Dozens of my family members have been killed by Israel in Gaza, now Ziyadi too...

By: Ghada Ageel / The Guardian
Translation: Telegrafi.com

My cousin Ziyad was too young to die. He was sleeping in his house in the Khan Yunis refugee camp when the bombs fell shortly before midnight on Friday. After hearing the explosion, my cousins, Mohammed and Moatsem, ran to save him, they told me, but he had already passed away in his bed. He was 44 years old.

Ziyadi was a social worker for UNRWA and worked with vulnerable families in the refugee camps in Gaza. Every summer, when I visited Gaza from Canada, he would buy my young son candy from Asa’ad’s shop – now missing along with Asa’ad (who was killed in October 2023) – insisting that Gaza’s candy was the best in the world. Everyone in Khan Yunis knew him for his calm, gentle spirit and warm smile. He was always willing to help – the words “no” or “I can’t” were never part of his vocabulary. The night before he was killed, he visited the wounded and sick, including my uncle, Kamal.

These attacks occur mostly at night, when people are trying to get some sleep amid the incessant explosions and cries for help. Since Israel cut off Gaza’s electricity supply, the light and sound of the bombing pierce the thick darkness that falls after sunset. And it was precisely at midnight that a rocket hit Ziyad’s family home. The multi-story building had five apartments, all filled with people – three of Ziyad’s brothers with their families, as well as several displaced relatives who had sought refuge there after losing their own homes. The Khan Yunis camp is where my grandparents found refuge in 1948, after the Nakba, and my family has lived there ever since. Ziyad was killed on the spot. His wife Samah and four children – Abboud, Duha, Leen and Obada – were injured.

His brother, Islam, was seriously injured and remains unconscious in the semi-functional Nasser hospital. Islam's wife, Du'aa, was killed instantly. One of their children, Ahmed, was thrown from the second floor to the ground by the force of the explosion – doctors speak of fractures in his pelvis and legs. Ziyad's sister, Hala, was also injured, along with her children – Malak, Nour and Muhammad. Three of Muhammad's limbs have been amputated. I will never forget the video I saw on Telegram of Halas, walking the corridors of Nasser Hospital with a face that bore more pain than a heart could bear.

Another of Ziyad’s brothers, Imad, and his entire family – his wife Nihal and their seven children, Muhammad, Muhand, Mu’ayyad, Mu’min and triplets Dima, Rima and Rita – were also injured. In total, 15 children under the age of 15 were injured in my family in this single attack. According to UNICEF, 15,600 Palestinian children have been killed in Gaza since October 7, 2023; nearly 600 children have been killed and over 1,600 injured since Israel resumed attacks on March 18. Entire family lines have been wiped out, homes turned into graves.

My cousins ​​tell me that among the children killed on Friday was Kenan, 20 months old, the only son of photojournalist Ahmad Adwan, whose family had sought refuge in Ziyad's home. Kenan was born after 18 years of his parents' struggle with infertility and numerous expensive medical treatments. His life was stolen before it had truly begun.

A few months earlier, Ziyad had been abducted by the Israeli army from the house where he would later die, and held for months in prison. When he was finally released, he no longer recognized Khan Yunis, the place where he had grown up. The destruction had been so extensive that it had erased almost every recognizable landmark in the city and the camp. The streets he once knew had become unrecognizable ruins. But he knew the strength and perseverance of people who would face any danger to bring hope and healing.

The circumstances of Ziyad’s death bear this out. When the attack occurred, Mohammed, 26, was sitting with his father and younger brother, Moatsem, 17. They heard the sound of a rocket – just seconds – then a devastating explosion that shattered windows, doors and lives. Stones and construction materials fell on their roof, injuring Mohammed’s hand. Without hesitation, Mohammed and Moatsem ran outside, into the darkness. Their father shouted for them to stay inside, fearing a double attack – a tactic aimed at first responders.

The boys told me how they ran into the thick smoke and dust. At least 20 other people had already gathered, searching desperately in the darkness, with only the faint light of their phones. There were a few small shovels to help, but most survivors and neighbors were forced to dig through the rubble with their own hands. Huge ceiling tiles had fallen; anyone under them had no chance. Still, people entered the rubble without stopping, pulling the wounded from the rubble, hugging dead children and calling out names in the chaos.

This is not the first time my family has been hit. On October 26, 2023, bombs fell on our neighborhood in Khan Yunis, without warning, killing more than 60 people – 45 of them members of my family. Back then, Ziyadi was among the first to run to save his relatives. This time it was too late to save him. I have long since stopped counting those I have lost.

My family’s story mirrors the stories of countless families across Gaza whose lives have been shrouded in the darkness of this genocide. I believe telling these stories is a challenge to the darkness. Seeking justice is not begging for mercy – it is a moral obligation. My family was not collateral damage. They were teachers, doctors, students, engineers, social workers, mothers and children – each one of them cut short.

What gives me comfort is that, in the face of this unimaginable cruelty, Palestinians are still running to save each other. In the pitch darkness, even amidst the falling rubble and the choking dust, the light of Palestinian dignity refuses to go out. These lights call us all to bear witness to the brutality, and they are beacons of hope that the suffering of Palestinians can end now. /Telegraph/