we were not allowed to return to the north. I was given a week to evacuate to the south, but I couldn’t adapt to life in Gaza City. I gathered what belongings I had left and headed south via Al-Rasheed Street.

I arrived at a checkpoint, unaware of what it was, and suddenly found myself trapped between two groups of soldiers — one in front and one behind me. One soldier signalled for me to proceed south. A few moments later, he called out, “Hey, Abu Al-Iyal (father of the children), come here.” I approached, and he ordered me to lift my clothing and turn around for inspection. Afterward, he allowed me to dress and continue forward.

During the inspection, a drone was sent to search my children, and when I returned to them, I found them crying out of fear. The soldier called me again and, after about an hour and a half, informed me that I was permitted to pass to the south. We were told to sit 50 metres away from the checkpoint, but Israeli tanks came frighteningly close to my children, and military jeeps advanced while firing in their direction.

We sat for four hours without food or water. Because of the intensity of the gunfire, I pleaded with them to either allow us to proceed or let us return to the north — but they ignored my request. I eventually decided to return and made my way back to Gaza in a cart pulled by an animal.

I returned once again to Palestine School, and then to Qalbiu School at the far northern edge of Beit Hanoun, in the Azbet Beit Hanoun area. I remained there alone for six days, then stayed for another six months. During the May 2024 invasion, I left the school and went to Ghazi Al-Shawa School in Beit Hanoun, where I remained for 21 days.

During that period, Israeli forces used a “booby-trapped robot” for the first time to blow up an entire neighbourhood. After witnessing tanks and bulldozers, I warned the displaced people in the school that it had been surrounded. They came out waving to the military vehicles, signalling that the buildings were inhabited by civilians. The army ordered all the displaced families to lie down together in a single room.

Then the robot was detonated, and shortly after, Israeli aircraft bombed one of the nearby homes, killing ten people — among them Samour Abu Odeh, his wife, his daughter, and her children from the Al-Basyouni family.

After the wounded were evacuated, warplanes bombed the home of the Al-Zuwaidi family. I don’t recall the exact date, but it occurred during the 21 days we spent at Ghazi Al-Shawa School.

We then returned to Qalbiu School, not knowing that the army had not yet withdrawn. Neighbours informed me that Israeli soldiers were still in the upper floors of the school, so we left immediately and only returned after confirming their withdrawal. We stayed at the school until 6 October 2024.

That day, the army besieged the school, fired four shells inside, demolished the outer wall, and sealed the building off with dirt mounds. Around 16 families were living together in one room for three nights. On the fourth day, a drone hovered and filmed us. Shortly afterward, about 30 tanks entered the area and bulldozed the surrounding homes. The army ordered each family to leave the school one by one.

Second Arrest

A soldier called me and ordered me to tell the men to come forward one by one for identity verification. When I returned from opening the classrooms, I found that they had placed my son in a pit in the schoolyard. My wife was crying and screaming in fear for him. I told her, “They’re after me,” and handed her everything I had, including my ID. I said my goodbyes and told her, “Take care of the children.”

I approached the soldier and said, “This is my son—what do you want from him?” He replied, “Either you or your son.” I chose myself. They released my son, handcuffed me, and slammed my head against the tank, injuring me and causing bleeding. I was arrested along with four others on 20 October 2024 and taken to the “Gaza Envelope” area.

There, they threw us into a water pool while our hands were bound. We were beaten and submerged. I felt like I was dying, drowning while my hands were tied. Every time I tried to raise my head out of the water, they hit me on the head. Those beating us were settler youths. I can’t swim, and I was handcuffed — I swallowed a lot of dirty water.

After they pulled us out, they stripped off our clothes and gave us prison overalls. We were ordered to change into them, then they handcuffed both my hands and feet, blindfolded me, and led me into a courtyard.

Torture at Sde Teiman

We were then transferred by truck to another location. They made us kneel, pressed my head to the gravel, and subjected us to verbal abuse — mostly from female soldiers who shouted, “You sons of whores, I’ll rape your mothers and sisters.” I was beaten all over my body, especially in sensitive areas, with their military boots.

