January 28, 2025
Amidst Fear, Flight from Death, and Continuous Displacement, I Lost My Family and My Husband.
Amidst Fear, Flight from Death, and Continuous Displacement, I Lost My Family and My Husband.

Date: 18/12/2024

(S. M. S.), 40, mother of four children: Sa’eed (12), Mostafa (10), Mousa (8), and Maryam (4), Currently displaced in the al-Swedi area of the al-Shati refugee camp, previously resident of Beit Lahia, al-Shimaa’ Street

From the moment the attacks began on October 7, 2023, I felt an overwhelming danger and immediately began preparing a bag in case of an emergency. I stayed in my house until October 15, 2023. During that time, our residential area was subjected to intense and violent bombing, including the use of smoke bombs. As a result, we were forced to seek refuge in Faisal Bin Fahed School used as a shelter for internally displaced people (IDPs), hoping it would be safe. Unfortunately, the situation at the school was equally dangerous, so I decided to return home the same day despite the ongoing bombing.

Upon returning, the security situation was even more dire, forcing us to move to Tel al-Za’tar Secondary School. The school was sheltering over eight families, approximately 80 people in total. The men were forced to sleep in the school’s corridors due to overcrowding. We remained there until November 18, 2023.

That morning, at 4:00 AM, a series of intense fire belts were launched in the area, and the school’s gate was targeted. At the time, I was in a classroom on the upper floor, directly above the gate.

Moments later, another bombardment struck. I quickly carried my children and fled to another classroom, but it was already overcrowded. I then took my children downstairs, and shortly after, the classroom we had just left was bombed.

In those horrifying moments, I was separated from my husband and had no idea where he was or what had happened to him. Later, I found him in the corridor as I was leaving the classroom. We had been engulfed in a state of panic and terror. I screamed in shock when I learned that 36 members of my family were killed in the attack.

Thankfully, my children, my husband, and I survived. The scene was unbearable and indescribable.  At approximately 10:00, we decided to leave the school and seek refuge at Abu Zaytoun UNRWA School in Jabalia refugee camp, where we stayed with eight other families. When the humanitarian truce was declared on November 24, 2023, we returned home. However, after the truce ended, I endured some of the most difficult days of my life.

On December 1, 2023, the Israeli Occupation Forces launched their first ground invasion into Jabalia refugee camp, forcing us to return once again to Abu Zaytoun UNRWA School. We stayed at the school until December 8, 2023. After that, we decided to leave.

One day, while my 4-year-old daughter Maryam and I were in the bathroom, the IOF threw a smoke bomb inside. I cannot describe the terrifying moment we experienced. Some displaced people at the school helped us get out of the bathroom. After what happened to us and due to the unbearable living conditions at the school, I could no longer stay there. We decided to leave on foot and head to al-Shifa Medical Complex.

On our way to Al-Shifa Complex, I was separated from my husband due to the large number of displaced people fleeing the area. Later, I took a cab that drove me and my children to the al-Shifa Complex. We spent a night there as the complex was overwhelmed with displaced people. The following day, December 9, 2023, I headed to my family’s house in the al-Sina’a area, where I was reunited with my husband. The security situation in the area was extremely dangerous due to the ongoing bombing.

On January 29, 2024, the IOF invaded the al-Sina’a area, and we saw Israeli tanks and snipers in the vicinity and saw many people martyred right before our eyes. As a result, we were forced to flee through the rear gate of the UNRWA headquarters in al-Sina’a area and head on foot to Jabalia refugee camp. During our escape, we had to walk over the bodies of the martyrs in a heart-wrenching and painful scene.

Our journey to Jabalia refugee camp was extremely difficult. I carried my children and some clothes through the heavy rain, which only intensified our suffering. Upon reaching Abu Zaytoun UNRWA School, we found there was no available space to stay, forcing us to return to Beit Lahia. There, we sought refuge at Tel al-Rabee’ School. We stayed there until 11 May 2024, enduring hellish conditions and continuous suffering.

