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I really want to talk to the world, so that my voice reaches the world and I show them the truth, and how much suffering I live because I was injured in an Israeli bombing of Gaza in 2014, and because of this bombing I became paralyzed, and I use a wheelchair, and because of the war that is currently taking place in Gaza, the crossings have been closed and we are living in a great famine, I also want clarification about the disease hemophilia, and the lack of provision of medicines.
War has destroyed everything in our lives, I cannot use a wheelchair on destructive roads and there are no houses, there is no food or healthy drink and no medicines, there are no hospitals to stay inside, in order to receive medicines, borders are closed because of Israel, sanctions have been imposed on the people in Gaza, I am as a wheelchair person living in a very difficult life here in Gaza, no one can imagine it, sleeping inside tents and living inside them is very difficult, the hot summer has passed while we are inside tents, and the cold winter has come to kill us all, there are no clothes to buy it, that's why it is incredible how to live a life like this, I did not find clothes for the winter and it became very bad here, the tents are very painful.
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The Detention:
My family and I spent the first four and a half months of the war under constant threat of tanks and missiles that rained shrapnel down on us day and night, and destroyed entire apartment blocks. One harsh night in February, neighborhoods and homes around us were destroyed and one of our apartments was burned while we were still in it! We turned a corner under the stairs into an area to hide in for the night and we headed out from our house in the morning to find shelter after the situation calmed down a bit, towards one of the nearby schools. Even though we are told schools are safe and protected shelters by the Occupation army, it wasn't long before we were surrounded. Soldiers screamed at us to stay in place. All night we could hear the sound of shells hitting the houses, and the sounds of tanks and bulldozers, one of which destroyed the local pump station that supplied the school with water.
We felt afraid... fear because they were besieging us and fear because of the lack of water. We were not there long before a small camera plane entered and photographed parts of the school.
After that, a tank stormed the school gate and demolished it, and the soldiers ordered us to "evacuate" again to yet another "safe zone." Initially I thought we were going west to Mawasi, where the fighting had been less intense and where the refugee camps are in better condition, but the Israeli army had other plans.
After they demolished the front gate to the school, we were ordered to line up in single file. We were then marched out onto the street and divided into five groups, where we were ordered to produce our ID cards. My little brother, hoping we were still going to Mawasi, immediately offered his ID, after which he was told to strip. He was handcuffed, blindfolded, and dragged inside a nearby building to be interrogated. I was shocked to see him in this state. Then the same thing happened to us when it was our turn and we were handcuffed and blindfolded, me and my father, with a group of about 50 people.
Interrogation:
In the building we heard the sounds of screaming, torture, beatings and the breaking of bones of both elderly people and young people in the prime of their lives... of people who had no fault in what was happening except that they were Palestinians. One of the elderly people was beaten and when he asked the soldier to hurry up and treat him before he had a stroke, and to bring him some water, the soldier poured poisoned water on him. The sounds of his last gasps are still in my ears to this day and I don't know if he is still alive !or not! He was just an old man, what did he have to do with all that was happening? These people are far from being human, they are even more brutal than monsters themselves.
My main concern at that moment was my brother and my father. How would I know what happened to them? I couldn’t see them because of the blindfold on my eyes. I heard a murmur in pain. It was my brother's voice. “Is that you?” I asked. He replied, "Yes, they beat me severely, but I will be fine." I had no choice but to comfort him with my words and tell him that we would get out soon, as we had nothing to do with what was happening.
I hoped that we would get out without a permanent disability or without only half a foot or an arm. Fortunately for me, they stopped calling the rest of the people up to be interrogated. Eventually we were marched out of the building even further South. We were taken to what I now recognize as one of the high rises of Khan Yunis, which is in the South of Gaza.
We were marched up the stairs over debris and broken glass to the roof, where we would spend hours blindfolded, shivering in the cold, exhausted, deprived of food and water. The blindfold was so tight I felt as if I would suffocate at any minute. The plastic zip ties cut into my wrists, and felt like they almost took my hands off.
They lowered us from the building and then dragged me away. I was walking on the sand dunes, stumbling, falling, being dragged and insulted. The voices of the rest of the prisoners disappeared behind me. I thought that they would start killing us! The soldier took me to one of the dunes and asked me to sit down. I said, "This is my end, I will be killed now..." But fortunately that did not happen. A few minutes later, a military truck arrived and they pushed us on top of each other in it, then they drove us for two hours to a place we do not know. All this was happening while I remembered the scene of my scared mother and my sisters walking towards the west before they took us. I told her then, "Half an hour and we will catch up with you. It is just a quick investigation." I did not know that it would take this long.
