Testimony Date: 12 July 2025

Majdi Mousa Alyan Jadallah, 41 years old, resident of Khan Younis refugee camp

I work as an academic advisor for new students in the Student Affairs Department at the Faculty of Applied Sciences. I live in a 55 m² apartment on the third floor of our family home, a three-storey building with a total area of 70 m². Since birth, I have suffered from spinal deformities that have affected my height and muscle growth. As a result, my mobility is limited, and I can only move outside the house using an electric wheelchair.

I was married to Mrs. Asia Taha Eid Zu’rob, and we had three children: Yahya (14 years old), Mousa (12 years old), and Ibrahim (1 year old).

During the Israeli assault on the Gaza Strip starting on 7 October 2023, I was first forcibly displaced on 24 January 2024 to Girls’ Elementary School C, where I stayed for a month. I then moved to Al-Mawasi (west of Khan Younis) and later returned to my home in the camp on 1 June 2024, where I have remained since. Although we were warned by Israeli forces to evacuate the camp in early July, I could not leave due to financial hardship, lack of shelter, and the additional hardship displacement poses given my health condition. The neighbours hadn’t left either, so I thought, “I will stay, like them.”

At approximately 9:45 p.m. on Wednesday, 9 July 2025, I was in my third-floor apartment after the evening (isha) prayer. My children were downstairs playing at the home of my late uncle, Mahmoud Othman, which is adjacent to ours on the southern side. They were playing with my cousin’s granddaughter, Tasneem Musab Abu Khudair (7 years old), who was forcibly displaced from northern Gaza and staying with us. My wife came into the room holding my phone and told me that my colleague was calling. I answered the call, then made another one, and gave the phone back to her to call her family, as she usually did. But she didn’t make the call and instead went downstairs. I began praying isha, and suddenly, I heard the sound of an explosion—sand, stones, and dust flying everywhere.

I quickly finished my prayer and rushed downstairs. As I descended, I heard women screaming. When I reached the street, I saw my late uncle Mahmoud’s house completely destroyed and young men from the neighbourhood gathering around the site of the strike. I stood in disbelief, murmuring, “Thank God.” The young men began searching for my children and wife. First, they pulled out my son Yahya, then Mousa, then Ibrahim. They couldn’t find my wife until they located her under the rubble near the entrance of the house. About ten minutes later, the Civil Defence arrived and transported them to the hospital.

Each time they pulled out one of my sons, the young men would tell me, “He’s okay,” but I kept saying, “He’s gone.” Deep inside, I felt they had all been martyred. I tried to go to Nasser Hospital, but my relatives and the young men prevented me. The Civil Defence and neighbours continued searching for Tasneem Abu Khdeir, who was missing.

At around midnight, the early hours of Thursday, 10 July 2025, the Civil Defence suspended the search due to other ongoing incidents. The neighbours kept searching, then paused for two hours before resuming around 5:30 a.m. They found Tasneem and transported her to Nasser Hospital. I went with them at around 7:10 a.m. After completing the burial and funeral, we buried them all in a mass grave in Al-Satariyah cemetery behind the Austrian Quarter, as our family cemetery was full.

Several others were injured in the incident, including my aunt Su’ad Abdullah Safi (55 years old), my cousin Mohammad Mahmoud Othman (36), and Asma Mahmoud Othman (33). Among our neighbours, to my knowledge, Sarah Nasr Abu Mustafa (24) and Mohammad Mahmoud Khalafallah (33) were also injured, along with others whose names I don’t know. The nearby homes were damaged, and my electric wheelchair, which I rely on for movement, was also affected.

That night, around 11:00 p.m., while I was sleeping on the ground floor, I heard my children and wife calling me: “Help us, Daddy! We’re suffocating, Daddy!” I woke up in panic. Around me were my aunt Su’ad, my cousin Mohammad, and my sister Sabreen (33), who had insisted I sleep downstairs. I asked them, “Do you hear what I hear?” They said no. I went up to my apartment and broke down crying.

In a single moment, I became completely alone—without children, without a wife.
My wife, who was my hands and feet, handled everything in our home. I only went to work and came back; I didn’t know anything about running the house—she took care of it all. I used to call my son Yahya “my professor,” Mousa “my doctor,” and Ibrahim “my engineer.” Since the start of the assault, my wife and I had made a pact with our children: to live or die together so that none of us would suffer the loss of the others. But now… they are gone. God is my refuge and the best to rely on.