Date of Testimony: August 3, 2025
Salim Ibrahim Muslim Asfour, 75 years old, married, originally from Abasan Al-Jadida and currently displaced in Al-Mawasi, Khan Younis.
I am married to two wives and father to 10 children: 6 married daughters and the rest still young. My younger children are: Ayman (15), Abdelsalam (13), Doha (11), and Sultan (4). My married daughters are: Zainab (55), Jamila (50), Asmahan (45), Hanan (43), Aisha (42), and Haneen (22).
I once lived in a 260m² house and owned 3 dunums of farmland planted with olives, almonds, and vegetables. I also had sheep and ran a supermarket. The Israeli occupation destroyed all of these during its assault on Gaza beginning on October 7, 2023. Because my home was only one kilometer from the border, displacement began early for me. On October 8, 2023, the second day of the war, I fled with my family to Mustafa Hafez School in Khan Younis. After four months, we moved to Rafah for three months, then briefly returned to Abasan Al-Jadida, only to find our home destroyed. When the Israeli military invaded Abasan again, we fled to Al-Mawasi, then to Al-Zawaida for six weeks, back to Abasan for a few days, and finally, after further displacement, we ended up in Al-Hindi camp, Street 5, northwest of Al-Mawasi, Khan Younis, where we remain today.
Since the war and displacement left me with no source of income, my family of six has relied on aid from UNRWA, humanitarian organizations, and local food kitchens (takiyat). Our meals consisted mainly of distributed canned beans, peas, fava beans, chickpeas, and lentils. When Israel banned aid entry into Gaza in March 2025, our situation worsened. Most food kitchens shut down due to lack of supplies, and vegetable prices soared—tomatoes now cost 120 shekels per kilo. With no income, I cannot buy anything. Essentials are gone: no flour, no food, not even water except in small quantities, often salty. I have no water tank—only two 10-liter cans.
Hunger has overtaken us. Some days we go one or two days without food or bread. At times we eat only bread with water. Tonight, as I speak with you, I have not eaten since morning. When bread is available, I refrain so my children can eat. I tell myself, “I am old; my life is nearly over—let the children live.”
Out of desperation, I sent my children to beg neighbors for bread, or to search the garbage for leftovers or dry bread, which we soak in water. Sometimes we heat water and crumble bread into it to make it edible. My wife, Nisreen Ahmad Ali Asfour, 47, has blood cancer. She works at a bakery near Asdaa prison, earning 20 shekels a day—less than the price of a single kilo of flour, which now costs at least 30 shekels.
We survive only if someone donates food—perhaps lentils. We have no firewood, so we burn scraps: paper, old clothes, even broken shoes, just to cook. This “tent” I live in is not truly a tent but wooden poles covered with tarps and cloth, given to me by a kind man. Inside we have only worn-out mattresses. Even though Israel opened aid distribution points in Shakoush, Moraj, and Al-Alam, and allowed trucks through Tahlia, I cannot go there. My eldest son is only 15, and he too cannot manage the journey.
In 2014, part of my stomach was removed after a cancerous tumor ruptured my colon. I once weighed 75 kilograms; I have lost 30, and now my bones protrude. My children go to sleep hungry, surviving on scraps of bread or lentils. I suffer from malnutrition, which has weakened me so much I struggle even to reach the bathroom.
The hardest part is watching my children starve. I feel crushed, helpless, and terrified for their survival. That is why I decided to share my story with the media. Over the past two days, at least 20 journalists and outlets have published my story. My only hope is for food, a proper tent to shelter my family, and for my children to return to school.
Is it acceptable that my daughter, 11 years old, still cannot read or count—first because of COVID-19, and now because of this war?
