Since October 2023, Israel has been waging an extensive assault on all aspects of Palestinian existence in the West Bank. This includes a broad, systematic violation of human rights, first among them the most basic right – to life. Lethal, unbridled violence employed by the Israeli regime’s armed forces, including the military and settler militias, has led to an unprecedent increase in the killing of Palestinians, and particularly the killing of children and teenagers by Israeli forces. Over the course of two years and eight months, from 7 October 2023 to 7 June 2026, Israeli forces killed 235 Palestinian children and teenagers in the West Bank. Five others were killed by settlers. In 2025 alone, the year that is the focus of this investigation, Israeli forces killed 54 Palestinian children and teenagers in the West Bank.
On 5 January 2025, military jeeps entered 'Askar Refugee Camp. A group of youths, including Mu'taz Madani, 16, threw stones at the jeeps, and one threw an improvised explosive device (IED) at them. Soldiers opened fire at the youths and struck Madani. He was taken to Rafidya Hospital in Nablus, where he was pronounced dead.Mu’taz’s mother Fatimah Madani, 52, a mother of four, said in a testimony she gave B'Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb'i on 16 March 2026:On Sunday, 5 January 2025, at around 7:00 A.M., I woke Mu'taz up for school. He got up immediately and took a shower. He loved order and cleanliness and always laid out his clothes and things the night before. After showering, he kissed me and left.Before he went, he told me he was planning to go with friends to Nablus city center for the anniversary celebrations of the founding of Fatah. He said they would hang out and get shawarma and that he might get home late. I told him not to stay out late because he had classes and a technology exam. He said the test was easy and he would get a high grade.Later that day, a bit after 3:30 P.M., I called him. He said he was in the camp with friends. I asked him to get me a few things and he came quickly to bring them to me. He asked for pocket money. I reminded him I’d given him some that morning, and he said I’d had promised to spoil him that day. I gave him money and he grinned happily.That evening, around 6:30 P.M., my sisters and my daughter Najah were visiting. After they left, I heard there were military forces near Tal 'Askar. I called Mu'taz and asked where he was. He said he was in the camp buying a hotdog, which he loved. I told him there were troops in the camp. He said he would come home immediately, as he always did.But he never came back. I kept calling him, but he didn't answer. I told my husband and my son Murad, and they went looking for him. Around 7:40 P.M., I saw a report on Telegram that someone was injured in the Tal ‘Askar area. I called my husband, Murad, and the mother of one of Mu’taz’s friends, who said he wasn’t home. Later we learned someone was killed. I was shaking with fear. Why wasn’t he home? Why wasn’t he answering the phone?When my son Murad called and said he couldn’t find him, I told him someone killed. He tried to reassure me that the paramedic had said it was a 22-year-old. Soon after that, my husband’s brother came and told us the army had grabbed Mu’taz and beaten him badly, and he was in hospital.I got dressed immediately and drove there with my husband. He called a friend who works there, and we learned Mu’taz was dead. It was a terrible shock. I fainted.I woke up at the hospital. I couldn’t believe it. I asked to see him. He was lying on a bed covered with a thin sheet, without a shirt after resuscitation attempts. I saw the wound under his neck and on his chest. I hugged him and smelled him, but they pulled me away.I was taken home, and since then our lives have been consumed by the pain of loss and all the memories. The pain gets worse every day, and I miss him more and more. My husband and I are home alone now. Mu'taz was our spoiled baby and the only one still living at home. His older brother, Murad, 32, and his sister Najah, 24, are married. His brother Muhammad, 30, has been in prison for 12 years. Mu’taz was the one who kept me company at home.Mu'taz was our whole world. He was a loving child who helped with everything, especially because my husband has been ill for many years. He took care of everything around the house – he did the shopping, and handled things with local offices and services. He was a gentle, loving boy, including towards his nieces and nephews. He especially loved Murad's daughter Roz, and used to save his pocket money to buy her chocolate.Our lives have changed completely. This year he was supposed to take his matriculation exams. Whenever I hear about students now, I imagine him among them.
On 7 January 2025, during a military raid on the town of Tammun and the nearby al-Far’ah Refugee Camp, Suliman Qatishat and another person attempted to plant explosive devices. According to the military, they were also armed. An Israeli aircraft fired a missile at them and killed them both.Suliman’s father, Mustafa Qatishat, 50, a father of four, recounted in a testimony he gave to B’Tselem field researcher ‘Aref Daraghmeh on 30 March 2026:On 7 January 2025, Suliman went out to his grandfather’s house, which isn’t too far from ours, very early in the morning. A short while later, rumors started spreading among residents and on social media that army and special forces entered the town, that the situation was rough, that the army was all over Tammun, and was also raiding al-Far’ah Refugee Camp.Later, I was told that Suliman had left his grandfather’s house, and I couldn’t figure out where he was. I heard that many people got stuck in the street during the raid and couldn’t make it back home. I was stuck in the house and couldn’t go out.Then, a rumor spread that a plane had attacked some young men and that my son Suliman was one of them. They said he’d been wounded but managed to walk some distance away and was then evacuated to the hospital. They also said that another person had been hit and killed and that the army had taken his body.As soon as the army left the camp, I drove to the hospital in Tubas, but by the time I arrived, they’d already pronounced my son dead due to his severe injuries. We brought him back to the town and buried him. May his memory be blessed.I didn’t know that Suliman was wanted by the army. He was loved by everyone, kind and ethical. He dropped out of school at the end of 10th grade, and since then, he sometimes worked in agriculture and helped me. His mother and I always told him to take care of himself.I can’t get that day out of my head, and neither can my wife and his siblings. We miss him. We feel his absence at every event and during every holiday. He was a good, God-fearing boy, and losing him broke our hearts. It’s hard for us to grasp that he’s gone, but this is the fate that has been decreed for us.At his funeral, I saw his friends, young men and kids his age, crying for him. They all stood by us and tried to comfort us. He was pure. I put his picture up in the living room, and when I look at it, I feel like he’s talking to me and to his family, as if he’s still with us, and his face is full of light. He was only a teenager, but the occupation killed him in his own town, in his own neighborhood.The occupation didn’t leave us be after that either. Six months later, they came and arrested his brother ‘Iz a-Din for no reason. He’s still in administrative detention to this day. They use all kinds of excuses to justify their actions, which include killing children and carrying out raids.His mother, his siblings and I will always remember him. We’ll remember every beautiful moment we spent with him from the day he was born until his death. His mother always used to hug him. He was in our hearts, in our blood. I ask God to admit him into Heaven and to reunite us with him in the next world.
On Wednesday, 8 January 2025, around 6:00 A.M., Israeli forces raided the city of Tubas, the town of Tammun and the village of al-’Aqabah in the northern Jordan Valley. In al-’Aqabah, the forces arrested two young men in their home. In Tubas, they surrounded a house and, after apparently failing to arrest the person they were looking for, arrested his brother in order to pressure him to turn himself in.During the raid on Tammun, clashes developed between the forces and Palestinian armed operatives in the southern and eastern areas of the town. Around 10:00 A.M., an Israeli aircraft fired a missile that killed three cousins, two of them children, by their home: Adam Bsharat, 23, Hamzah Bsharat, 10, and Rida Bsharat, 8. About 10 minutes after the airstrike, Israeli forces arrived and forced relatives of the deceased away from the spot and into a house. They then took blankets from the house, wrapped the three bodies in them and took them away. The bodies were returned to the family later that day via the Palestinian DCO.An investigation released by the military about three weeks later stated that the aircraft identified the young man and two children killed as individuals who planted IEDs. The military claimed this identification was based on intelligence information, but ultimately no IEDs were found at the scene. The investigation stated that “the identification process during the incident made it difficult to determine that they were minors.”B’Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb’i collected testimonies on 29 January 2025Rida Bsharat’s mother, Fidaa Bsharat, 41, a mother of five, said in her testimony:On 8 January 2025, I got up around 6:00 A.M. and made breakfast. I woke the children so they could get ready for school. Then Iman told me school was out because of the army raid.At about 8:30 A.M., I went with my eight-year-old son, Rida, to visit my sister-in-law Iman. Rida and Iman’s 10-year-old son Hamzah, played together for a while, and then went out to play in a small yard between the houses where they often play. My sister-in-law and I chatted in the meantime. We could hear the hum of a drone in the background. We’re used to that sound, especially during army raids.Around 9:30 A.M., I left Iman’s house and went home. On the way, I saw Rida and Hamzah playing. Adam was sitting next to them, looking at his phone. The moment I went into the house, I heard a terrifying explosion that shook the entire area. I immediately went back outside and saw my sister-in-law Iman and my sister-in-law ‘Abla, Adam’s mother, standing next to the children, who were lying on the ground covered in blood. I went over and picked up my son. He was bleeding from his head and neck, and he was groaning. I shouted for an ambulance, and suddenly soldiers showed up. One of them said in Arabic that they would give him first aid. The soldiers made ‘Abla and her kids, Ubay and Israa, who came after being woken up by the explosion, back away.I kept on holding my son, but I knew he was dead. Soon after, the soldiers brought blankets from ‘Abla’s house and covered the three bodies. They didn’t try to give them first aid or even check them. It was clear they were dead. They took them away on stretchers. It was about 10:30 A.M. After that, the army left the area. In the afternoon, the three bodies were handed over via the Palestinian DCO at the Taysir checkpoint. We held their funeral after evening prayers, and they were buried in the village cemetery.Rida was our only son. He was born after four daughters. He was the prince of his class and our spoiled boy. He always wanted us to visit Jerusalem, but we couldn’t because of the situation. He used to say to me: “I’ll buy a car and take you to Jerusalem and buy you anything you want.” He was very attached to me and would always kiss my hands and head. Even though he was still young, his thinking was much more developed than his friends. I felt like he was my friend. Every day, I feel him slipping further and further away from me. God, it’s so hard, so unbearable and scary to think he’s not coming back. They took him from me, from his sisters, from his home. He didn’t do anything. He died only because one of the soldiers made a mistake, or maybe wanted to kill a Palestinian, whether he was a senior wanted person or just an armed operative. I could have been killed there, too. I passed by them a few seconds before the bombing.Adam Bsharat’s mother, ‘Abla Bsharat, 49, a mother of six, said in her testimony:On 8 January 2025, I woke up around 5:30 A.M. I got my son Sa’id, 10, ready to leave the house, and he got on the bus to school at 6:45 A.M. Ubay, 16, who is in the 11th grade, didn’t go to school that day because classes were canceled due to the military presence in the area. I turned off Ubay’s phone and closed the windows so he could continue sleeping. I left around 9:00 A.M. to visit my sister ‘Abir. I invited my son Adam, 23, to have coffee with us after he loaded our electricity card [a prepaid card used to pay the electrical company].I sat at my sister’s. When she served coffee, I told her Adam would be coming and she said we’d make another coffee when he came. Just then, we heard a huge blast that shook the house. We rushed outside to see what happened. I saw my sister-in-law Iman, 39, screaming for help and holding her son Hamzah, 10, who was covered in blood. I saw my son Ubay and my daughter Israa, 27, who had woken up and come out after hearing the explosion. I also saw a young man I didn’t recognize lying on the ground.When I got closer, I saw it was my son Adam. He was gurgling and his head was lolling. I knew he was drawing his last breaths. I saw my sister-in-law Fidaa, 41, come and shout for an ambulance to help her son, Rida, 8. Suddenly, about 20 soldiers showed up, pointed their guns at me and forced me to back away from Adam. Ubay, Israa and I backed away about 20 meters and stood near my doorway. The soldiers looked surprised when they saw the dead children and Adam. They went into several home in the neighborhood, including Fidaa’s house, took out blankets and covered the three bodies with them.The soldiers ordered us to get inside. I was shaking and in such a state of shock that I didn’t even cry. Ubay tried calling an ambulance. I was worried about him. All I wanted was to protect him so nothing would happen to him. I saw that he was in shock too. His face was yellow and he was gritting his teeth.About 40 minutes after the bombing, the soldiers left and took the three bodies with them. Later, I found out they were transferred on stretchers and handed over to the Palestinian DCO at the Taysir junction. After that, all our neighbors, relatives and friends came to my house. I didn’t know how they’d heard about what happened. Meanwhile, the army left the village.I couldn’t process what happened. I just prayed to wake up and find it was all a nightmare, but it was real. I lost my son Adam, my fourth son. He worked with his father in the Jordan Valley. He would usually be away from home for a week and then come back. I’m used to seeing him come back, but now he’s gone and won’t come back. They killed him in front of our house, before my very eyes. We’re all trying to hide our sadness from each other at home, but the house is silent. No one is talking. The talking and smiles have disappeared, and all I have left is the memories of Adam.Adam came back from the Umrah [pilgrimage to Mecca] just two days before he was killed. He wasn’t planning on going back to work until next week, so he could rest and spend time with us. He said he’d missed us very much.Not long ago, my husband started building a new house for us and for the children in a neighborhood in the village. Before Adam was killed, I was very excited about moving into it, but now I want to stay in this house. Every day, I sit next to the bloodstains he left behind, stare at the spot he was killed, and remember how I saw him bleeding on the ground next to his cousins. I don’t want anything from this life anymore. I don’t want anything except the memory of Adam.
On 14 January 2025, Israeli aircraft fired missiles at a group of people sitting around a fire in the yard of a house in Jenin Refugee Camp, after the military cut off power to the camp a month earlier. The missiles killed Mahmoud Ashraf Mustafa Gharbiyah, four members of armed groups and another person, and wounded four others. At the time of the strike, no military forces were present in the camp, and no clashes were taking place.Samira Gharbiyah, Mahmoud’s mother, 46, a mother of six, recounted in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 27 March 2026:We live in Jenin Refugee Camp, near al-‘Awdah Square on the western side of the camp. When my son Mahmoud was killed, the Palestinian Authority and Israel were carrying out a military operation in Jenin Refugee Camp to arrest young resistance fighters who were wanted by Israel and the Palestinian Authority. Palestinian security forces surrounded the camp and cut off the electricity.On 14 January 2025, shortly before he was killed, Mahmoud woke up and made instant coffee for me, his sisters and himself, even though I’m usually the one who makes instant coffee for all of us every morning. That day he stayed at home until evening. Because there was no electricity and it was cold, the neighbors used to gather in the yard in the evening and light fires to keep warm. The kids would come, and each brought tea or coffee and cookies from home.At around 10:00 P.M., while my husband and Mahmoud were sitting there by the fire, I was at home with our two daughters and some neighbors who came to visit us. Suddenly, we were stunned to hear a missile fired from an Israeli drone. The missile exploded and shattered the windows of our apartment, and glass shards scattered over us as we sat in the living room.We were very frightened, and I immediately got up and ran outside to where my son and husband were sitting around the fire with our neighbors to keep warm. What I saw when I went out was horrifying. But what horrified me the most was seeing my son Mahmoud lying on the ground. Fragments had penetrated and torn his head and his body.Mahmoud was a quiet and shy boy. When my friends and neighbors came to visit me, he always felt awkward and went out, even though I tried to encourage him to stay. He and his father were very close, and he used to go with his father everywhere he went. He used to make us laugh and brought happiness and joy to his sisters and me.Mahmoud loved my Scottish cat very much and always took care of him. He’d bring him special food, take him to the vet and look after him regularly. Sadly, our beloved cat was also killed by the fragments from the missile that killed my son.Four other young men, our neighbors, were killed that evening. Three of them were brothers.A week after Mahmoud’s death, Israeli forces stormed our camp and forced everyone out. We were displaced and had to seek shelter in centers that were opened to receive IDPs, until we managed to rent an apartment. Now my husband, our daughters and I live in the al-Hadaf neighborhood in the city of Jenin.