We were then loaded onto a bus and transferred to Sde Teiman detention facility — something I only learned later because I had been blindfolded and handcuffed the entire way. At Sde Teiman, no truck is allowed to enter without waiting ten minutes at the gate to obtain clearance. Throughout the journey, a soldier kept hitting us.

Upon arrival, we were presented to someone named Dr. Rabee. He asked me, “Did they beat you?” I instantly said “No,” even though my body was covered in bruises — because I knew if I said “yes,” he would deny it. He then scanned my eye on a biometric device and sent me to the barracks inside Sde Teiman prison.

We were each ordered to lie face down. I assumed it was standard prison intake procedure — I didn’t expect beatings, explosives, or dogs. Suddenly, I felt something heavy on my back and heard a dog panting. I didn’t realise what it was until the detainee next to me whispered, “Don’t move. There’s a dog on your back, and if you move, it will bite your head through the muzzle.”

They dragged me to a room, untied my hands and feet, then re-cuffed my hands in front instead of behind — but they never removed the blindfold.

I spent 110 days handcuffed and shackled. Even when I went to the toilet, I wasn’t allowed to wash or remove my clothes. Sometimes, they took us to an area called al-Badoud — the isolation unit — where there were no surveillance cameras. We were tortured there, all without any formal investigation. It wasn’t until about three and a half months later that they began to speak to me.

At Sde Teiman, I arrived at around 1:00 a.m., and on the first day, we were completely deprived of sleep. At around 3:00 a.m., the soldiers began banging on the metal sheets, shouting, “Wake up! Wake up! Asfarot!” — Asfarot means roll call. My ID number was 745, and they called me by that number.

A female soldier called me and ordered us to kneel. We said, “We can’t,” so I told the others, “Do it for the sake of God — say ‘Allahu Akbar’ and kneel.” A soldier who understood Arabic came. When my turn came, I said “Allahu Akbar” and kneeled. She placed her foot on my neck and bit my hand. To this day, the imprint of her teeth remains on my hand.

The next morning, the captain came and said, “You need a shaweesh (a detainee assigned to help other detainees).” He called me and asked, “What’s your name?” I answered, “Ameen Al-Athamneh,” and he asked for my number, which I gave him. He sent that number to the intelligence officers, and they chose me to be the shaweesh. Up until that point, I had not been subjected to any interrogation. I started helping the other detainees — letting them into the bathroom and assisting those who wanted to do Wudu’ (wash before prayers).

We were allowed to pray, but only individually: group prayer was forbidden, no loud Takbeer (prayer call) was allowed, and no prayer mats or Qur’ans were permitted. I organised the prayer schedule, ensuring that each person prayed alone.

As for the food, we suffered a lot. During winter, we were constantly given labneh (strained yogurt), which worsened the cold and caused stomach cramps. We had only one blanket each. The daily routine required me, as shaweesh, to gather all the bedding each morning and place it outside the barracks to ensure nothing remained inside.

Meals consisted of three small portions that wouldn’t even fill a chicken:

• The first: labneh with a small tomato or cucumber.
• The second: tuna with labneh or a cucumber.
• The third: jam or labneh with a small apple.

Each portion was tiny — about a quarter of a spoonful spread across three small slices of toast. Some detainees chose to fast during the day so they could combine all three meals into one, as a single meal was never enough.

As for the mattresses, they were removed at 6:00 a.m. and not returned until 11:00 p.m. Sleeping during the day was forbidden. You couldn’t move from your place without asking the shaweesh, and I couldn’t take any action without the captain’s permission. If someone needed to use the bathroom, they had to inform me, and I would request permission from the officer — but often, by the time permission was granted, they had already wet themselves.

There were elderly detainees among us, and two died under my watch: Musab Haniyeh and Mu’ath Rayyan.

After 110 days, around 10:00 p.m., they called my name. I wasn’t even counting the days anymore — I just wanted it to end. Showering lasted one minute, and if you took longer, you had to leave naked. The water was ice-cold, whether in summer or winter. I don’t recall ever showering with warm water.