We arrived at a place where they ordered us to change our clothes, and I think now it was just in the open street! Then a bus came and we got on it, and all the while we were still handcuffed, blindfolded and barefoot. We sat down and they asked us to lower our heads down... I was writhing in pain because of the position I was in. I had been suffering from neck pain for several years and it got worse here.
We were taken to a place that looked like a military site, and dragged off one by one to a small cabin. They removed the blindfold for only a minute, when I was interrogated by a female soldier, then was taken with several other men to a series of cages. I have learned now through leaked photos that I was staying in what looked like animal cages. This was the torture prison.
Prison:
Our hands and feet were shackled with iron chains and a piece of plastic with a number on it was hung in each hand (they treat you like a number and not like a human being). We were asked to sleep quickly.. Yes, we slept what was left of the night handcuffed, blindfolded, exhausted, hungry and thirsty. We slept on the ground without a cover in the bitter cold.. We were not even able to relieve ourselves in the bathroom until the next day.
To give you a small description of the prison and our situation: we were woken up every day at dawn, perhaps at about four or five o'clock. After about half an hour, we were asked to stand up so that our names could be called. We could not sit down until all the detainees were called, who could number about 120 ...detainees in one cage, and they would leave us standing for no reason for long hours.
In the prison, there are only one or two bathrooms (plastic bathrooms) and you need to relieve yourself by asking for permission and you have to wait according to the number given to you, i.e. You might be number 90, for example! I remember that from early morning until before noon, you are forbidden from entering the bathrooms. You cannot stay in the bathroom for more than a minute. In the best case, you stay 5 minutes but more than that and you will be punished.
I will tell you that myself and a large number of detainees suffered from constipation because of this law, as we, as normal people, were unable to relieve ourselves! I remember that I was only able to relieve myself once during the two weeks I spent in detention.... and I remember that there was one of the young men who spent 30 days without relieving himself because of constipation and because of an injury to his stomach that he acquired from torture! As for the doctors, many of us asked to be provided with a laxative, and they always postponed it intentionally. As for showering, it was only once a week and it only lasted 4 minutes.
The food provided to us was not enough to satisfy hunger, and it was very bad. We were given bread with a little canned tuna, and another meal was a small box of cheese with bread. These were the only meals during the entire period of detention, and some detainees now spend about 200 days or more on the same meals! They were often late in bringing food on purpose and sometimes would prevent us from getting this food, starving us. I remember that some detainees were allergic to these meals and they would not be given anything to eat but bread.
Torture:
These criminals did not differentiate between the young and the elderly.
I will mention to you some of the scenes that I remember. There were a large number of elderly people with us from 60 to 75 and even older than that! Many of them had chronic diseases and some of them had been injured during captivity. One of them was sitting next to me and he was suffering from nerve relaxation and an injury to his foot and hand... He could not stand when they asked us to do so.. He was trying to tell them about his illness but they were shouting at him that you will stand even if you are paralyzed! He was holding on to me and the person next to him so that he would not fall.. He fainted several times and they had no choice but to wake him up and force him to stand up again!
Among the detainees were a number of people with fractures who had platinum inserted into their hands or feet and these were also forced to stand with us for long hours.... The doctor rarely appeared, just for formalities and nothing more! And he did not help anyone at all.. Painkillers were forbidden and many types of medications... The most they did was change the bandages of the wounded sometimes.. In general, the health condition of the prisoners was dire, between injuries that were not attended to or chronic diseases, and even skin diseases, that spread among them.
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Read Live at UC People’s Tribunal For Palestine Session 1 on November 11, 2024 // Click here to view
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"I mean, if you spend 100 years explaining to them what displacement is, how evacuation takes place, and how a piece of nylon, a bucket of water, a few pieces of wood, and a blanket can determine your life, they won't understand you or feel your feelings. They only see you as an image." I wrote this while I was very sad and my heart was burning when they announced the closure of the land crossing and my family is still stuck in Gaza and I was not able to get them out to safety.
There is an energy inside me that I really want to scream. We write and explain a lot, hoping that our voice and our call will reach all the free people of the world.