On 21 January 2025, after Israeli forces raided the city of Jenin and Jenin Refugee Camp on the first day of Operation Iron Wall in the northern West Bank, members of the Israeli armed forces shot Mu‘taz Abu Tabikh as he was riding an electric bicycle in the al-Ghabaz neighborhood in the city of Jenin, in an area where no clashes were taking place. Abu Tabikh was wounded in the abdomen and evacuated to Ibn Sina Hospital in the city, where he died of his wounds shortly after. That same day, Israeli forces killed nine other individuals, including a minor, in the city and in Jenin Refugee Camp, and another person in the nearby village of T’innik, and wounded forty more people, including a physician and a nurse.
On 26 January 2025, undercover Border Police officers shot and wounded Adam Sub Laban, 16, and two other people in Qalandia R.C. after, according to the police, they threw an explosive at them near Qalandia Checkpoint. The wounded were evacuated to a hospital in Ramallah, where Sub Laban died of his wounds shortly after.Adam’s mother, a mother of three, recounted in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Mohammad Romaneh on 30 March 2026:Adam, who was killed when he was 16, was the eldest of my three children. He studied in the literature track, but he especially loved everything related to cars and planned to learn to drive and get a license so he could buy one. Like all young people, he dreamed of starting a family and building a home. Above all, he was defined by kindness and compassion. Because we live separately from his father, he felt a great deal of responsibility towards his younger brother and sister and me. His greatest aspiration was to find work and earn money so that he could buy us a house in the future, instead of our current rented place.Adam’s loss is a hard blow. He’s gone, and there’s nothing that can or will replace him. His death left me with a wound that is hard to heal. I see his face reflected in the faces of his brother and sister, and sometimes I feel that I can’t bear the pain of his absence and his memory. After I raised him for 16 years, I lost him because of a treacherous bullet fired by an Israeli soldier. Only the thought that I’m not alone in this pain, that my situation is similar to that of thousands of Palestinian mothers who lost their sons only because they were Palestinian and chose to live, eases the pain.A few days ago, I passed by the small grocery store near our home and felt my heart being torn apart by the memories. The store’s owner is an elderly man, and Adam used to help our neighbors, especially the elderly. On the day Adam was killed, I saw him crying. Adam left a huge void in my heart and in the hearts of his siblings and father, but his father and I are trying to fill the void he left in the hearts of our younger children. Despite the difficulty, and even though more than a year has passed since he died, I still feel that he never really left us.
On 29 January 2025, during Operation Iron Wall in the northern West Bank, an Israeli aircraft fired a missile at the yard of the home of Jihad Bani Matar, an Islamic Jihad military wing operative, in the village of Tammun, while he was sitting there with a group of other operatives. Bani Matar and nine other people were killed in the strike, including two brothers. All Islamic Jihad military wing operatives. One other person was injured.
On 1 February 2025, during Operation Iron Wall in the northern West Bank, an Israeli aircraft fired a missile at a vehicle carrying two young men in the town of Qabatiya. Both were killed instantly. The blast also injured Diaa Saba’aneh, 15, who was sitting in a car outside his family's store nearby. His father, who was in another family vehicle not far from his son, was also wounded by shrapnel. Diaa and his father were taken to the hospital, where Diaa died of his wounds two and a half weeks, on 17 February 2025.B'Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi collected testimonies.Y.N., 75, a resident of Qabatiya and father of six, said on 20 March 2025:On 1 February 2025, I was at my business near the girls’ schools. At around 8:45 A.M., I heard a loud explosion out front.I went outside to see what was happening on the main road across from me, and I saw a private car on fire. There was shrapnel littered all around it. Dozens of fragments had penetrated the iron gate of a nearby house.There were two young men in the car that was hit and burning up. They were killed, and both their bodies were torn apart. After people started gathering at the scene, we learned that they were Saleh Zakarneh and 'Abd al-Hadi Kmeil, both from Qabatiya.Diaa Saba’aneh was sitting in his family's car across the street, in front of his mother's store. He was hit in the head by shrapnel, and his father was also injured, even though at the time of the explosion he was sitting in another vehicle across the street, which is more than 15 meters wide.Residents took both of them to the town's medical center. The remains of the two young men who were killed in the missile strike were also taken there.Seventeen days later, the boy died of his wounds.The missile also caused extensive property damage and shattered windows in nearby homes. The front of the Saba’aneh family's cosmetics store was blown apart and destroyed. Vehicles parked along the road were damaged as well.Ahmad Saba’aneh, Diaa's father, 42, a father of four, said on 20 March 2025:On 1 February 2025, at around 8:45 A.M., I was on my way home from work in Tubas. I stopped outside my wife's store, which is called a-Diaa Cosmetics and Cleaning Supplies, to pick up the keys to our house. The store is on the southern side of town, near the girls' schools. I saw my son Diaa sitting in our other car next to the store. I was across the street.I got a sudden shock when a missile fired by a drone hit a passing car on the road next to me, between my car and the one Diaa was sitting in.I was stunned. The missile exploded less than a meter away from me, and I was hit by several pieces of shrapnel in my ear and face. Out of sheer fear and terror, as soon as I managed to get out of the car through the passenger-side door, I ran north.I didn’t know what was happening because I was in shock. The vehicle that was hit came from the north and in it were two young men, Saleh Zakarneh and 'Abd al-Hadi Kmeil, who were killed by the missile. People gathered around their burning car, so I ran there as well to show them that I was injured. At that point, I didn't know my son who was in the car across the road was hit by shrapnel in the head.Later, I went back to the store to check on my wife, and on my children who were there with her. That's when I noticed Diaa was unconscious inside the car. At first, we didn't realize he had been hit in the head. We thought he’d just blacked out from fear because of the missile explosion.A relative took Diaa and me to a medical center in Qabatiya. We were examined and then transferred by ambulance to a-Razi Hospital in Jenin.It turned out Diaa was hit by a fragment that penetrated the left side of his brain. After two days at a-Razi Hospital, he was transferred to the intensive care unit at Ibn Sina Hospital in Jenin. The next day, on 17 February 2025, he died of his wounds.I spent one night in the hospital. The doctors said they couldn’t remove the piece of shrapnel lodged near my ear because it was too close to the facial nerve, and that I would have to live with it. They said the other fragments would come out over time.The front of our store was also damaged. I could have lost my entire family that day. I don't even want to imagine it.
On 1 February 2025, during Operation Iron Wall in the northern West Bank, Ahmad Sa’di, 14, was killed when an Israeli aircraft fired a missile at him and members of his family as they stood near their home. Two members of the family were injured. Several hours later, the military fired another missile at a nearby location, killing two members of the family while they were riding on a motorcycle. No military forces were present in the city of Jenin or in Jenin Refugee Camp during the strikes.His mother, Nihayah Sa’di, 49, a mother of four, said in a testimony she gave B'Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 27 March 2026:My son Ahmad was a ninth-grade student at the school in the eastern neighborhood. He was very quiet and loved by his family and neighbors. He loved helping others, and whenever someone in the neighborhood asked him for a favor, he never hesitated.Ahmad was a beautiful boy who loved his brothers and sisters. He was my youngest son, but even though he was young, he preferred the company of people older than him.All we have left are beautiful memories. Everyone in the family and neighborhood loved him so much. He dreamed of getting a motorcycle, but my husband and I were worried about his safety, especially because of everything happening in Jenin and in the camp. Ahmad loved playing soccer with his friends, and they used to play on the broad street by our house.Ahmad was killed by shrapnel from a missile fired by an Israeli drone while he was sitting outside our home with his brother and some relatives. He was killed without committing any crime or doing anything wrong. The missile didn’t distinguish a child from an adult. It also injured several other young men who were sitting in front of our house. Since he was killed, I’ve been regularly visiting his grave in the eastern cemetery in Jenin.
On 12 February 2025, Muhammad Abu ‘Abed, 16, was killed while taking part in an exchange of fire between armed operatives and the Israeli military, during a raid on Nur Shams R.C. in Nablus, as part of Operation Iron Wall in the northern West Bank. One other person was killed in the fire exchange, and, according to the military, a soldier was moderately wounded. Abu ‘Abed was an Islamic Jihad military wing operative.Israel is holding his body.
On 21 February 2025, soldiers who had raided a neighborhood in Hebron fired at 12-year-old Ayman al-Haymuni as he left his grandfather’s house with his 10-year-old brother, on their way to their uncle’s house, which is adjacent nearby. According to B’Tselem’s investigation, after the two noticed soldiers in the area, they tried to return to their grandfather’s house, and as they turned back, al-Haymuni was shot in the back and fell to the ground. His uncle tried to evacuate him, but soldiers who approached fired at him, and he was forced to retreat. When the soldiers left a few minutes later, the family evacuated Ayman by car to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead.B’Tselem field researcher Manal Ja’bari collected the testimonies.Nadim ‘Ajlouni, Ayman’s uncle, 28, a father of two, recounted on 25 February 2025:I live in the Jabal Johar neighborhood, in the southern part of Hebron. I work in construction in the West Bank.On 21 February 2025, my sister Anwaar, 29, was visiting us with her children: Ayman, 12, Aysar, 10, Tayalarah, 5, and Ayan, 2.At around 6:30 P.M., Anwaar was getting ready to go home. Before they left, my brother Ashraf asked Ayman to take some money over to our brother Tareq, who lives across from us.Ayman and his brother Aysar, 10, went out to do that. At that moment, I found out the army was outside, so I immediately went out after them. Ayman was about 10 meters away from me. I saw him and Aysar going up the steps of the house. He was out of breath. Then I heard a single gunshot, and Ayman fell on the steps. I rushed down the stairs towards him.At that moment, I began to see the soldiers’ spotlights advancing along the road leading to the house.I picked Ayman up and carried him for about four meters, until I was behind the iron gate on the right side of the house, and then the soldiers fired in my direction. I had to put Ayman down on the ground and back away towards a side street so they wouldn’t shoot me.I saw three soldiers in front of our house, so I turned around and went to the back entrance of the house, and from there I shouted to my family to come out because Ayman was wounded. My family came out and ran from the house towards the road.My sister Anwaar, Ayman’s mother, went with my brothers to the road, and they started shouting at the soldiers, who stopped for two minutes and then withdrew as Anwaar was screaming at them.We took Ayman in a car to Mohammad Ali Al Muhtaseb Government Hospital, which is in the southern part of Hebron. The doctors tried to resuscitate him but had to pronounce him dead half an hour after he arrived. They said he was shot in the back and the bullet exited through his neck.The next day, military jeeps came to the entrance of the house. The soldiers walked around near the house for a little while and then left.Ayman’s mother, Anwaar al-Haymuni, 29, a mother of four, recounted on 25 February 2025:My husband Nassar, who works in the Presidential Guard in the city of Ramallah, and I had four children: our eldest, Ayman, 12, who was killed on 21 February 2025, and the three still with us, Aysar, 10, Tayalarah, 5, and Ayan, 2.On the day Ayman was killed, I was visiting my parents’ house with the children, in the Jabal Johar neighborhood in the south of Hebron. My brother Ashraf asked Ayman to take some money over to our brother Tareq, who lives in the house opposite my parents’. Ashraf put the money in a small bag, put it on Ayman’s shoulder, and asked him to deliver it before we left for home.Ayman left my parents’ house with his younger brother, Aysar, 10. Just then, I heard that occupation soldiers were in the neighborhood. I hurried to the window to see what was happening and to call the children back in, fearing for their lives.When I looked out the window, I heard at least one gunshot. I panicked and raced to the door. My brothers and my parents came after me, and we went out to the steps leading to the road, opposite the entrance to my brother Tareq’s house.Aysar ran towards us in a panic and said: “The Jews shot Ayman.” I saw three soldiers surrounding Ayman, who was lying on the ground, shining their flashlights on him. He was close to the gate.I went over to him and shouted at the soldiers: “What have you done to my son?” Ayman said to me in a faint voice: “Mom, the soldiers shot me.” I was in shock and started shouting at the soldiers: “Which one of you shot my son?” while one of my brothers picked Ayman up and took him to the car.The soldiers withdrew. My brothers quickly put Ayman into the car and drove to the hospital, and I followed the soldiers and kept yelling at them: “Which one of you killed my son?” I followed them for about 200 meters, until I reached the main road, al-Kasara, where there were more soldiers, and I kept shouting at them.At that point, a relative of mine picked me up in a car, and we drove to Mohammad Ali Al Muhtaseb Hospital. When we got there, Ayman was in the ER, and the doctors tried everything they could to resuscitate him for about half an hour, until they had to pronounce him dead.Ayman was a seventh-grade student and didn’t do anything. He didn’t throw stones at the soldiers, who killed him in cold blood.Ayman’s father, Nassar al-Haymuni, 39, a father of four, recounted on 25 February 2025:On Friday, 21 February 2025, my wife called me while I was at work and told me she was going to visit her parents in the Jabal Johar neighborhood, in southern Hebron.That evening, at around 7:00 P.M., relatives called me and told me that my son Ayman had been wounded by occupation soldiers’ gunfire near his uncle Tareq al-‘Ajlouni’s house.I left work with a friend of mine, and we drove in his car. When we reached the Container checkpoint, northwest of Bethlehem, soldiers and Border Police officers at the checkpoint ordered my friend, who was driving, to turn off the engine and hand over his ID card. They started a thorough search of the car, and within a few moments, a Border Police officer came over to me and took my ID card for inspection. Two minutes later, he came running back, with two male and one female Border Police officers behind him. They were pointing their guns at me, and he shouted: “Get out of the car, put your hands on your head.”I obeyed his orders and got out of the car. As soon as I did, he ordered me to strip naked, but I refused. In the end, after an argument, he ordered me to take off the jacket I was wearing, and then he asked me: “How are you related to the boy we killed?”At that moment, I went into shock. I suddenly understood that Ayman was dead. I answered the officer, who spoke Arabic: “He’s my son.” He replied: “We will send you to him, God willing.”We got into a verbal altercation. He shouted and tried to attack me with his weapon. Then he ordered me to move towards a concrete room by the checkpoint and had me stand by its entrance. Then, a female Border Police officer arrived. She spoke with the officer, asked him about me, and he told her in Hebrew: “We killed his son,” and she started laughing and dancing. I shouted at her that I hoped she would die too.The officer pushed me into the room and came in after me; I figure he was going to attack me, but just then, another officer came running with a phone in his hand and held it up to my ear. The person on the line, who introduced himself as a Shin Bet officer, said to me: “May God reward you for your patience,” and added: “He was a child, and we’re sorry; he was killed by mistake.” Then he asked: “Why are you going back to Hebron now?” I answered: “To see my child and bury him,” and the officer said: “We’re watching you, and if you do anything wrong, I’ll come and arrest you at your house.” I told him: “Why do it there? Arrest me here now,” and he replied: “No, now you go bury your son, and if you do anything, I will arrest you.”They let me go, and I continued on to Hebron.I reached the government hospital in Hebron, where I found my child in the morgue. I asked for an autopsy to be performed at the forensic institute. Later, I checked his body and saw bullet wounds in his back and chest.