Torture in Ofer

At 10:00 p.m., they transferred me to Ofer. I was handcuffed, and before even entering the rooms, they beat us severely — a brutal assault. After the beating, they placed us in the rooms. Three days later, I was moved to “The Disco,” one of Ofer’s sections, where I remained for 27 days. It is an intelligence interrogation unit — a barrack built over sewage water. I sat on wooden pallets, handcuffed by both hands and feet. My legs were fastened to the floor, and a chain connected to my head forced me to keep my head down.

At night, they threw a blanket over me while I was still in this position, and in the morning, they lifted it. If the blanket slipped off during the night, I would remain uncovered, freezing cold, until morning. No one would cover me, and I couldn’t do it myself because I was shackled.

They asked me routine questions: “What’s your name? How old are you? What do you do for a living?” Then he asked, “Do you know anyone in the resistance?” I said, “No.” He replied, “How can you not?” I answered, “I’m a government employee in Ramallah, what do I have to do with the resistance?” He said, “I’ll soon find out whether you’re lying,” and sent me back to the barrack — The Disco — near the sewage.

I became afraid to use the bathroom because I would be beaten going there and back. I stopped drinking water just to avoid needing the toilet. On the 20th night, a female soldier came, placed a chair behind me, and urinated on my back while I was bound and restrained. I didn’t see her because I was covered with a blanket, but the detainee next to me said, “She just pissed on you.” I said, “Don’t joke like that.” He replied, “I swear she did.” I was overwhelmed with humiliation.

In the morning, the officer came wearing gloves, removed my blanket, and asked, “Who wants to use the bathroom?” Those who asked were taken. Those who didn’t were left. The toilet was a filthy container filled with faeces — disgusting. Many detainees preferred to relieve themselves on their clothes rather than use that place.

Researcher’s Note: During this part of the testimony, the detainee began to cry, visibly shaken by the memories. As a researcher and former psychological counsellor, I provided immediate emotional support. His grief and pain were deeply moving. I encouraged him to speak whenever he needed and to leave his space daily to relieve some of the burden.

He continued speaking: God is my witness and my protector. There was nothing I could do but be patient in the face of this injustice. The soldiers used to ask, ‘Who wants to eat?’ I started refusing food just to avoid having to use the bathroom. I kept telling the other detainees, ‘We must endure.’”

Among the detainees I knew, there was one from the Salah family and another from the Al-Za’anin family in Beit Hanoun. These two were always opposite me. At night, the soldiers would play dice games and blast loud music to torture us psychologically and prevent us from sleeping. They played Hebrew songs and forced us to dance to them while shackled.

There was an area in Ofer Prison called the “Tree Area”, which was out of the surveillance camera range. They used to beat and torture us there, and when a detainee returned broken and bruised, they would throw him into “Al-Badoud”(solitary confinement) for three days. The officer would say: “You’re a troublemaker. You’re sentenced to isolation.”But in reality, these punishments were arbitrary and without cause. I was beaten out of nowhere, for no reason.

In Ofer, they changed my number to 808. One day, soldiers came into our room and told us to head out for outdoors time. As I was walking, they suddenly called out my number in Hebrew: “808, get on your knees.” I knelt and placed my hands on my head. Suddenly, two large dogs came charging toward me. I covered my face, and the detainees with me yelled, “Cover your face! Bones heal, but your face won’t if it’s injured.” I dropped to the ground, one dog on my right and another on my left. The officer shouted, “Lie on your stomach and stay down,” so I obeyed and kept my hands on my head. He spoke to the dogs — they were trained — and one of them sat on my back. Then the soldiers came and shackled my hands and legs and said, “Move.”

They took me to a hilltop — I was told it was in Jerusalem, though I’m not certain. Other detainees later said it was military intelligence headquarters in Jerusalem. I was transferred in a slow-moving bus, and the soldiers beat me the entire way.

When we arrived at the intelligence office, called Tajnid Intelligence, they asked me to work with them.