When the IOF launched their second invasion into the northern Gaza Strip, we decided to leave the area and seek refuge at Dar al-Arqam School in al-Karama area, where my sister and her family had already taken shelter. We stayed at the school for three days. However, as military escalation intensified in al-Karama, we decided to return to Tel al-Rabee’ School in Beit Lahia, where we remained until the situation calmed down. On May 18, 2024, we returned home as the security situation there had become relatively calm.

 Unfortunately, the calm did not last long. On October 6, 2024, the IOF launched their third ground invasion of northern Gaza, and this one was more violent than previous ones.

The bombing that day was intense, and the security situation became increasingly terrifying, especially since it was one day before the first commemoration of the Israeli war on Gaza.

That night was particularly tragic, as my aunt’s house was bombed, killing six members of the al-Masri family. These events deeply affected my mental state, and I found myself constantly crying. My husband tried to support me, encouraging me to be strong for the sake of our children, but every night seemed harder than the last, deepening our suffering and amplifying our fear of an uncertain future.

I stayed in our house until November 7, 2024. Afterwards, I tried to find a safe place in nearby schools, but I couldn’t find any available space. I then moved to my uncle’s house on al-Manshiya Street, where I stayed for about 20 days.

On November 12, 2024, my husband went out to buy medicine for our daughter, who had developed a cough. Given the dangerous situation, I was extremely and waited anxiously for him to return.

As the hours passed too late and he still hadn’t come back, my brother-in-law and his son decided to go and search for him, despite the extreme danger along the way. They returned with the heartbreaking news that my husband had been martyred after a quadcopter drone dropped a bomb on his legs.

They couldn’t transfer him to the hospital due to the difficult security situation, so they were forced to bury him immediately. It was a painful and devastating moment, a reflection of the immense suffering we had endured.

Following this, the security situation worsened further, and I, along with my children and family, had to seek refuge at my uncle’s house near Abu Tammam School. We stayed there for three days. After that, my family decided to seek refuge in a nearby school. During the day, they would go to my other uncle’s house near Tel al-Rabee’ School to bathe and relieve themselves.

On November 30, 2024, as I was on my way to check on my family and deliver some food to them, I met my nephew. His face was pale and his voice was heavy with sadness. Before I could ask him anything, he delivered the heartbreaking news: the house where my family had sought refuge had been bombed. For a moment, I was paralyzed in shock, as if time itself had come to a standstill…

Everything around me became a blur, and all I could hear was the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. In a state of disbelief, I screamed, “My family is gone!” and ran towards the medical point.

Upon arriving there, I was devastated to learn of the martyrdom of my parents and sisters. My father, Mohammed Abu Samra, my mother, Najeeba al-Baba, my sisters, Wafa and ‘Abeer Abu Samra, and four members of the ‘Eliyan family, who were with my family in the same house, were all killed in the bombing.

My sister ‘Abeer was the last to be retrieved from under the rubble. They were all buried on the same day. The pain of this loss was indescribable, and the devastation left a wound so deep it will never heal.

After the tragic incident, I stayed in Beit Lahia until December 4, 2024. As the situation deteriorated and the bombing intensified in the area, I reached a point where I could no longer endure the conditions, especially with the constant fear for my children’s safety. I decided to leave Beit Lahia despite the hardships. We walked on foot until we reached the al-Swedi area in the al-Shati refugee camp. The journey was incredibly difficult, filled with fear and challenges.

I am constantly fearful for my children, and the burden of this responsibility is very overwhelming. Every day, I live with the feeling that my heart is on the verge of breaking… The loneliness I experience is suffocating, and every decision I face is fraught with fear of the unknown. I cling to the faintest glimmer of hope, but at times, this hope fades against the backdrop of such harsh reality.

The weight of the world seems to rest on my shoulders… Yet, despite this, something inside me compels me to keep going. I must raise my children, give them hope, even when the world around us is shattered. I strive to appear strong in front of them, but in truth, I am constantly terrified—afraid of the future and the losses I cannot yet understand or bear.