On 26 February 2025, soldiers shot Hamed Nazzal, 16, while he was throwing stones at Eyal Checkpoint with other teens. Paramedics evacuated his body about 15 minutes after the shooting. The soldiers did not provide him with medical treatment.
On 2 April 2025, two armored military vehicles entered the town of Silat al-Harithiya and boys and young men, including ‘Omar Zyud, threw stones and IEDs at them. The soldiers fired from a machine gun mounted on one of the vehicles, hit ‘Omar Zyud in the back, killed him and wounded two other boys. The soldiers left a few minutes later without providing medical treatment to any of the casualties.B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi collected the testimonies.M.T., a resident of the town, recounted on 3 April 2025:On Wednesday, 2 April 2025, at around 3:45 P.M., I was working at a car wash located at the entrance to the town of Silat al-Harithiya, near Haifa Road.At that time, two Eitan armored personnel carriers arrived from the east along Haifa Road, passed in front of the car wash and continued along agricultural roads towards the Marj Ibn ‘Amer plain and the area of the village of Ti’nnik. I kept working as usual.About 15 minutes later, I was surprised to see the two APCs returning from the west, circling the roundabout and stopping to its right, facing west. I didn’t see any soldiers outside the vehicles; they were inside the APCs.Within a short while, teens and children began arriving at the scene and positioned themselves about 100-150 meters from the APCs, near the high school wall. They started throwing stones at the APCs, and they also threw improvised explosives at them.The soldiers began firing tear gas canisters at the teens and kids, and then they fired several shots at them from the weapon mounted on top of the APC, and three boys from the village were hit.I found out later that one of them was named ‘Omar ‘Amer Zyud, and that he was hit in the chest. I believe he died right after he was hit because he didn’t move at all.What surprised me was that after they shot the children and they fell to the ground, the two APCs left the scene and drove west towards Salem military camp. Not a single soldier got out of them, either before the shooting or after it. It looked as if after the soldiers saw the children being hit and falling, they took off.A few minutes after the children were hit, Red Crescent ambulances arrived and evacuated them to Ibn Sina Hospital, where the death of the boy ‘Omar Amer Zyud, from a gunshot wound to the chest, was officially announced.Ranin Zyud, ‘Omar’s mother, 41, a mother of five, recounted on 26 March 2026:On 2 April 2025, my son ‘Omar woke up early, ate breakfast and stayed home. Later that morning, he asked me what I was going to make for lunch. I told him I’d cook his favorite dish, kabsa, a rice, vegetable and meat dish that can be eaten with yogurt or salad. He stayed with us and played with his little sister.After I finished preparing the food, we ate lunch together. ‘Omar asked us for some money because he wanted to go out to buy a few things. We live at the eastern entrance of Silat al-Harithiya, near the main street, Haifa Road. At that time, there were no problems or military presence in the area, so we gave him a little money, and he went out to meet friends and buy a few things.A few minutes after he left, we found out from social media that an Israeli military force was raiding the town. I was overcome with anxiety and fear, especially after it was reported that the force was patrolling the town’s neighborhoods. I called him to check on him and ask him to come home, fearing something bad might happen to him. I tried several times, but he didn’t answer.Just then, people started calling my husband and telling him that ‘Omar had been injured. He tried to hide the news from me and rushed out to check.But then, our relatives suddenly began arriving at our house, and I knew for certain that something bad happened to my son. I didn’t know for certain that he died of gunshot wounds until relatives clearly told me that he had been shot and killed. The next day, they brought his body from the hospital, and his funeral was held in the town.My son ‘Omar was a kind and polite boy who respected adults and was also a smart kid. He really loved playing soccer, joined the youth team at the town’s sports club, and loved being on the pitch. He was happiest when he was playing soccer.He had many good friends. Since he died, his friends have been visiting us to check on us, offer their condolences and spend time with us. I regularly visit my son ‘Omar’s grave and recite prayers from the Quran there. He was so kindhearted, and I miss him like the most precious thing in my life.I still remember him hosting friends when they came to our house. He was so generous and welcoming, always trying to offer them the best and tastiest food we had.The loss of my son ‘Omar is extremely hard. It weighs heavily on my heart, and I feel immense sadness in his absence.
On 14 April 2025, soldiers fired from a second-floor balcony of a building on the main street of al-Jalazun Refugee Camp at a group of youths who were trying to flee from two military jeeps, after some youths threw stones at the jeeps. It is unknown whether Malek Hattab took part in the clashes. Hattab, 17, was shot in the abdomen. A woman who lives nearby tried to rescue him but was forced to retreat into her home after the soldiers also fired at her. Hattab was evacuated to al-Istishari Hospital in Ramallah, where he underwent surgery. He succumbed to his wounds several hours later, and the doctors pronounced him dead. Two other youths, one of them a minor, were also wounded by the gunfire.B’Tselem field researcher Mohammad Romaneh collected the testimonies.Hattab’s friend recounted on 25 April 2025:On Monday, 14 April 2025, at 12:25 A.M., I was with seven or eight of my friends around the market in the center of al-Jalazun R.C., north of Ramallah. We were sitting in a café, talking and playing cards. One of the friends was Malek Hattab, who was later shot by occupation soldiers and then died of his wounds.At 12:30 A.M., social media posts said the army had entered the camp and was around the schools, near the Safi family home, next to the main road between Ramallah and Nablus, southeast of the camp. At the same time, the power in the camp went out.Right after hearing about the army’s entry, we left the café and headed to where they said it was. When we got near the Safi family home, we didn’t see any soldiers, so we went back to the market area. The streets were very dark and almost empty.I sat with Malek and the rest of the friends in the market area when two army vehicles suddenly appeared about 25 to 30 meters away from us. We didn’t hear or see them before they got close because their lights were off and everything around us was dark.As soon as we noticed them, we ran away and scattered. After about five minutes, we met again in the Harat al-Qaysiya area, near the market, and then we saw the army vehicles’ lights were on, but I didn’t see any soldiers get out of them.At that moment, some guys started throwing stones at the vehicles from about 30 to 35 meters away. The soldiers didn’t get out and didn’t shoot. After about five minutes, the vehicles started turning around, and we thought they were about to leave via the main road, so we went towards the Harat Jabineh/Dar Safi Street to throw stones at them as they withdrew.It wasn’t until we’d advanced about 55 to 60 meters towards the main road and didn’t see the vehicles passing there that I realized they never left. While we were waiting for them there, we heard live fire, heavy and continuous, close to us. At first, I thought they were shooting from inside the vehicles, but when I tried to come out of the alley, two shots were fired at me, and then I realized the shooting was coming from the main road.I had to climb over a wall that’s six to eight meters tall and jump down to the other side, and when I landed, I injured my legs and left arm.After jumping, I noticed a person lying on the ground in the middle of the street, two to three meters away from me, trying to crawl while screaming in pain. I saw it was my friend Malek Hattab, but I didn’t dare go near him, fearing the soldiers would shoot me.At the same time, the door of one of the houses opened, and a woman called to Malek to come closer, but then shots were fired towards the house, and she had to go back inside.I tried to go to Malek to pull him away, but my injury made it very difficult, and the soldiers also fired at anyone who tried to get close. It took about 10 minutes before I was able to drag him, by his arm, to a nearby sheltered place. I turned him onto his back and saw that he’d been wounded in the abdomen. I took off his belt and shirt and tried to stop the bleeding, while shouting for help.After about five minutes, the army withdrew, and the shooting stopped, and then we put Malek in a car that arrived at the scene and drove to al-Istishari Hospital, through Jifna. On the way, I heard him breathing heavily. I tried to wake him up, and he said: “Open the door, I’m suffocating,” and then he lost consciousness.At the hospital, Malek was taken into the emergency room. The doctor said his condition was very serious and that he had severe internal bleeding. He underwent surgery for four hours, and then he was transferred to intensive care. At 10:30 P.M., the doctors announced he’d died of his wounds.‘Abd al-Hakim Nakhleh, 62, a resident of al-Jalazun R.C., recounted on 16 April 2025:I live alone in the al-Wakalah neighborhood in al-Jalazun R.C., on the main road, near the UNRWA office. My place is on the second floor of a three-story building. Underneath me there are storage rooms, and the third floor is unoccupied. My home has a balcony facing the camp’s main road.On Monday, 14 April 2025, at 1:15 A.M., I woke up to gunfire in the camp, which sounded close to my house. I estimated that the sounds were coming from the direction of the main road. I heard something like 10 consecutive shots, and I didn’t hear any other sounds. I got up immediately and opened my bedroom window, which faces the main road, above al-Barakah supermarket, but I didn’t notice anything unusual.At first, I thought the shooters were members of the Palestinian security forces, because there had been rumors that they were going to launch an operation against illegal vehicles, and they were in the village of Jifna, north of the camp, the day before.After about 15 minutes, I got a call from a relative who told me that soldiers were on the second-floor balcony of my house, which faces the main road. When I asked him where this information came from, he said that local groups had reported it and that he had seen them on the balcony; then they went down the stairs and disappeared from his field of vision. At first, I didn’t dare go to the windows facing the balcony, for fear that they would see me, but in the end, after about half an hour, I went to the window, and the soldiers were no longer there.At around 5:30 A.M., after the dawn prayer at the mosque, when I returned home, I checked around the house and discovered that the back gate was open, even though I always close it before going to sleep. I closed it and went to the balcony where I was told the soldiers had been seen. I found eight spent bullet casings on the floor there. That’s when I knew for sure that the army was on the balcony in the early hours of the morning. I collected them, took photos of them on my phone and then threw them away.Later, I saw a video showing a boy lying on the ground in the alley opposite my balcony, where the soldiers had stood and where I found the casings from the shooting at Malek Hattab, who was killed, and the young men who were with him. I later found out that two other young men were also wounded by the gunfire.Another al-Jalazun resident, who was in the area and was injured by the soldiers' fire, recounted on 16 April 2025:On the night between 14 and 15 April 2025, at around midnight, while I was at my restaurant in the north of the camp, on the road between the camp and the village of Jifna, I found out through social media that an occupation army force had entered the camp from the south, through the area where the schools are located. At the same time, the power in the camp went out.After about five minutes, news circulated on local residents’ social media groups that another force had entered the camp from the north, where the road leading down to Jifna is located. I closed the restaurant right away to go home because it’s also on the road down to Jifna.I walked towards my house in the center of the camp. The street was dark because of the power outage. When I got to the market area in the center of the camp, I saw two army vehicles driving on the main road towards the center of the camp, so I took another route that passes by the mosque on the main road, about 100 meters from where the soldiers were.On the way, I came across a group of about seven or eight young men, including Malek Hattab, who was later killed. They were standing, trying to figure out where to run and didn’t know which direction to turn, because there were conflicting reports about the soldiers’ location.After about two minutes, posts on social media said that the army vehicles had stopped in the middle of the camp in the market area. We couldn’t see the area because buildings and shops blocked the view. We waited a bit near the mosque, and then we saw on social media that another force was advancing towards the market area, so we started advancing through one of the alleys towards Harat al-Qaysiya, about 75 to 80 meters from there.After that, I went in the direction of the Jabineh neighborhood (or Harat Dar Safi), near the main road. There’s a wall around there that surrounds an empty lot, and I hid by it when I heard that the force was advancing.At that moment, the power came back on for a few seconds and then went out again, and immediately after that, shots were fired towards us in Harat Dar Safi and towards other young men who were standing below, in the al-Qaysiya neighborhood.When the shooting started, I felt that I’d been hit, and I fell to the ground, with my back towards the main road and my face towards the market. I saw the young men with me running toward the side street called Abu a-Sabuneh. I noticed that the gunfire was coming from the direction of the main road, but I didn’t see the soldiers.The shooting continued, at first continuously and then intermittently, while I was lying there, unable to get up.While I was lying on the ground, I heard someone shouting in Hebrew, “come,” and I thought the soldiers were coming towards me. I forced myself to get up and try to escape to a hidden alley, but I fell again and stayed there for about five to seven minutes, bleeding and afraid they would reach me and arrest me.After that, a woman from the camp came, helped me get up and took me into her house. I stayed there for about 25 minutes, because it wasn’t possible to evacuate me to the hospital right away due to the soldiers’ presence. Afterward, two young men came, took me to a car and drove me through the lot area, where we came across an ambulance that took me to al-Istishari Hospital.At the hospital, I was taken into the emergency room and sedated. When I woke up, I was told that Malek Hattab had been severely wounded in the abdomen by gunfire at the same time I was injured.I had surgery on my right leg, and next week, I’m supposed to have surgery to implant a plate in the leg. The doctors found many fragments inside my body, including in my arms and legs.That same day, the doctors announced that the boy Malek Hattab had died of his wounds after being hospitalized in intensive care for several hours.