We are the rightful owners, we were born and raised on this land, clinging to it and not giving up a single inch of it. 74 years since the Nakba of Palestine. The Gaza Strip is a war-torn area and an area of abject poverty trapped in 365 square kilometers. What remains are feelings of despair, frustration and helplessness.
The conditions in the Gaza Strip are worrying and unbearable and are getting worse every day, weakening their ability to withstand. The people of Gaza deserve to live. The siege must be lifted now.
Every night the cries echo from the tents, as small children groan on pillows of cold sand, without blankets or food. These little ones go to sleep, hungry, overcome by the cruelty of deprivation. Their eyes that once shone with hope are now extinguished by the weight of need. Their innocent faces are covered with features of pain far greater than their ages.
How can a young heart bear this suffering? And how can a mother’s pain be calmed when she sees her beloved child crying with hunger and she has nothing to satisfy his hunger? The world has never been fair, but in Gaza we created our own world. Nothing was given to us on a golden platter, but despite that we lived life contentedly, and we reached what we wanted only through effort and hard work. We were real, content, and satisfied with the world. But everything was taken from us.. Getting a drink of water or a piece of bread became a kind of luxury. Staying alive in Gaza became a luxury too. The people of Gaza have been killed every day for a year, and those who survive are killed for the last time.
There is Gaza.. and there is a whole world, no one in it is innocent of our killing.
The injustice and oppression that is happening in Gaza, there is no brain to believe this! No video, no pictures, no words can speak of the pain and oppression of a people whose entire lives have been oppressed, wronged, and stolen from.. We need a billion tons of patience and strength for what is happening in the world.. O Lord, nothing is impossible for you, and there is no power or strength except with God. It is deadly to put your entire home in one bag and not know where the road is..
These scenes are deadly, deadly and heartbreaking, genocide. Palestinians are facing the risk of deportation.
Gaza is experiencing what the mind cannot comprehend!
They were left to be slaughtered alone and in every way, and God is the Avenger.
We are a generation that grew up between the noise of wars and the silence of humanity, we fluctuate and get lost in the surprises of time. We are the generation that matured prematurely, we are afraid of hope! We are afraid of love, we are afraid of joy; because we realize that behind every smile there could be disappointment or hidden pain. There is no security, no safety, and no stability.
Gaza, you have exposed this world that is reeling in the illusions of civilization, and you have torn off the mask of civilization that they claim!
What kind of "civilization" is this that claims to be advanced while it turns a deaf ear to the cries of your child torn apart in the rubble?
And what kind of "justice" do they claim while they witness the destruction of your land and have no conscience?
Gaza has exposed all those who traded in human rights slogans and boasted in the name of justice, and showed them the truth of their miserable decadence.
In Gaza, the masks fell and the truth of this despicable world that claims humanity, while it is drowning in blood deals and destructive treaties, appeared.
The falsehood has been exposed, and Gaza has revealed its wound to tell the universe that this era that claims progress and civilization is nothing but a hollow shell that hides baseness and decadence behind it.
Thirteen months of genocide in full view of the world; what dignity is left for humanity after all this silence? In Gaza, more than fifty thousand martyrs, men, women and children, children who saw nothing in their lives but bombing and siege, mothers who said goodbye to their sons without saying goodbye, and elderly people who carried the wounds of years on their shoulders and then met their Lord as martyrs. Thousands of wounded, their blood staining the ground, every drop a curse on those who let them down, as if the earth is writing its history in blood to bear witness to the betrayal of humanity.
Most of the houses have collapsed, as if the homeland has become a pile of rubble, and the memories of generations have been buried under the rubble, and people have no refuge but the sky. More than two million are besieged and homeless, wandering aimlessly in their land, searching for a piece of bread or a drop of water, as if this great world no longer accommodates them, while the traitors enjoy the illusions of false peace.
Gaza, with your wound that never heals, you have exposed all those who turned their faces away from you and closed their ears to your pain. What kind of civilization is this that allows an entire city to be wiped out and an entire people to be besieged, while the world watches as if it were a scene from a passing play?
All their slogans glorifying humanity have become empty, and all their claims of human rights are nothing but deals on closed tables.
Gaza, you are the scream that resounds in the face of the world, and the symbol that will not be erased from the memory of history.
