S. S. M. T., 17 years old, single, resident of Al-Jalaa area near Abdel Aal.
Testimony Date: April 23, 2025.
On 17 January 2024, after repeated forced displacement, we arrived at the Holy Family School, which became our shelter. There, I began to rebuild a daily routine, trying with all my strength and determination to adapt to the harsh reality of displacement.
But on 14 December 2024, at midday, my life was shattered. As I walked past the school’s administrative office, a deafening explosion rang out—an Israeli missile from an F-16 fighter jet struck the corridor just metres away. The force of the blast knocked me to the ground. I didn’t immediately realise the extent of my injuries until pain consumed my legs: one had been completely severed, while the other was wounded from behind.
We waited thirty agonising minutes for an ambulance—as if time had frozen—while I watched my mother take her final breaths. When the medics finally arrived, they rushed me to Al-Shifa Hospital, where I lost consciousness. My condition was critical; my blood level had dropped dangerously low, and I was placed in intensive care.
I remained in Al-Shifa Hospital for one month and ten days—locked in a struggle between life and death. I was then transferred to Al-Helou Hospital to continue my fight. There, I underwent four surgeries on my left leg and one on my right. This was followed by a long series of physical therapy sessions, starting once a week, then increasing to twice a week, until I was finally able to move again on my own. It was a grueling battle—I often thought I wouldn’t make it—but I pushed through, learning to live with my new reality: one leg slowly healing, and the other gone forever, taking a part of my soul with it and leaving behind physical and emotional pain that has yet to fade.
On 17 January 2025, my family took me back to the Holy Family School. My mental state was at its lowest. I was exhausted to the point of collapse—my mother had been killed, and I had lost my leg. It felt as if all the burdens of the world had fallen on me at once.
My family surrounded me with love, doing their best to comfort me, but the pain was too intense for words to contain. It felt like this injury had taken everything from me, transforming my life in unimaginable ways. I was drowning in grief, unable to come to terms with what had happened. Over time, I slowly began to adjust, but it was incredibly difficult—as if I were confronting a brick wall at every turn. I tried to show strength on the outside, but inside, I remained the same broken girl who had yet to heal. I started going out to nearby places with the people closest to me, but the truth I couldn’t hide was this: I missed the version of myself I used to be. I longed for the life that was taken from me and wished I could return to those days, before everything changed.
During online schooling, I struggled greatly. The pain and trauma robbed me of the ability to focus, and I had to rely on daily painkillers just to get through the day. I couldn’t keep up with my lessons, and concentrating in front of a screen for long hours became impossible. Everything began to feel like a heavy burden, and my academic life started slipping away.
While I was in the hospital, treatments and medication were available thanks to the temporary ceasefire. But as soon as the war resumed, everything changed. Medical supplies became scarce, and my father had to purchase everything out of pocket—despite the soaring prices.
Since the moment of my injury, I’ve had one dream: to receive a prosthetic limb that fits my height and needs—something that can restore a part of my life. Without it, my life is nearly impossible. I can’t carry anything while walking, and I rely entirely on crutches to move. But they’re not enough. Every step feels like a burden. Under the constant strain of forced displacement, even the crutches become an obstacle, making movement even more painful and difficult.
When the ceasefire began, hope returned. I truly believed I’d finally be able to travel and get a prosthetic limb. But when the war resumed, that hope vanished. The pain returned with it, and my chance at treatment disappeared once more.
My deepest wish—the one that fills my heart and chokes my breath—is for this brutal war to end, and for life to return to what it once was, so I can reclaim the hope that was lost in a world where peace has vanished. I don’t ask for much—only for the war to end and for the Israeli occupation to allow me to travel for treatment. Just one chance, one moment, where I can walk without crutches and return to life as I once knew it, without pain following my every step. I want to reclaim what was taken from me. I want to live freely again. To move without limits. And to feel in every step the independence and strength that I’ve missed so deeply.