On 17 April 2025, Israeli soldiers fired from an ambush at ‘Adili and two other individuals who were throwing stones at Route 505, near Osarin, killing ‘Adili and one of the others. The third person who was with them was not injured.Israel is holding his body.
On 23 April 2025, a force of soldiers on foot raided the village of al-Yamon. The soldiers entered a home, and a group of 10 to 12 children and teenagers, including 12-year-old Mahmoud Abu al-Hija, gathered in a nearby cemetery and began throwing stones at the balcony of the home from about 50 meters away. An eyewitness told B'Tselem that one of the soldiers fired several shots at them. One of the shots hit Abu al-Hija and he collapsed. Video footage shows the gunfire at the children and teens at the cemetery continuing as they carry Abu al-Hija out. He was then taken by private car to the village medical center, where he was pronounced dead. Soon after he was evacuated, a military jeep drove up, and the soldiers got in and left.Mahmoud’s mother Nazmiyah Abu al-Hija, 52, a mother of four, said in a testimony she gave B'Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 26 March 2026:On the morning of 23 April 2025, my son Mahmoud set out from our home, which is in central al-Yamun near the old mosque, to Bilal Intermediate School, where he was a seventh-grade student. At noon he came home and said he’d already eaten with friends. After prayers, he went out to play with friends in the area.Around 4:00 P.M., I was shocked when his friends showed up and told me Mahmoud was shot by Israeli forces that had raided our village. A few moments later, I learned he was shot in the stomach and thigh and taken to a hospital in Jenin, where he was pronounced dead.Mahmoud was our eldest. He was energetic and loved life. He loved playing and especially loved swimming. He would ask us to take him to the local swimming pools. He also cared for pets, including a newborn kitten, which he looked after devotedly. Mahmoud loved horses and used to go on paid rides with his friends. He wanted an electric scooter to get around, but we couldn’t afford it.Whenever he saw I was exhausted, he would come and hug me and take care of me. He was very attached to me and came with me on social visits to family in Jenin. He was my firstborn, who arrived after 13 years of marriage during which I struggled to have a child. His birth brought immense joy to the entire family.He left behind his brother Ibrahim, 10, who is now our only son, and his sisters Tala, 11, and Nur, 6. Since Mahmoud was killed, they’ve been mourning and missing him terribly. Ibrahim is still a child, but he tries to fill the void by acting like an adult. My daughters constantly ask about Mahmoud and miss him very much.
On 15 May 2025, during a military raid on the town of Tammun, soldiers surrounded a three-story building in which armed Palestinians, including Rida Bani ‘Odeh, had barricaded themselves, and fired shoulder missiles at it. In the ensuing fire exchange, Rida was killed along with four other Palestinians. During the operation, the Israeli forces destroyed a significant portion of the building, rendering it uninhabitable. At the end of the operation, as the Israeli military has done in other cases, Bani ‘Odeh’s body was scooped into the bucket of a military bulldozer, along with the bodies of three others, and driven through the streets of Tammun and nearby communities. According to the military, four Palestinians were arrested in the town and the nearby city of Tubas during the raid. Bani ‘Odeh was an Islamic Jihad military wing operative. Israel is holding his body.Rida’s mother, Samaher Bani ‘Odeh, 49, a mother of four, said in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher ‘Aref Daraghmeh on 30 March 2026:On 14 May 2025, the day before he was killed, Rida came home and acted not like his usual self. He sat with me and other family members for hours. We felt like he was assessing everyone. He also went to visit his brother, talked a lot and asked a lot of questions. At some point that day, he told me he wanted to buy new pants, and I told him his father would go and buy them for him.Rida always laughed and played with his sister’s children. He also loved taking photos with everyone. Most days, he’d go out and come back late in the evening, but that day, he stayed home all day. In the evening, he showered, put on new clothes and asked me: “How do I look in these clothes, Mom?” and I answered: “Masha’ Allah, you’re handsome and anything you wear will look good.” I was in the kitchen, looking at him, and I said, “Masha’ Allah,” I felt as though I was seeing him for the first time in a long while, and his face was glowing. Then he came over to me and said: “Look at me, am I handsome?” and started kissing me and hugging me. I took out his brother’s bottle of perfume and started spraying it on him, and he said to me: “That’s enough perfume, Mom.”He went out after dinner, and I stood and watched him as if I were saying goodbye to him. I said to him: “May God protect you, my son.” I don’t know where he went that night. In the morning, I woke up very early to wake his father and fix him breakfast. Afterwards, before I went back to sleep, I turned on my phone, but I didn’t see anything about any occupation army activity or anything like that. Usually, hardly a week goes by without the occupation army raiding the Tammun area. I turned the phone off.At about 7:00 A.M., I was still asleep. Then, my sister called and said that the army had raided the town and that special forces had laid siege to one of the houses, and suggested that if Rida wasn’t home, I should call to check if he was okay. I called him, but he didn’t answer. After that, I got more calls from relatives asking about Rida: “Is he home? Is he alright?” His brother Ashraf was still asleep. I woke him up and told him that the army had raided the town and that Rida wasn’t home, but he was not worried about it. He didn’t think anything would happen to him. Then I went to make breakfast for my son and my daughters, and Ashraf got a call and was told: “Pray for Rida.” Ashraf came over to me and said: “Mom, turn off the gas, turn off the gas, don’t make breakfast, I don’t want to eat.” He paced around the house restlessly and kept saying: “Pray for Rida, Mom.” I asked him: “Has something happened to Rida?” and he told me that Rida was with the young men in the house that the army was surrounding. I started to cry.People started coming over and trying to comfort me. They told me that everyone was alright and that the young men would come out of the house. Then the news came that Rida had been killed. My son, who hadn’t turned 18 yet. An innocent boy with a tender heart who had all the beautiful qualities. I started blaming myself: Why didn’t I hug him when he went out? Why did I let him go? I started asking myself questions and talking to myself. I imagined that he would come back to me now, walk into the house. I kept looking at the door and at the windows. I saw him in every corner of the house and couldn’t stop crying. Only God knew what state I was in. But God, may He be exalted, took him and he was killed together with the others.During the last ‘Eid al-Fitr before he died, we were together and spent beautiful days together, but this year, Rida wasn’t with us for the holiday. I cried a lot during the holiday. I couldn’t be happy.Rida and the others were taken away, and their bodies are being held by the occupation. Every day I am tormented because of him, and every day I pray to God that they return his body to us. I want to kiss Rida and hug him. I want to embrace his grave, but the occupation is still holding his body. It’s as if he is being killed anew every day, because even his body is far away from me. I remember him every minute. I don’t know where he is now. The occupation has his body like the bodies of dozens of martyrs.I appeal to all humanitarian organizations and to human rights organizations to intervene and help us get his body back and bury him. I am suffering. I am ill. I can’t live without seeing his body and burying it here in our land and going to his grave as if I were seeing him every day.The news of his death was a shock to me, but I believe in God and in fate. I miss him terribly and want to hug him, or even just touch his grave. I look at the door every day as if waiting for him to come back to me again, and I say: “Rida has come and Rida has gone.” But to this day, I haven’t been allowed to bury him, which is the only way I can find some peace and feel that he’s still with us, even if it’s in his grave.
On 16 May 2025, police officers shot and killed Muhammad Abu Libdeh, 17, a resident of the Old City of Jerusalem, at Bab al-Silsilah (Chain Gate) in the Old City. According to police, he had stabbed a police officer and moderately injured him.Israel is holding his body.
On 17 May 2025, Israeli soldiers fired from an ambush at Nidal Shaghnubi and two other teens, while the three were throwing stones at Route 60. Shaghnubi was critically wounded, and his friends, who were also wounded, fled the area and were taken by residents to ambulances that took them to a hospital in the city of Nablus. Local residents who searched for Shaghnubi could not approach the area, as soldiers were still present and fired in the air, preventing his evacuation by ambulance. About two hours after the shooting, the Palestinian DCO was informed that Shaghnubi had died of his wounds. Israel is holding his body.Nidal’s father, Wael Shaghnubi, 54, a father of five, recounted in a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb’i on 28 March 2026:When Nidal was two years old, his mother and I got divorced, and I’ve remarried since. Nidal lived with us and used to visit his mother twice a month for a few days at a time.On Saturday, 17 May 2025, at around 11:00 A.M., Nidal came back from a three-day visit with his mother, who lives in ‘Askar R.C. in Nablus. When he came back, he was happy and excited, and he showed me his first ID card, which he got two days earlier in Nablus. He asked me to look at his photo and asked how he looked. I told him he looked good. He was excited about being grown-up and having an ID card. I felt the same way. He was already taller than me, and I watched him mature by the day. He used to shave to make his beard and mustache more visible, and we’d laugh about it.At around 4:30 P.M., we had lunch together, just the two of us. He told me about the visit with his mother and about visiting his uncles in Nablus. At 6:00 P.M., his friend Yazan came over, and they went to hang out in the village together. Nidal dressed smartly, as he always did, put on perfume, and left his new ID card at home because he was afraid he’d lose it. He went out and never came back.At around 10:00 P.M., someone from the village called me and told me that Nidal had been wounded and that I had to come to the northern area of the village. I went there immediately. There were some residents there as well as three or four soldiers standing on the road. I went over to one of them and asked what had happened. He demanded to see my ID card. I told him I wanted to see the wounded person. He pointed toward a nearby olive grove and said: “He’s a terrorist.” I asked where my son was and asked to see him. I tried to move in that direction, but the soldier cocked his weapon, forbade me from coming closer and threatened to shoot me. I told him I was his father and that he was just a kid.The soldier made a phone call and let me speak with someone who identified himself as the officer in charge of the area. The officer spoke Arabic and told me to pray for my son and have mercy on him. From what he said, I understood that Nidal had been killed. All I wanted was to see my son and find out what happened to him, how and why they shot him, and where he was wounded.There were also military vehicles and a Magen David Adom [Israeli] ambulance on Route 60, which is nearby. Local residents held me and tried to calm me down. I called the Palestinian DCO, and they told me that the Israeli DCO had informed them of my son’s death. I asked where on his body he’d been wounded, but they told me they didn’t have that kind of information.Since Nidal’s death, I’ve been having a hard time emotionally. I tend to isolate myself, and I have trouble working, even though I have to provide for my family. I don’t have a stable source of income, and my family’s financial situation is very difficult.I still haven’t seen my son. They didn’t let me see him after he was wounded or after he died. When he was lying there in the grove, they didn’t let me go near him or look at him, and I don’t know where on his body he was wounded. His body hasn’t been returned to us, and we weren’t given the chance to say goodbye to him or to bury him.
On 2 June 2025, soldiers shot and killed Yusef Fuqaha from an ambush they had set up in agricultural land adjacent to Route 5056, near the village of Sinjil. According to a testimony B’Tselem obtained from a nearby resident, whose security cameras captured the incident, a large group of soldiers set up the ambush in the morning hours, and at 1:32 P.M., two shots were heard. About seven minutes later, two more shots were fired. After the shooting, the footage showed two soldiers standing over Fuqaha, who lay wounded. About ten minutes after the second round of gunfire, three military ambulances arrived at the scene, and the soldiers covered Fuqaha and put him in one of them. Immediately after the ambulances left, two of the soldiers went over to the house and demanded to see the security camera footage. According to the witness, he watched the footage with the soldiers. Fuqaha is seen about a minute before the first shots are heard, walking toward Route 5056, then moving back a few meters and hiding among the olive trees for about seven minutes, during which three vehicles with Israeli license plates pass on the road, and Fuqaha does nothing. After the soldiers watched the footage several times, they erased it. After the incident, the military claimed that Fuqaha had tried to throw stones at the road.Fuqaha’s body has since been held by Israel.Below are the testimonies B’Tselem field researcher Mohammad Romaneh collected from the owner of the nearby house and from Yusef Fuqaha’s father.A resident of the village, 45, recounted in a testimony he gave the day after the incident:I live in the al-Mazira’ah neighborhood, on the northern side of the town of Sinjil. My house is on Route 5056, which leads to the settlements of Ma’ale Levona and Giv’at Haroeh, and to Route 60. The road is also known as the old Nablus road.In the 10 days before the incident, starting Saturday, 24 May 2025, I noticed unusual movement of soldiers around my house, following settlers’ claims about stone-throwing at vehicles. Over those days, soldiers raided my home several times because I’d installed security cameras to protect the house after settler attacks.On Monday, 2 June 2025, I noticed the presence and movement of soldiers around the house and in the farmland opposite it, about 20–25 meters away, since the morning.At 12:54 P.M., while I was standing on the roof of the house, I saw four soldiers sitting in the farmland opposite, camouflaged with desert-colored tarps. A few minutes later, I also noticed a drone, and I went back down into the house.At 1:32 P.M., I heard two shots a few seconds apart. I went out to the yard and saw nothing, and then I looked out the windows, but didn’t notice any unusual movement.At around 1:40 P.M., when I went out to the yard again, I heard two more shots, louder and closer. I saw two soldiers coming down from the farmland toward the road, and I heard one of them saying in Hebrew to another soldier: “From here, come.”I went back inside and watched what was happening on the security cameras. I saw a wounded person lying under a tree about 10–15 meters from the house. The two soldiers stood next to him for about a minute or two and then went back to the farmland.At around 1:50 P.M., military vehicles arrived, including a medical vehicle. The soldiers took out a stretcher and covered the wounded person. At 2:13 P.M., they put him in an ambulance that arrived a little earlier, and the ambulances took off.Immediately afterwards, four soldiers came to my house, went inside and threw some gloves into the trash. They demanded that I show them the security camera footage and rewind it. In the footage, we saw a young boy dressed in black walking along an agricultural path, getting close to the road and then backtracking and standing under an olive tree, next to a low masonry wall, for about seven minutes. During that time, vehicles passed on the road, and nothing happened.More soldiers came and asked whether the footage showed anything, and the soldiers who were watching it answered: “No, only that he’s behind the tree.” One of the soldiers filmed the video, and then they tried to delete the recordings.Later, a Border Police officer came and showed me a picture of the wounded boy on his phone. It looked like he was already dead. I recognized that he was from the Fuqaha family, but I said I didn’t recognize him.Later on, an officer came, praised one of the soldiers and told him: “You did a good job.” Then they ordered me to stay in a room while they continued checking. They also checked my phone and asked if I’d filmed anything.The soldiers stayed in the house until about 3:20 P.M. and then left. As soon as they did, I notified the Palestinian authorities and sent a message to the residents of the village to make sure their children were alright. When I checked the cameras, I discovered that all the recordings had been deleted.About an hour later, Israeli media reported that the army had killed a “16-year-old terrorist” who had thrown stones, which completely contradicts what I saw in the footage. About two hours after the incident, I found out from social media that the person killed was the child Yusef Fouad ‘Abd al-Karim Fuqaha, 14. His body is still being held by the Israeli authorities.Yusef’s father, 48, a father of six, recounted in a testimony he gave on 10 June 2025:I am a farmer, and we live in the town of Sinjil, northeast of Ramallah. My wife and I had six children, three of them under 18, including Yusef.My late son, Yusef, was born on 12 August 2010. He was a ninth-grade student at the boys’ high school in Sinjil. He really loved cars, especially BMWs, and he wanted to become a mechanic, so we planned that he would transfer to a vocational school.On Monday, 2 June 2025, at around 1:00 P.M., I found out from social media that a child was injured in the northern part of the town, but it didn’t say who he was. At around 2:00 P.M., reports started being posted that the wounded child was my son Muhammad, 16, but at that time, Muhammad was sitting in front of me at home. The municipality contacted me to check, and I told them that Muhammad was sitting in front of me and also gave them his ID number for verification.Yusef was out at the time, but I thought he was downtown, and it didn’t occur to me that he was in the northern part. After about an hour, around 3:00 P.M., reports started coming in that the military had gotten the identity wrong and that the wounded child was actually my son Yusef.At that point, the municipality called me again and told me that the military had contacted the Palestinian DCO and asked that the mayor go alone to the Huwarah base to identify the child. The municipality asked me for another identification document for my son Yusef for verification. The mayor went to the Huwarah base and identified the person killed as my son Yusef.It’s been more than a week now, and the Israeli authorities still haven’t given me my son’s body, so I haven’t been able to set up a mourning tent and receive condolence visits. We, his family and friends, haven’t been able to say a proper goodbye to him. I still don’t know where he is or what they did with his body. Everything is being handled through the municipality. I demand my right to receive my son’s body so that we can bury him and say goodbye to him.Nothing can justify killing a 14-year-old child.