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Famine
In fact, when I was young, I used to hear from my father that the worst thing in the world was hunger. When the father saw that he was unable to provide food for his children, I didn't understand that because I was young, but today I understood that and I was this father who could not provide food for his daughters, the worst feeling ever, the suffering of hunger advanced over the suffering of bombing and fear and it became more important. I confirmed that two days ago the area in which I was very dangerous and I had only had a choice of one of the two things. There is no third option. Either to go to a safe area and there was no money to eat, or stay in the dangerous place and buy some food with money, without thinking. I chose the second option, which is eating and I preferred to eating over safety, so what is the benefit of safety and your children hungry, no one can expect the exter+ of our explosion in the face of the world if this injustice continues .
In the end, all these real stories summarise the suffering we suffer and I can summarise that, the ways to die are different but death is one, and the ways in which we die are diverse, bombing, extreme sadness, hunger.
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Diary of Extermination
Extreme Sadness
He woke up from a coma in the hospital after his tent was bombed by an israeli missile and a number of his family members were killed. He found his son next to him and opened his eyes and said “where am I?”
His son told him what happened, but hid from him that his other dear son was killed. His son said everyone was fine.
The father muttered his thanks and praise to God without moving his head from the pillow. The man said to his son “I feel heaviness and pain in my lower body”. The son replied in a low voice. You are fine father, we will return to our tent tomorrow.
The father looked at the ceiling of the room, in harsh moments of silence, as if he were skeptical. The son was afraid that his father would hear is heavy heartbeat.
Then he said to his son: “support me, my son. I feel like I want to go to the bathroom” the son terrified and disturbed said to him
“Wait a minute, I will call the nurse for you, father please
Moments later the nurse came in and said to him “you are a man of faith, this has been our fate, you cannot go to the bathroom now.
You have lost your feet. This is god’s decree. You must be patient, we dressed you in pampers, you can relieve yourself here.”
The father looked in shock at the nurse’s mouth, while not uttering a word. He did not ask the nurse any questions. He did not follow up with words. He just looked at his son’s face and stared at the ceiling. Then closed his eyes as the tears began to flow.
No one knows what went through the father’s mind.
What brokenness and humiliation he felt and felt would experience without his legs, with such loss. All his vitals on the monitor were normal, but suddenly his heart stopped beating and his breath froze forever.
His son shouted. He called for the doctors. But it was too late. Depression and heartbreak were just as deadly as the tank shell that killed his family.
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What is happening now represents a true humanitarian catastrophe, casting heavy shadows over healthcare workers in Palestine and Lebanon, as well as the entire population.
Healthcare workers are living under unimaginable pressure, trying to save lives amidst harsh conditions and rapidly depleting resources. They face a double challenge, not only in fulfilling their noble duties but also in surviving the continuous targeting that pursues them even within hospitals and treatment centers, which can no longer be considered safe havens.
Hospitals, which were once symbols of hope and healing, have become direct targets of bombardment and destruction, as if those striving to save lives are also legitimate targets. Doctors, nurses, paramedics, and even medical volunteers are at risk of losing their lives while attempting to fulfill their duties. Some have already lost their lives, whether working in hospitals that have turned into war zones or in the field trying to reach the injured in the most dangerous conditions.
The acute shortage of doctors and nurses due to this continuous and direct targeting has pushed the healthcare system to the brink of collapse. There are no longer enough medical staff to handle the overwhelming number of injuries, especially with the scarcity of essential medications and medical equipment. Injuries that were previously treatable now represent a death sentence for many, as there is no longer sufficient capacity to save everyone.
As for the people, the catastrophic health situation adds another burden to their shoulders. Many feel complete despair, as there is no guarantee of access to healthcare in the event of an emergency. The fear of not having a safe hospital or an available doctor has become a painful daily reality, increasing feelings of isolation and hopelessness, especially among families that have lost faith in hospitals’ ability to protect or help them.
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The Palestinian-Israeli conflict did not begin on October 7th; it dates back to the Nakba of 1948, when the Palestinian people faced the greatest tragedy in their history. This historical moment saw the displacement of thousands of Palestinians from their lands and homes, destroying their dreams and emotions, leaving behind deep wounds that still bleed today.
Since then, the Palestinian people have suffered from occupation and discrimination, and from ongoing attempts to erase their identity and history. In every corner of Palestine, painful stories live on, from the loss of loved ones to the loss of land, from daily oppression to arrests and raids. These harsh experiences have affected successive generations of Palestinians who grew up under the weight of occupation, and we inherited from our grandparents and families a life full of constraints and hardships.