I asked, “How?”

He replied, “We stay in touch like friends.”

I sarcastically responded, “You mean a spy? I respect your opinion, but I’m not the kind of person you want.”

When I refused, the officer grew angry and called two soldiers. They dragged me to a car garage, stripped me completely, and brought in female soldiers to watch me. I was fully naked, hands cuffed behind my back, and eyes uncovered. They said, “Isn’t this better?”
I answered: “I choose death over humiliation. If I work with you, I’d be killing my children. They’re about to get married. I have a life I’ve planned for them and for myself — and you want to destroy it in one day?”

The officer said, “What do you mean?”

I said, “If people start calling me a spy, my entire life will be destroyed.”

Then the soldiers began physically abusing me again — stripping me, beating me in sensitive areas. They forced me to sit on jagged construction stones that pierced into my skin while I was naked.

One said, “Sit on your ass just like that.” So I sat, shackled, in unbearable pain.

Then they brought in settlers to watch me and laugh while I was in that state. They even filmed me on their phones.

Researcher’s note:

The first interview session ended due to the severe psychological distress the former detainee experienced while recalling the torture. I concluded the meeting to respect his emotional state and offered him necessary moral support.

In a second session with the released detainee on 17 June 2025, he continued his testimony:

Among the many forms of torture in Sde Teiman prison, the army unleashed dogs on us, allowing them to bite and maul us. They broke my arm from repeated beatings, then hung it around my neck, refusing to take me to the clinic to treat the fracture. I remained in severe pain for a full week before they finally allowed it to be set. The only available treatment was a single Acamol pill for pain relief. It was true suffering. They refused to let me see a doctor, and when one was finally permitted, he asked me, “What happened to your arm?” The intelligence officer had previously threatened me not to say it was from beatings, so out of fear, I lied and told the doctor it was the result of a fall.

The army treated all detainees with the same brutality — whether they had been arrested on 7 October or at other times. The response was always violence, even against the sick or the starving. Using the bathroom required permission from the “shaweesh” and was accompanied by beatings.

One day, dogs were brought in to harass us, and at times we were placed inside dog cages. We were beaten with sticks, especially on sensitive areas, and subjected to stress positions (shabeh) for 27 consecutive days. I stopped eating and drinking entirely to avoid having to use the bathroom. Sde Teiman was, in truth, a slaughterhouse.

Now I remember one of the questions they asked me: “Where are the captives being held?” I replied, “I don’t know.” They said, “How can you not know when you live next to the Indonesian hospital?” I answered, “I really don’t know.” As punishment, they beat me and suspended me in a stress position — the pain was overwhelming throughout my entire body. I was forced to strip naked during interrogations. They conducted full-body searches and made me sit on a chair while handcuffed and blindfolded, completely exposed to the soldiers — a deliberate humiliation. Although I couldn’t see them, they could see me. After the interrogation, they would let me get dressed again.

Conditions of Release

When I was released, I was being held in Naqab (Negev). At first, they gave me new clothes, then took them back and handed me old ones. I was transferred again to Sde Teiman. On 22 May 2025, they called my name in the morning, shackled me, and transported me by bus to the Kerem Shalom crossing. When I saw the barbed wire, I knew we were going back to Gaza. The Red Cross received me, removed the shackles, and I was finally free.

I arrived the following dawn at Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Deir al-Balah, where I underwent medical examinations. Then I met my sister, who told me that my mother had passed away. I broke down in tears. I called my wife, and she cried with joy.

The next day, I made my way to reunite with my family in Gaza, taking the coastal road. Along the way, the sheer scale of destruction brought me to tears. I finally reached my displaced family at the Islamic University in central Gaza City. When I saw my face in the mirror for the first time in a year, I didn’t recognise myself — I had lost around 40 kilograms. I embraced my children and cried for a long time. Praise be to God for freedom.

I call on all human rights organisations to shed light on the suffering of Palestinian detainees and the violations they endure in Israeli prisons. Thanks be to God for freedom — may it soon come to all detainees.