On 23 June 2025, soldiers inside an armored military vehicle shot 'Amar Hamayel in the back after he threw a stone at the vehicle from a hill overlooking the road. A friend who was with him saw him fall and fled the scene. Hamayel was picked up with no signs of life by a Palestinian ambulance that arrived after coordination with the DCO. He was pronounced dead at a hospital in Ramallah.B'Tselem field researcher Mohammad Romaneh collected the testimonies.A friend of 'Ammar's said on 25 June 2025:On Monday, 23 June 2025, at 2:15 P.M., my friend 'Ammar called and asked me to meet him at 2:30 in the center of the village. We met and went to his uncle Muhammad Hamayel's café, called a-Liga Café. ‘Ammar started cleaning and preparing the place, and while he worked we talked about the situation in Palestine.After ‘Ammar finished, he suggested we go for a drink at a place called Misk, west of the village. We walked there, but it was closed. Then he suggested we go to an area overlooking Road 449. We walked there, and when we got to farmland about 150 to 200 meters from the road, 'Ammar pointed out soldiers in black uniforms. I also saw an Israeli police vehicle in blue and white parked nearby.One of the soldiers put his rifle on the vehicle in a sniper position and aimed it at where we were. We immediately hid on a high hill, so we couldn’t be seen from the street or from the southern end of the road, where the soldiers were. We took turns peeking out at the police car to check if it was still there.After about 10 minutes, the police car drove toward Tel al-‘Asur, but 'Ammar was still worried. He said he could feel the army was around. Even so, we went a bit closer and stopped about 100-150 meters from Road 449.Just then, we saw a white vehicle coming up from the Allon Road/'Ein Samiyah road toward Tel al-'Asur. I think it was a settler car, because that road is considered a military road and Palestinians don’t use it. The car was driving strangely, not going straight, but continued toward Tel al-'Asur. I think the settlers in the car noticed us.We sat there for about 10 minutes after the car went by. Then we saw a military vehicle flying an Israeli flag coming from the east toward the Tel al-‘Asur camp. We know that vehicle and call it "the flag patrol." Everyone in the village knows it’s usually used by the worst, most violent soldiers.At that moment my father called me, so I quickly went 30 to 40 meters back toward the village and answered. When he asked where I was, I said I was playing soccer with ‘Ammar on the village field. I said that because I was very scared.While I was talking, I looked at 'Ammar and saw him looking at me. He was still standing where I had left him, closer to the bypass road. I turned for a moment toward the village and suddenly heard two gunshots. I turned back and saw 'Ammar had fallen down. I started running toward the village through the farmland. While I was running, I heard someone shout, "Stop!" but I didn’t look back. I ran away.As soon as I reached the village houses, I called 'Ammar's phone, but he didn’t answer. From the way he fell and the fact he wasn’t moving or making any sound, I understood he was shot dead. Later, I learned that was what happened and went to the Palestine Medical Center to say goodbye.'Ahed Samirat, 48, a resident of Silwad and paramedic who took Hamayel to hospital, said on 26 June 2025:On Tuesday, 24 June 2025, at around 5:30 P.M., young men from the village of Kafr Malik called me and told me there was an injured person being held by the military near the bypass road south of the village.I drove there from Silwad in an ambulance, together with the paramedic Suheil Hamed and my son, the paramedic Muhammad Smeirat, via the village of Deir Jarir. We arrived at the village's main western entrance, which is near the military base known as Tel al-'Asur. That entrance has been blocked by an iron gate for more than a year. I went there because the young men said the occupation army would hand the injured person over to me there.We got there within five minutes and saw a Palestinian Red Crescent ambulance, but no occupation army forces.It took us some time to locate the injured person. Eventually, we understood he was near the bypass road connecting Allon Road to the Tel al-'Asur military base. I drove there, even though it’s considered a military road and there are several settler outposts along it, until I reached a dense grove. Four military vehicles and a white military pickup truck were parked there, by the side of the bypass road. I didn’t see any Israeli ambulances or military medical vehicles.The first military vehicle blocked our way for five minutes. Then a soldier directed me to the last vehicle, where another soldier told me to return to the middle of the road. I drove back, stopped and got out. A soldier immediately approached me, introduced himself in Hebrew, said that the injured boy was dead and asked me to bring a stretcher. He then pointed toward a hill at the northern end of the road, in the direction of Kafr Malik.The paramedic Suheil, my son Muhammad and I walked there on foot. We walked about 100-150 meters and reached a hill slightly higher than the road. One of the soldiers pointed out the boy's exact location. When we got there, at 6:05 P.M., I saw a boy lying on his back on the ground. He was wearing black pants. He had a slipper on one foot, while the other foot was bare. His chest was exposed and it looked like someone had torn his shirt, but there were no signs of first aid – no bandages, gloves or other medical equipment. There was a soldier there who identified himself as a doctor, but he was not wearing gloves. The boy showed no signs of life.I saw ants crawling on him and concluded that he had been lying on the ground for a long time.I examined the boy and found a small hole, which was the bullet's entry wound, slightly above the middle of his back. There was also a large hole, the bullet's exit wound, on the front left side of his neck. When we put the boy on the stretcher, blood began to flow from him, which is an indication of internal bleeding.We took him to the ambulance and immediately drove to the Palestine Medical Complex in Ramallah. Upon our arrival, the doctors officially pronounced the boy dead. After they performed CT scans and X-rays, one of the doctors confirmed to me that the bullet had entered through his back, passed through his heart and exited through his neck. Later, I learned on social media that the boy who had died was 'Ammar Hamayel, 14, from Kafr Malik.His father, Mu'taz Hamayel, 46, a father of four, said on 25 June 2025:I work as a government employee in the Palestinian security services and also raise sheep, which provide us with an additional source of income.My son 'Ammar was a seventh-grade student at Kafr Malik Boys School. He usually had excellent grades and also trained in Thai boxing for about four years.He represented the Palestinian Thai boxing team three times, won a world bronze medal in 2023, and earned medals and trophies in local championships. He dreamed of becoming an international professional athlete.On Monday, 23 June 2025, sometime between 12:30 and 1:00 P.M., while I was at work in the government office in Taybeh, ‘Ammar called and said he’d seen the cigarettes I smoke for sale in the village and wanted to buy me a pack, because he’d heard me complain that they were unavailable in the village. I asked him to buy me a pack and leave it at his grandmother’s house in the village center before he went out with friends.At 2:40 P.M., I finished work and drove back to Kafr Malik. When I got to my mother's house, I saw that 'Ammar had left the pack of cigarettes on her windowsill. I rested for a while and had lunch, and then about an hour later took the sheep out to graze. At the time, I thought that 'Ammar and his friends were playing in the village.At around 4:40 P.M., a friend of mine called and told me there had been shooting in the southern part of the village near the bypass road, Road 449. I didn’t give it much thought and continued grazing the flock with a friend from the village.At 5:00 P.M., my wife called and said ‘Ammar had been gone for a long time and she didn’t know where he was. I immediately tried to get hold of him, and after I called again and again, at around 5:30 P.M. someone answered in Hebrew. He said he was an officer named Abu a-Nimr. I asked if ‘Ammar was with him. I assumed he’d been arrested. The officer asked who I was, and I said I was ‘Ammar’s father. He asked for my name and I said, “Mu’taz Mustafa”. He said 'Ammar was lightly injured and hung up.I asked the friend who was with me to try calling 'Ammar's phone, too. The same person answered and again identified himself as Abu a-Nimr. My friend walked a few meters away from me and continued speaking with the officer. They spoke for about five minutes. The minute my friend walked away to speak with the officer, I felt that 'Ammar was dead.As soon as he finished the call, I drove to my house, which is in the center of the village, and from there I took my friend's car to the village's blocked main entrance, where there is a road leading to Road 449.There is a military post at the beginning of the road leading from the main entrance into the village, and the military prevented us from approaching. We stopped the car opposite the soldiers, about 10-15 meters away. I told the soldiers I was the father of the injured boy.At that point, an Arabic-speaking soldier approached me and asked for my ID card. He then told me that if I wanted to see my son 'Ammar, I had to ask the village youths to move away from the area.I asked the young men to move away, and then the soldiers allowed me to approach. That soldier escorted me, together with four other soldiers, to Road 449. From where I was standing with the soldiers, I saw an ambulance, but I couldn’t tell whether it was a Palestinian or Israeli ambulance. I told the soldiers I wanted to see my son.The Arabic-speaking soldier told me the ambulance had taken him to the hospital. I asked the officer where my son 'Ammar was injured. He said he didn’t know and that the hospital would contact me and update me on 'Ammar's condition. He gave me back my ID card and asked me to leave the area.At that point, I still didn’t know 'Ammar was dead. I drove to the Palestine Medical Complex in Ramallah. On the way there, a friend called and told me that 'Ammar had been killed by a bullet that entered through his back and exited through his neck.The next day, 25 June 2025, we held 'Ammar's funeral and buried him in the village's northern cemetery.
On 25 June 2025, soldiers raided the town of al-Yamun. At about the same time, Rayan Hushiyeh, 14, and his cousin, also a teen, arrived at a barbershop in the town center and discovered it was closed. In the meantime, clashes broke out in the area, during which local residents fired and threw stones and IEDs at the Israeli soldiers. When the boys found out about the raid and that soldiers had taken over a house in the area, they went into a side street, unaware that a group of soldiers had been stationed on the roof of a nearby building. When they reached the corner of the alley opposite the house, one of the soldiers fired at them from a distance of 30 to 40 meters, hitting Hushiyeh, who fell to the ground. His cousin ran away, and Hushiyeh was taken by residents to an ambulance that took him to a hospital, where he was pronounced dead.B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi collected the testimonies.Hushiyeh’s cousin recounted on 26 June 2025:On Wednesday, 25 June 2025, at around 3:30 P.M., my cousin Rayan Hushiyeh and I walked from our neighborhood in the west of the town of al-Yamun to the barbershop located in the town center, near the old mosque. When we got to the barbershop, it was closed, and we didn’t know why.At about the same time, military forces entered the town, mostly in the eastern area, and I found out that they were raiding a house to arrest a wanted guy. Clashes broke out between young guys and the Israeli military forces, including armed men shooting at the soldiers, exploding IEDs and throwing stones at military vehicles.Rayan and I went into a side street near the old mosque, not knowing there were soldiers on the roof of one of the houses belonging to the ‘Abd al-Malek family. When we got to the corner of a street located about 30 to 40 meters west of the soldiers’ position, one of them suddenly started shooting at us.I was two or three steps ahead of Rayan and managed to run away as soon as I heard the shooting, but he was hit and fell to the ground.I know that some residents evacuated Rayan in an ambulance that was already waiting there – we passed by it before the shooting – and that he died of gunshot wounds to the head and neck area and to other parts of his body, and his body was returned from the hospital and brought to burial.A resident of al-Yamun who witnessed the incident recounted on 26 June 2025:On Wednesday afternoon, 25 June 2025, I was standing outside my house. It was during a raid by Israeli military forces on the town, and a Palestinian ambulance was standing nearby. The forces were raiding the house of one of the wanted men on the eastern side of the town center, and military vehicles were also driving through the town’s streets and alleys. Some young men and teens threw stones and IEDs at the military vehicles, and I heard live gunfire and the explosions of stun grenades and tear gas canisters in the streets.At around 3:30 P.M., I saw two boys walking past my house. I didn’t know there were soldiers on one of the rooftops opposite, but when the boys reached a point where they were visible from that roof, several bullets were suddenly fired at them from there. One of the boys managed to run north, but the other boy, Rayan, was hit by several bullets, one of them in the neck. He took a few steps back and then fell to the ground, about 15 meters from me. I ran over to him with several other residents and the ambulance crews, and the paramedics evacuated him to the al-Hadaf Medical Center in the town of al-Yamun.About 15 minutes after Rayan was shot, the soldiers left town without arresting anyone.Rayan’s mother, Zakiyyeh Hushiyeh, 39, a mother of five, recounted in a testimony she gave on 26 March 2026:I still remember how my son Rayan woke up on Wednesday, 25 June 2025, ate breakfast and then went with his father, Tamer, to Jenin to buy fruit and vegetables for Tamer’s shop.They came back from Jenin in the early afternoon, and we had lunch together. After that, I prepared fruit and watermelon for the family, and later Rayan’s friends joined us too. We sat together and ate the fruit. We were so happy and joyful.At around 2:30 P.M., while we were in our house in the western area of al-Yamun, we found out from social media that military forces were raiding the town. By then, Rayan had already gotten dressed and gone out with his friends, as usual, to play and spend time together in the town.At around 4:00 P.M., social media posts said that a youth from the town had been wounded and evacuated to the hospital in Jenin. A few moments later, my son Anwar, 17, came home and told me that the wounded youth was Rayan, and that he died. This was such terrible and painful news. I got extremely dizzy. I tried to go out of the house, but I passed out and collapsed to the ground, stunned by the bitter news. Within moments, family and neighbors started gathering at our house, and it seemed that they had already received and verified the news of my son Rayan’s death.Rayan loved raising animals, and he used to bring home every puppy he found and take care of them, feeding them milk until they grew, and also training them. It gave him immense joy.Rayan pampered and deeply loved his only sister, Lujayn, who was seven years old. He took exceptional care of her. He had a lot of patience with her and gave her a lot of attention. He wouldn’t let anyone tease or hurt his sister.Rayan had a good heart. Whenever he was upset or angry about something, he would reflect on his actions and, if he had wronged someone, apologize immediately. At the same time, he wasn’t afraid to speak out, and he expressed his opinions with conviction.I’ve been thinking about him every day since his death and crying over his loss. We’ve lost all joy since he died.