Before October 7th, we lived days and years filled with anxiety and fear, as the occupation gradually stole our lives and dreams from us. The sounds of explosions echoed in the distance, and the foul smell of death seeped into our homes. We tried to live with all our might, despite the brutality imposed on us by life.
This is not just a crisis that began on a specific day; it is a reality that has been imposed on us for decades. The generations before us have passed down the struggle for our right to a dignified life, and here we continue the fight. Today, I want to remind the world that our story is that of a people holding on to life, refusing to submit, and only seeking their right to live in peace and dignity like any other people.
We do not want to be part of a cycle of violence; rather, we seek to achieve peace based on justice and equality. The Palestinian people deserve to live freely and with dignity, away from fear and chaos, and to build their future in their homeland. This struggle is a defense of the right—the right of the Palestinian people to exist and to live in peace.
History reminds us that Palestinians are not just victims; they are also resistors, carrying their hopes and dreams despite all the adversities. The struggle for Palestine is a struggle for rights and justice, and for a better future for all the peoples of the region. We want the world to recognize that we are seeking hope, not death, and that our voice must be heard. They resist to make Palestine a land of hope and peace, not of death and destruction.
Love,
Shmily
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Read at The UC People’s Tribunal For Palestine Session 1 on November 11, 2024 // Click here to view
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Land
“Come back here before you lose a leg!" my grandmother would shout, her voice echoing across the garden of our family home in southern Lebanon. Every summer, we returned to that house, filling it with cousins, aunts, and uncles—a place where laughter mingled with the scent of the jasmine my aunt had planted next to my fig tree.
My grandmother was referring to the fields surrounding us, that were littered with landmines, left behind by the Israeli army back in the 80s when they invaded Lebanon.
My grandmother’s warning felt dramatic, even unnecessary, to my younger self. The idea that these invisible hazards could really exist on the land where we would play catch freely seemed unreal. I thought they were just tales, designed to rein in our childhood mischief. So, I’d race beyond her calls, convinced that no mines could threaten us - not after all these years.
Then, one morning, something was different. Our neighborhood goatherder, who passed by each day with his herd, didn’t show up. My cousins and I waited, disappointed. We’d even given his lead goat a name, "Abo 'Roun," for the great horns he sported, and petting him had become part of our morning ritual. But when I overheard my aunts and uncles talking over their morning coffee, I learned why he hadn’t come. The goatherder had stepped on a mine, one that had been hiding beneath the soil, waiting. He lost a leg.
The story chilled me. How could something so horrific be real? How could these mines still explode, decades after they were planted? I thought they must have rusted away, become harmless by now. But I was wrong. Aggression against our land hadn’t ended when Israel’s troops left; the violence lay buried, waiting to remind us that the wounds in our soil were still fresh.
And now, that aggression takes on a new form. December is approaching—the olive harvest season, a cherished time when my family and I would return to our land to gather olives from the trees my grandparents planted. I remember the thrill of climbing the tallest olive trees, racing my brothers and cousins to see who could gather the most olives. Whoever won would have the honor of going to the olive mill with my father, where we’d watch the fruit of our labor pressed into oil. For us, that journey was a rite of passage, a symbol of family and tradition.
But this year, those rituals feel out of reach. We can no longer access our land, nor can we even know if the olive trees, some older than the “Israeli” country itself, are still standing. For a year, we’ve had no news, no sight of our soil, and no chance to prepare it for harvest. Even if a ceasefire were declared tomorrow, how could we return? The roads to our village are destroyed, turned to rubble by bombings; the air is thick with smoke and ash. Water and electricity are gone, each source of life deliberately struck. And then there is the white phosphorus - an unseeable toxin, poisoning our soil, our trees, and our hopes.
The violence has changed faces, but it’s still the same aggressor, denying us access to our land, robbing us of traditions and memories. I remember my own thrill at climbing the olive trees, and I think of my little brother, who dreamed of his first trip to the mill this year. The olives wait, hopefully still standing, but they are unreachable now.
And still, we remain the people of this land.
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Testimony of a Trauma & General Surgeon in Gaza: April - May 2024 // Click here to view
Shared live at The UC People’s Tribunal For Palestine on November 11, 2024.