On 1 July 2025, soldiers shot and killed Amjad 'Awad, 16, who was throwing stones at Israeli forces with a group of other youths at al-Manarah Square in the city center, after the forces invaded the city and arrested four people there.
On 6 July 2025, soldiers fired at youths who were throwing stones at Israeli forces as they withdrew from 'Askar Refugee Camp in Nablus at the end of an invasion. They severely wounded Iyad Shalakhati, 14, and two other youths. Shalakhati was taken by private car to Rafidya Hospital in the city, and died of his wounds three days later.His mother, Shuruq Shalakhati, 32, a mother of five, said in a testimony she gave B'Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb'i on 7 August 2025:I got married when I was 15, and for years my husband and I lived in one room in my husband’s family home, in very difficult conditions. Iyad was my eldest son. I gave birth to him in 2011, and he was the first joy in my life, the only beautiful thing that eased those hard years for me. My children are everything to me. All I want from life is for them to grow up and for our lives to get better.Four years ago, my husband developed bone cancer, and his condition has deteriorated badly since then. He can no longer work and needs intensive physical and emotional care. My son Iyad had to leave school despite his young age. Circumstances forced him to grow up quickly. Instead of studying and playing like other children his age, he had to work to support us and his siblings. We had no other source of income. If Iyad worked, we ate. If he didn’t, there was no food.Iyad collected empty drink bottles. For every sack he sold, he got only 10 shekels. He would leave at 4:00 A.M. and come back at 10:00 A.M., and sometimes he would go out again in the evening to work a few more hours and earn about 30 shekels. He loved playing billiards and soccer.On Sunday, 5 July 2025, at around 4:00 P.M., Iyad left home to collect bottles. Around 9:00 P.M., while I was at home, I felt like something was choking me. When my father-in-law called my husband to come into their home, I felt something was happening. We don’t have internet at home, and I didn’t know anything.My husband came back from his parents’ home and told me Iyad had been wounded. I started screaming and begging that he not be taken from me. I went to the hospital, and when I arrived, Iyad was in the emergency room. They told me he had been wounded in the leg, and I thought he would be fine. He even spoke to me and told me his head and stomach hurt.They told me he needed a long operation. The surgery lasted many hours, until around 5:00 A.M. The doctors came out and said he would be fine, but when they brought him out of surgery, Iyad opened his eyes but was not conscious. I tried to speak to him, but he didn’t respond.They transferred him to intensive care. I stood outside the room, reading the Quran and praying that they would be able to save him, but I felt he was moving farther and farther away from me. I asked the doctor, and he said the injury was very serious: arteries in his abdomen had been torn, and he had only hours left to live.While I was waiting there, I fainted several times, and my husband took me home. It was the longest and hardest night of my life. I did not sleep at all.At 7:00 A.M., the phone rang and we were told Iyad had died. It was a devastating blow. All the beauty in my life was gone. My son had grown up before my eyes. His voice had changed, his beard had begun to grow, and he had become taller than me. I was so happy to see him grow and become a man. I could hardly believe my eyes, and now he is gone.I go to his bed, cry and can’t sleep. Everything in the house reminds me of him. I cannot cook, and I have no desire to do anything. The children have also lost their appetite.His siblings ask about him all the time. His father says he does not want to live and only wants to join him.He was with boys his age in the eastern area of the camp, the only place with trees. It overlooks the villages of 'Azmut and Deir al-Hatab, and the Huwarah-Rujeib road. Young people go there to sit in the shade and get away from the overcrowding.The military goes there deliberately to provoke the young people and then kills them without justification. What did these children do wrong? Don’t they have the right to live their childhood, to play and be happy? Why did they kill him? Why did they take my son from me, the light of my eyes?
On 18 July 2025, during a raid on the town of Ya’bad, ‘Amru Qabha passed near where the forces were and came across soldiers who called out to him to stop and fired at the same time. He was shot as he tried to escape. After he fell, the soldiers prevented an ambulance crew from reaching him, and when his father, who had heard that he had been shot, arrived at the scene, the soldiers fired warning shots to stop him from coming closer. The father, nevertheless, went over to his son, who was still alive, and then the soldiers beat him with a rifle butt, handcuffed him and had him sit next to his son. They kept the father and son like that for over 30 minutes, refusing to treat the wounded boy or allow his evacuation and ordering the pleading father to be quiet. The soldiers allowed the ambulance through only after ‘Amru died of his wounds. In a press report, the military claimed that ‘Amru had thrown an IED at the forces and that another was found at the scene.‘Amru’s mother, ‘Ayidah Qabha, 42, a mother of four, recounted in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 26 March 2026:On Friday morning, 18 July 2025, I remember that ‘Ali, my husband, woke ‘Amru up. ‘Amru was 13 years old, our only son, with three sisters. He talked to him and joked with him to help him wake up. We waited for him to get out of bed so we could eat and drink instant coffee together. ‘Amru got up, and we all sat together, with my two sisters, Lilian and Rayan. My husband asked ‘Amru to go with him to a relative’s wedding.Then ‘Amru asked me what I was making for lunch. I told him I was making stuffed chicken, one of his favorite dishes, and he was really happy. When it was time for Friday prayers, ‘Amru went to the mosque near our house, in the al-Krum neighborhood, the northern neighborhood of the town. After he came back from the mosque, and I finished making lunch, we all gathered and ate together.At around 4:00 P.M., I decided to visit my in-laws, who live in our neighborhood. ‘Amru told me he was going to meet up with friends to play computer games and that he also wanted to buy knafeh. When I arrived at my in-laws’ house, a relative of mine asked me about ‘Amru, and I told her that he’d gone to meet friends at an internet café in the Abu Shamleh neighborhood, in the center of Ya’bad. She told me that Israeli forces were raiding neighborhoods and streets in Ya’bad, and I went into a panic. I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. I tried calling ‘Amru several times, but he didn’t answer.Then I called my husband, ‘Ali, and told him that I had tried to contact ‘Amru, but he wasn’t answering his phone. After we ended the call, he called me again to tell me that ‘Amru was still with his friends at the internet café, but that he was going to come home to avoid any trouble with the army. After I spoke with my husband, I saw him passing by outside in the car and assumed he was going to pick ‘Amru up and bring him home.A few minutes later, I found out from social media that the army had shot a youth in the area of the Patients’ Friends Association, in the center of Ya’bad. That place is on the route ‘Amru was supposed to take to come home.After I saw my husband driving off to get ‘Amru, I felt relieved, and when I heard about the young man who was shot, I didn’t think it was ‘Amru. I felt sorry for his mother and prayed that God would give her strength. I didn’t know I was the mother I was praying for. But a mother’s heart is never at ease, so I called a relative who lives right next to the place mentioned on social media, where they said the young man had been wounded. I asked her what was happening around her house, and she answered that there was a young man lying on the ground, and that soldiers had shot him. She used the term “sprayed,” meaning they sprayed his body with bullets. I asked her if she knew the young man’s name, and she said she didn’t.As soon as I finished the call with her, my phone began ringing nonstop, and everyone was asking me about ‘Amru. I went into a panic, and my heart started pounding very fast. I left my in-laws’ house right away and went to my house, which is about 200 meters away. On the way, everyone I passed looked at me, and a small child shouted, “‘Amru is dead!” which terrified me. At that moment, I felt chills and intense cold all over my body. I could barely walk home, and when I arrived, the house was already full of neighbors and relatives. Then I understood that the wounded, unidentified young man was my only son, ‘Amru.My relationship with my son ‘Amru was one of deep friendship and great love. He was more than a son to us. He was always very kind to his sisters, cared for them a lot, and was always trying to make them happy.He especially loved mulukhiyah and always asked me to make it for him. On summer nights, when he would stay up late, I’d leave a plate of watermelon next to his bed, which he loved so much. I remember that on the day he was killed, I gave him 25 NIS (~ 6.70 USD). Later, I was surprised to hear from his four-year-old cousin that ‘Amru had given him 5 NIS (~ 1.35 USD). That made me very happy, even though it was a small amount.I can’t forget the moment I saw my son’s body, with deep wounds in his neck and legs, and nine bullets that pierced his body.Since ‘Amru died, our lives have been filled with sorrow. I’ve lost all hope. My son ‘Amru was a child who loved life, and my husband and I loved him so much and always gladly took care of all his needs.
On 22 July 2025, soldiers raided a house at the entrance to the town of Qabatiya. Ibrahim Naser and two other boys threw stones at a military jeep parked near the house. The soldiers fired at the boys, and Naser was wounded and fled into an olive grove, where he collapsed. Paramedics evacuated him to a hospital in the city of Jenin, where he was pronounced dead. The other two boys fled the area. Security camera footage shows soldiers chasing the three boys and firing.Ibrahim’s mother, Manal Musa, 47, a mother of three, recounted in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 28 March 2026:On the day Ibrahim was killed, he went to help his half-brother, who worked on a farm in the village of Mirkah. He came home in the early afternoon, showered and ate. Then, he told me he was going to visit a friend of his, who had fallen off a horse and had just come home to Qabatiya after several days in the hospital.Later on, I heard a soldier shot Ibrahim in the chest, and he died on the spot.Ibrahim was kind-hearted, diligent and hardworking at school. He was one of the outstanding students at ‘Omar Ibn al-Khattab High School, and at the end of his last school year, he received a certificate of excellence.He was a homebody. He loved spending time with me, and when I visited my family in the neighboring village of Mirkah, he would come with me because he loved his grandmother very much, and she also loved him very much.He also really loved his sister Maryam, who was two years younger than him. He always looked after her and would buy her sweets, candy and chips from the grocery store. Ibrahim had an electric scooter, and he really loved riding it. He also used it to run errands for us and buy vegetables, fruit and other groceries.During the summer vacation, he used to raise chicks and always took very good care of them. I could see the satisfaction and joy he felt as he watched them grow.
On 23 July 2025, Ahmad Salah and Muhammad Khaled ‘Issa were fatally shot from an ambush near the separation fence in al-Khader. The military claims they had thrown Molotov cocktails at Route 60. A video circulated on social media shows an ambulance at the scene and gunfire can be heard.Israel is holding their bodies.
On the evening of 23 July 2025, while Nablus and its refugee camps were under a 20-hour raid by military, Border Police and Shin Bet forces, Muhammad Mabruk set out toward his father’s vegetable stand to help him with work. He ran into his cousin on the way, and when they heard that the forces were approaching the area, they tried to hide in one of the alleyways. A Border Police jeep and a military jeep entered the alley, and soldiers who got out of one of them fired about 10–15 shots at Mabruk. He immediately fell to the ground, and a resident who witnessed the incident evacuated him to an ambulance, which took him to the hospital, where he died of his wounds two days later.B’Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb’i collected testimonies from people who were present during the incident and Mabruk’s mother:‘Abd al-Ghani, Muhammad Mabruk’s cousin, 17, a resident of the camp, recounted on 28 July 2025:I live with my family in the camp and work in construction with my father.On Wednesday, 23 July 2025, at around 6:00 P.M., while I was walking around the camp near the UNRWA clinic, I ran into my cousin Muhammad Mabruk, who told me he was on his way to help his father, who works at a vegetable stand.Just then, we heard the sound of vehicles, and people said the army was coming and started hurrying away from the area. We looked around but didn’t see anything. We stopped in one of the alleyways to watch what was happening from there. We were only about 100 meters from the entrance to the camp from the direction of the main road. Then I saw two Israeli jeeps, one Border Police and the other military, and soldiers got out of them, so I cleared out of there and went into the Dar a-Tabun alley. They were about 100 meters away from me.After I cleared out, I heard continuous gunfire, about 10–15 shots, and I saw Muhammad, who was still standing at the top of the alley, fall to the ground. He was bleeding heavily, like a pipe had burst. A man dragged him into the alley, shouted “Ambulance” and asked for help. He took him to an ambulance. His clothes were soaked in blood, and the ground was covered in blood.I didn’t know what to do. I was in shock. I didn’t understand what happened or why they fired. I couldn’t find any explanation for it. We hardly even saw the soldiers, and they fired without any warning. I noticed that the jeeps had already left the area. They shot for no reason. They just wanted to kill.Muhammad was taken to the university hospital, and from the heavy bleeding, we gathered his condition was very serious. I went there and stayed with him. I prayed that he would survive. But, two days later, on Friday morning, the doctors pronounced him dead. I was in complete shock. He had been next to me and talking to me, and suddenly he was in a grave.A resident of al-‘Ein R.C. recounted on 28 July 2025:I have been unemployed since I lost my job in Israel following the war in Gaza.On Wednesday, 23 July 2025, at around 6:00 P.M., while I was walking around the camp near the UNRWA clinic, my wife called and asked me to come home because the army was close to the camp and she was afraid to stay alone with the children. I told her I was in the camp and that there was nothing going on here, but she said she heard people in the street saying that the army was on the main road. I told her not to worry and that I was on my way back.On the way to my house, which is on the main road near al-Qutub bakery, I saw two Israeli jeeps, one Border Police and the other army, and soldiers got out of them. I went into the Dar a-Tabun alley to avoid walking past the jeeps, which were about 100 meters away from me, and then I heard continuous gunfire and saw the boy Muhammad Mabruk fall to the ground, bleeding from his leg.I dragged him into the alley and tried to figure out where to take him, because the army was at the camp entrance. I shouted, “Ambulance, ambulance.” He was bleeding heavily. I carried him between the houses to another exit, where an ambulance was waiting. I put him inside it, and they took him to the university hospital. Even then, it was clear, because of the severe bleeding, that his injury was very serious. He died on Friday morning.Muhammad’s mother, a mother of seven, recounted in a testimony she gave on 7 August 2025:My son Muhammad was the heart and soul of the house and filled it with joy. Although he was one of the younger children, he took care of his father and helped him a great deal. My husband had polio as a baby. He has a 90% disability and uses crutches. Muhammad helped him with everything, especially because there are many stairs in the house and he needs help with every step. He was his father’s support.He was also the heart of the house and supported everyone. We felt that he was mature and that we could rely on him, but he also had the sense of humor of a little kid. He would make everyone laugh and brought a smile to the faces of adults and children alike.On Wednesday, 23 July 2025, after I finished making the food, I told Muhammad I’d serve it to him, so he’d have his lunch, and then take food to his father, so he could eat too. Muhammad didn’t want to eat at home and told me: “I’ll eat with my dad.”At around 5:30 P.M., my son, Muhammad, 15, went out to go to his father, who was sitting at his friend’s shop at the entrance to the camp. I made Musakhan and frika soup, which Muhammad likes.Muhammad went out and never came back.At around 6:00 P.M., my husband called and said that Muhammad had been wounded. I was in shock; nothing unusual had happened, and the army was in a different area of the city. I ran out of the house screaming, looking for someone to help me and drive me to the hospital.A relative took me to a-Najah Hospital, and I found Muhammad lying on a bed in the ER, surrounded by doctors, nurses and machines. They wouldn’t let me come closer and told me not to be afraid, that he would be okay. But I was shaking with fear; my teeth were chattering. How could I not be afraid when I saw my son lying unconscious, motionless?They tried to get me out of the ER, and I understood that his heart had stopped and that he was injured in a major artery in his thigh and needed multiple surgeries. Until 1:00 A.M., I waited for any sign, any response, but it was no use.After 1:00 A.M., they told me that he had started bleeding again and that his organs had begun to fail one after another, causing kidney failure. They told me he’d be in the clear if he made it 72 hours.On Friday at 7:00 A.M., while I was at home, the bitter news of his death arrived. They told me to pray for him.It was a terrible blow. He was a young, innocent boy who loved life, loved laughing and joking. They killed everything beautiful in our home; they killed all of us along with him. Nothing is the same anymore. My husband says to me: “I’m going to die. I don’t want to live. I want to go to him.”Muhammad was like a friend to his father, and he was always with him. All this happened when we were already going through a tough time, because his brother Hassan, 27, had been held in administrative detention for a year, and his detention was extended by another six months just five days earlier.My daughter Amneh, 32, got married a few months ago, and her brother Hassan wasn’t at the wedding because of his detention. We have no joy in our lives, only suffering under the occupation, which imposes itself on our lives and takes our children from us.
On 23 July 2025, as military vehicles were withdrawing from the town of Qabatiyah after a raid, some boys threw stones at them from a hill in the nearby town of ‘Araba. Soldiers who got out of one of the vehicles chased them into the olive groves, fired at them and killed Ibrahim Hamran. The other boys managed to escape. Paramedics who arrived at the scene about an hour after the shooting took Hamran to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead.Ibrahim’s mother, Manal Hamran, 48, a mother of six, recounted in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 28 March 2026:On the afternoon of 23 July 2025, my son Ibrahim, who was 13 and a half years old, told me he was going out to play and hang out with his friends. They’d usually meet up in the afternoon to play soccer in the high school yard or walk around the streets and alleyways of the town.At around 3:30 P.M. that day, news started spreading on social media that a boy was shot by the Israeli army, and that a Palestinian ambulance took him to Jenin Government Hospital, where he arrived with no signs of life.Ibrahim was physically strong and well-built. He was very sociable and really loved playing soccer. He was the goalkeeper for the local team. He always asked me to cook his favorite foods for him, especially meat dishes.He was the youngest in the family, and he took care of his sisters. They had an excellent relationship.He was a kind-hearted boy. Whenever I gave him money to buy sweets and chips, he’d buy pastrami to feed the cats in the yard. I could see how happy it made him to spoil the cats instead of buying things for himself, and how he loved them.Since my son disappeared from our lives more than eight months ago, we haven’t stopped thinking and talking about him. We’re all sad and in pain over his loss.
On 8 September 2025, following rumors that the military was withdrawing from Jenin Refugee Camp after months of military activity as part of Operation Iron Wall, which began in January, residents who had been displaced by the military came to check on their houses and collect belongings. While these residents, who were entirely unaware of the military’s presence in the area, were near a dirt mound on their way out of the camp, a military vehicle arrived, and they came under fire without any clashes occurring in the area. The gunfire killed two 14-year-olds: Islam Majaramah, who was hit as he left the camp with his family after they had visited their destroyed home, and Muhammad Masqalah, who had come to the area out of curiosity. The two were taken to a hospital in Jenin, where they were pronounced dead. Two other people were wounded by the gunfire. According to the military, the soldiers fired at suspects who posed a threat.B'Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi collected testimonies from Masqalah’s and Majraameh’s parents:Jihan Masqalah, Muhammad’s mother, 35, a mother of three, recounted in a testimony she gave on 28 March 2026:It was a painful day. My son had just finished his first day of ninth grade. He came back from school, had lunch with the family, and then asked me if he could go meet friends in the afternoon. He said he was going to a popular shawarma restaurant called Hab a-Rih on Haifa Street. While he was at the restaurant, he heard a rumor that the Israeli army had withdrawn from Jenin Refugee Camp. I found out from his friends that he apologized to them and said he was going to Haifa Street, near Jenin Camp, because he was curious to see the IDPs coming back. But the rumor wasn’t true, and when he arrived from the a-Zahraa neighborhood at the eastern edge of the camp, Israeli soldiers suddenly showed up in military jeeps. They got out of the jeeps and opened fire, killing my son, Muhammad Masqalah, and another boy named Islam Majaramah.My son Muhammad was kind and gentle with others. While we were receiving people who came to offer condolences for his death, an elderly woman came and told me that three days before he was killed, he passed by her while she was carrying bags of fruit and vegetables and offered to help her. She said she offered him money, but he refused and told her he was helping her because of her age and because the bags were heavy.He also used to accompany his father, who works in the roofing tile industry, to help him. Instead of his father doing all the work, Muhammad would try to take some of the load off him with every task. My husband also tells me that Muhammad always tried, as much as he could, to make things easier for me and not to burden me too much.He also loved to care for puppies and knew how to train them. I could see his happiness when he interacted with animals.He was among the outstanding students in eighth grade, which he finished shortly before he was killed.‘Abd al-‘Aziz Majaramah, Islam’s father, 52, a father of six, recounted on 28 March 2026:On 8 September 2025, while I was at my shop in the wholesale market in the Jenin city center, my son Islam told me that there were reports on social media that residents of Jenin R.C. were returning to the camp and to their homes after the military had left the camp.At around 5:30 P.M., I went home to the apartment we’d been renting in the city of Jenin since the expulsion from the camp, and from there, I headed to the camp with my wife, my son Islam and my brother. I parked the car near Jenin Governmental Hospital, and we continued on foot from there. We went past the dirt mound the military had placed at the entrance to the camp and managed to reach our house, located at the northeastern edge of the camp, after being forcibly absent for about nine months.Other people also came to check on their homes. By my estimate, there were between 50 and 60 people there. We checked the house and found it in extremely bad condition because of the destruction caused by the soldiers during the invasion of the camp. The house needs thorough cleaning and restoration.We spent about half an hour in the house, took some basic items, and headed back to Jenin, walking toward the dirt mound at the eastern entrance to the Jenin refugee camp, about 50 meters from Jenin Governmental Hospital.When we reached the dirt mound, two jeeps suddenly sped over from inside the camp. They stopped about 100 meters away from us, and the soldiers got out. The people, who were just coming back from the camp after checking on their homes, got scared and started running towards the other side of the mound, and then the soldiers started shooting at them.We tried to cross the dirt mound too, but before we managed to, I saw my son Islam fall after a bullet hit him. Several civilians carried him in their arms and took him to the emergency room at the nearby hospital, but my son had already died from the severe injury, and the doctors in the emergency room could only pronounce him dead.My son, Islam, was a good and gentle child. He loved his three sisters and always took care of them. He used to play with them and help them, and he was a diligent student.Islam loved animals, especially cats. He used to care for the cats at home, bring them food and look after them regularly.
On 30 October 2025, soldiers shot Yamen Hamed, 15, near a dirt mound the military had placed at the southern entrance to the town of Silwad. The circumstances of the incident are unclear, and there were no eyewitnesses. After Hamed was hit, the soldiers prevented an ambulance from reaching him for about 25 to 30 minutes, and then let a paramedic approach on foot only. In a recording from the incident, one of the soldiers can be heard answering the paramedic’s question about Hamed’s condition with the words: “Praise be to God, dead.” Hamed was evacuated to a medical center in Ramallah, where he was pronounced dead shortly after. A physician who examined the body reported gunshot wounds to the chest and shoulder, and two fractures in the neck vertebrae indicating a twisting of the neck. The military claims Hamed was shot after he lit a suspicious object on fire.B’Tselem field researcher Mohammad Romaneh collected the testimonies.‘Ahed a-Smeirat, the paramedic who evacuated Yamen Hamed, 48, recounted on 5 November 2025:On Thursday, 30 October 2025, at 11:00 P.M., posts on social media said someone was wounded near the dirt roadblock at the southern entrance to the town. Seeing this, I got into the ambulance with my son Mandel, also a paramedic and another paramedic named Ahmad Hamed, and we set out there. We arrived in less than two minutes.When I got to the main road, which leads to the southern entrance and has been blocked by an earth mound since 7 October 2023, I saw someone gesturing for me to come closer. Because it was dark, I thought it was a resident of the town, but when I got to within about 10 meters of him, I saw he was a soldier who was pointing his firearm at me and shouting at me to back away.I turned the ambulance around and went back towards the road leading to a-Salam School, about 100 to 150 meters from the dirt mound. When I got there, I turned on the loudspeaker system and asked the youths to back away to avoid conflict with the soldiers. I also contacted the Palestinian Civil Coordination and reported that there was a wounded person, but the soldiers were preventing access to him. I was told to wait.Afterward, I drove forward a little again to check the road, and then the soldiers fired two shots. I don’t know whether shots were fired at us or into the air. I backed up again and asked the youths to move their vehicles. After that, I got a call from the Palestinian military coordination office, asking for details and again telling me to wait.After seven to 10 minutes, I received permission to approach. I drove the ambulance up again, with the coordination representative still on the line. When I got closer, a soldier shouted at me to stop. I told him, over the loudspeaker, that I’d received permission to approach, and he ordered me to stay where I was.I saw six soldiers standing around something dark on the ground, in the middle of the road. Some of them were shining their phones’ lights on it. They wouldn’t let me get out of the ambulance. After about six or seven minutes, a soldier came up to me and ordered me to back up.After backing up about 60 to 70 meters, the soldier called me to get out of the ambulance and approach on foot. I asked him in Hebrew: “Is the boy alive?” and he replied: “Alhamdulillah [Praise be to God in Arabic], he’s dead.”I went over to the boy, who was lying on his back in the middle of the road, opposite the dirt mound. He was naked except for his underwear and showed no signs of life.I examined him and noticed three gunshot wounds: two in the left shoulder and one on the left side, between the chest and the abdomen. I didn’t see any exit wounds. I also noticed a superficial cut on the neck, which may have been caused when his clothes were removed.After that, the two other paramedics got out of the ambulance, and we transferred him onto a stretcher. While we were moving him, I noticed his neck moving in an unnatural way, as if it was unstable. I didn’t see any signs that anyone had previously tried to treat him there, such as gloves or bandages.At around 11:20 P.M., we evacuated him to the hospital in Ramallah, where he was pronounced dead. During the physician examination, we were told that he had suffered an airway obstruction due to two fractures in the neck, in addition to rib fractures and two gunshot wounds, one below the chest and one in the left shoulder.An orthopedist at the Palestine Medical Complex, who examined Yamen Hamed upon his arrival at the hospital, recounted on 30 October 2025:After the boy Yamen Hamed arrived at the Palestine Medical Complex, he had a CT scan, which showed that he had been struck by two bullets: the first bullet struck the left side, below the heart, and the second hit the left shoulder and passed through it into the lungs, causing a lung hemorrhage.Together, the two bullets also caused fractures in the rib cage. This injury in itself is severe and fatal. Without treatment or medical intervention within three to five minutes, it will result in the heart and lungs stopping, then bodily functions stop, and finally, death.In addition to the gunshot wounds, Yamen was found to have suffered a fracture in the neck area, caused by a twisting injury to the neck, which resulted in two fractures in the 4th and 5th cervical vertebrae.The fact that no exit wounds were found and that the bullets remained inside the body indicates that the shots were likely fired from a relatively long distance.The neck twisting likely occurred after the injury, meaning that after the boy was wounded by gunfire, the soldiers twisted his neck in order to make sure he was dead, before allowing the ambulance to evacuate him from the scene.
On 2 November 2025, soldiers entered the town of Beit Furik in Nablus District in three jeeps, and youths threw stones at them. A soldier who got out of one of the jeeps threw a stun grenade at the youths, and then turned around and fired at Hanani and his friends, who were standing on the street corner and were not taking part in the stone-throwing. Hanani was wounded in the abdomen and evacuated to the a-Sadaqa clinic across the street, and then soldiers raided the clinic. It was only after the soldiers left, a few minutes later, that Hanani was transferred to Rafidya Hospital in the city of Nablus, where he died of his wounds the next day.B’Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb’i collected testimonies from one of Hanani’s friends and from his father.Hanani’s friend recounted on 5 November 2025:I’m a student at Beit Furik High School. On Sunday, my friend Jamil Hanani, 17, came to visit me. At around 9:35 P.M., we left my house in the western part of the town and headed towards his house. When we reached the main road, near the a-Sadaqa clinic, we were surprised to see three military jeeps coming from the town center. We didn’t know whether to keep going or stop. We saw stones being thrown at them from the direction of the town center, and we were afraid to go through, so we took shelter between the buildings.The jeeps stopped about 100 meters away from us. I decided to cross the road to the other side, not realizing, until I got there, that Jamil didn’t follow me and stayed standing on the sidewalk opposite. At that moment, a soldier got out of one of the jeeps, threw a stun grenade at the guys who were further down the street, then went around the jeep and stood facing the guys who were near the a-Sadaqa center, and fired. I heard only one shot. The guys ran inside and shouted: “Wounded, wounded.” I saw them carrying a guy and taking him into the medical center.Immediately afterward, a few soldiers went into the medical center and then came out. A few minutes later, I heard the ambulance leaving the center, and the jeeps left town. It was only then that I found out that the wounded person was my friend, Jamil Hanani. He was shot in the abdomen. I wanted to visit him, but I was told his condition was very serious. Later I found out that he died.Jamil’s father, ‘Atef Jamil Hanani, 56, a father of four, recounted on 16 March 2026:On Sunday, 2 November 2025, at around 6:00 P.M., I woke my son Jamil, who was asleep, and told him that his mother and I were going to visit his grandfather. I gave him a prescription and 50 NIS (~ 17.40 USD) to buy me medication at the pharmacy, and we went out.When we were at my wife’s parents’ house, at around 9:30 P.M., I saw on social media that the military had entered the town. I called Jamil, but he didn’t pick up, and I thought he’d gone back to sleep.At around 10:00 P.M., I got a call from the clinic in town informing me that my son Jamil had been wounded and taken to the hospital. I immediately went with my wife and relatives to the hospital in Nablus. I don’t know how we got there. I will never forget these moments. I looked for him all over the hospital until I was told that he was in the operating room and that he’d been hit by two bullets in the back and was seriously injured in the spine, internal organs and abdomen.They tried to reassure me and said he would survive, but from the atmosphere outside the operating room, and from the need for many blood units, I realized that his condition was serious. Lots of people came to the hospital, relatives, friends and town residents, and that only made the fear worse. I felt helpless. My son was inside, and I couldn’t do anything.At around 1:00 A.M., the doctor came out and told us they’d managed to stop the bleeding and that he would be transferred to intensive care, but later, his heart stopped, and he didn’t make it. I was told it was the third time his heart had stopped. It was the hardest news I’ve ever received in my life.Jamil was near the pharmacy on the main street, after he’d bought the medication and was about to cross the road on his way home. I found the medicine in his pocket, and the change, 17 NIS (~ 5.90 USD), and they are very precious to me because they are the last things he touched. I later understood that he was caught by surprise when the military was in the street and that they fired at him for no reason, other than the desire to shed blood. The soldiers didn’t do anything and didn’t arrest anyone. They just did a short patrol in the town’s streets, which ended with the killing of an innocent child, and then left right after. It’s as if they go out hunting, only they’re hunting human beings. To them, we’re nothing.A few days later, I got a call from the Israeli police. One of them spoke to me in Arabic and said he wanted to know what happened. I said to him: Ask your soldiers why they killed my son. I don’t want anything; I only want to know why they killed him. They could have shot at his lower body; they could have arrested him, beaten him; they could have done anything but fire two lethal bullets at him. Why??The police officer said he wanted to help me. I said to him: Then give me back my son. I don’t trust them. They don’t use judgment. They follow military orders that allow them to shed blood without taking any responsibility. On the contrary, whoever kills a Palestinian probably receives congratulations and a promotion. My heart is still burning over what they did to my son, and I can’t believe he is gone and will never return.Jamil was a boy who was full of life. He loved soccer and basketball, and he’d rent a field with his friends, and also took part in tournaments in Nablus. He loved cars and dreamed of having a BMW. I named him after my father, Jamil, and he really was a beautiful child [as the meaning of the name in Arabic].Since he died, our lives have changed. Every time I look at the children’s room, I feel that something is missing. Where is Jamil? How was he snatched from us, from his siblings?My children cry all the time, and when they see their mother crying, they leave the house, especially his brother Muhammad, 16, who was close to him in age, and they were good friends and spent a lot of time together.In the meantime, the month of Ramadan and ‘Eid al-Fitr have passed without him, and that was very hard. Every time I remember Jamil and the way he left us, I lose my mind, and when I see his bed empty while his brothers sleep in their beds, the pain clenches me. We go to visit him at the cemetery almost every day. I can’t be far from him, and I feel like my legs take me there without thinking.They killed him without anyone being held to account. These soldiers don’t distinguish between adults and children. To them, we are all targets.He wasn’t even spared the experience of detention. He came with me to work in the Tira area, inside the Green Line, after I couldn’t find work in the West Bank for a long time because of the economic crisis that gets worse by the day. I had no choice but to go to Israel to look for work, even without a permit. Jamil said to me: Take me to work with you in the summer; I’ll help you instead of sitting at home during summer break. And so he went with me. On the first day we worked, and on the second day, they raided the apartment where we were sleeping and arrested us. Jamil was sent to jail for 25 days, and I was sent for two months. Afterward, he told me that they beat him, and that in the minors’ ward in Hadarim Prison, during roll call, they made them lie on the ground and forced them to howl. On the day he was released from prison, they beat him and pepper-sprayed him. His mother told me that when he came out of detention, he was very thin. He went through this rough experience despite his young age, and criminal soldiers put an end to his short life. They don’t want any Palestinians alive. Since Ben Gvir took office four years ago, the situation has become very difficult, and the killing has been increasing for no reason. They kill and then make up excuses for their actions. In the Hebrew media, they said that a “terrorist” had been killed. How can an unarmed child be a terrorist? This is the height of madness and contempt for human life.I keep asking myself: Why are our children not like the rest of the children in the world? Why do they go through these tough experiences? Why are they forced to go through military checkpoints and be subjected to abuse everywhere, on the roads, in the streets and in the neighborhoods? And even inside their homes, they’re not safe. At any moment, a soldier could break down your front door, drag you and your children out of your beds and terrorize you. You don’t feel safe anywhere; instead, you’re under constant threat, and you feel helpless, unable to protect your children.
On 6 November 2025, at 9:53 P.M., an Israeli military force entered the village of al-Jdirah through the al-Jib crossing and headed straight for the northern part of the village, near the separation fence. At the same time the force entered, heavy gunfire was heard from the direction of the fence, shot by a military force that was already there. Shortly after the additional force reached the fence, soldiers fired again and wounded two 16-year-old boys, Muhammad Atim and Muhammad Qassem, both residents of the village. B’Tselem’s investigation indicates that the boys went to the site to throw a Molotov cocktail at Route 45, which runs nearby. After the shooting, the soldiers left the area, taking the wounded boys with them.In the hours after the incident, the military denied, via the Palestinian DCO, that it was holding the boys, but changed its story later that night, saying first that they had been arrested and that one of them had been wounded in the leg, and later that they were both critically wounded. The next day, at around 11:00 A.M., the Palestinian DCO informed the families that the two teens had died of their wounds.Their bodies are being held by Israel.B’Tselem field researcher Mohammad Romaneh collected testimonies from the fathers of the two boys.Muhammad Atim’s father recounted on 30 March 2026:I am the father of Muhammad, who was 16 years old when we officially learned of his death from the competent Palestinian authorities, on 7 November 2025. Muhammad dropped out of school after the eighth grade. He didn’t like studying and didn’t want to continue, and chose instead to come work with me in my woodshop, learn the trade from me and help me. Despite his young age, he acted maturely and liked to take on responsibility.I paid Muhammad for his work, but in the end, he’d give me most of the money because he wanted to contribute to the family’s upkeep and didn’t like that only his older brothers were helping out. He liked going to work out at the gym, and he also used to go out every day after work to get together with friends in the village.On the day he was killed, Muhammad left the house as usual. About an hour before the incident, my wife asked me to call Muhammad and ask him not to come home too late. I called him, and we talked. He told me he was playing with his friends in the center of the village. I didn’t know this would be our last conversation, and that the terrible news would follow.About an hour after that conversation, reports started coming in about heavy gunfire by the occupation forces near the fence. It never crossed my mind that my son, Muhammad, was the victim. But my wife felt something was off and started trying to get in touch with him, and he didn’t answer. She told me she was worried, and I also tried calling him, but there was no answer. Later, it turned out that he had forgotten his phone in the place where he was playing with his friend, who was killed with him. There were conflicting reports on social media for hours about the details of the incident near the fence, and there was no reliable information about who was there, what took place there exactly, and what happened to them.Later on, the names of the people the occupation forces shot began being posted, and my son Muhammad’s name was among them. Pandemonium broke out in the house, and it filled with grief and tension. Muhammad’s sisters and his mother started crying over him, even though we didn’t know yet if the reports were true. I tried to keep it together in front of my wife and our children, but I knew I could break down at any moment.The report was confirmed, and the crying at home grew louder. I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore in the face of the bitter news.Muhammad has left us, but in a way, he’s still with us. I can still feel his presence at home and in the woodshop. I have so many memories of him. But what’s even harder than losing him is the fact that Israel is holding his body and stopping us from saying goodbye to him and burying him. Our situation is similar to that of hundreds of bereaved families whose sons’ bodies are being held by the occupation authorities.Muhammad Qassem’s father recounted on 30 March 2026:I am the father of Muhammad, who was 16 years old when he died. He was a high-school student in the literature program, and he’d never been arrested or injured before he was killed. Muhammad loved soccer and regularly followed everything that was happening in the world of soccer. He was very sociable, and he would always go out to meet up with his friends in the village after finishing his school assignments.Muhammad also helped my wife and me a great deal. Because I work inside the 1948 territory (Israel), he always helped his mother around the house. He’d also always pick me up in the car from the al-Jib crossing when I came back from work. He always helped in any way he could, but it was decreed that he would be killed with his friend near the separation fence. The occupation army claimed that they tried to throw a Molotov cocktail at the nearby main road.Apart from the intense pain over Muhammad’s death, it pains me greatly that the occupation authorities have been holding his body ever since he was killed. It wasn’t enough for them to kill him and his friend and to spread a narrative that serves their interests, but they also decided to prevent us from saying goodbye to him and burying him according to custom. This is in addition to the pain they caused us by constantly changing their story: On the night of the incident, they said at one point that he was under arrest and then that he was wounded, and only later did they inform the official Palestinian authorities that he and his friend were killed by army gunfire. To this day, his mother doesn’t believe that he is dead. She says: “As long as I haven’t received his body and smelled him, I won’t believe their story.”It’s hard to lose a son. I always dreamed that he would grow up and get married like other young men, and that we would have the privilege to see him bring children into the world. But the occupation forces’ gunfire took him from us in a single moment. We’re trying to cope and show one another that we’re strong, but sometimes I find myself at a loss in the face of his memories that fill the house.
On 6 November 2025, soldiers raided the town of al-Yamun in Jenin District, and after clashes broke out, they took over rooftops. Murad Abu Seifein, 15, who was masked, was about to throw an IED at the soldiers when they shot him, and the IED he was holding in his hand exploded. After the shooting and the explosion, the soldiers did not allow anyone to approach Abu Seifein. In video footage posted on social media, residents displayed his blood-soaked head covering, in which four holes can be seen.Israel is holding his body.Murad’s mother, Shadyah Abu Seifein, 61, a mother of 12, recounted in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 26 March 2026:On 6 November 2025, my son Murad woke up in the morning and went to school, al-Yamun High School, where he was a 10th-grade student. He left our home, in the western neighborhood of al-Yamun, at around 7:30 A.M. and came back at around 1:00 P.M. He didn’t have lunch at home because he probably ate something at the school cafeteria.At around 2:00 P.M., Murad went with his father, Fawzi, to Jenin, where we’re building a building, to help him prepare the building materials.They came home towards the evening. Murad showered and had dinner, then said he was going to see friends and left the house.At around 10:30 P.M., while my daughter and her husband were visiting, we were following updates on social media. Most people in our area tend to check for updates often because Israeli military raids on the town and on our residential areas are frequent.We grew anxious when we saw reports that Israeli forces were raiding neighborhoods in the town and that someone had been killed by Israeli soldiers.The news kept coming, and when I looked closely at the images on my phone, I saw a young man lying wounded on the ground, and I was shocked to see that it was Murad. It was the most shocking and painful moment of my life. He was my youngest son.Despite his young age, Murad knew his own mind and had a strong personality. When he wanted something, he would get it, confidently and skillfully. Although our financial situation is stable, whenever he wanted something, he would make an effort to buy it himself.Murad really wanted a horse. He was very determined, and despite my husband’s and my fears that he would be hurt while riding, he managed, with the help of his brothers, to buy a young colt and started training and riding it. He really enjoyed the experience.Murad was kind and always looked after me. If he saw that I was bored or upset about something, he would sit beside me, pat me on the shoulder and make an effort to cheer me up.What hurts the most is that the Israeli military took Murad’s body and has been holding it ever since. It hurts me so much that I couldn’t say goodbye to him and hold him, even in death. All I wish for is to be able to receive his body, bury him in our family cemetery, and begin visiting his grave regularly to pray for him and recite Surat al-Fatihah for him.
On 13 November 2025, soldiers lying in ambush shot and killed Bilal Ba’ran and Muhammad Abu ‘Ayash in agricultural land in the southern part of the town, where the two were working. According to the military, the two were shot while holding Molotov cocktails, and in a photo it published, Ba’ran’s body is seen masked, with a Molotov cocktail next to it. In another photo, Abu ‘Ayash’s body is seen with a soldier standing next to it. In a video circulated on social media, one of the two teens is seen running in a field, and then gunfire is heard.Israel is holding their bodies.
On 16 November 2025, soldiers who raided al-Far’ah R.C. shot Jadallah Jihad Jadallah as he was walking home with two of his friends, also teens, after they heard the camp had been raided. One of the friends was injured by fragments. Jadallah’s parents and siblings saw him wounded on the ground, but when his mother tried to approach him, the soldiers drove her away and fired in the air. The soldiers prevented his evacuation for about 40 minutes and did not provide him with medical treatment. In video footage posted on social media, the wounded Jadallah is seen writhing on the ground as soldiers standing next to him ignore him. In another recording, one of the soldiers touches him but does not appear to be providing him with medical treatment. According to the military, Jadallah tried to hurt soldiers operating in the camp. About four hours after the shooting, the Palestinian DCO informed the family that Jadallah had died of his wounds.Israel is holding his body.Jihad Jadallah, Jadallah’s father, 42, a father of eight, recounted in a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher ‘Aref Daraghmeh on 23 November 2025:I am a refugee from the 1948 territories, and I live with my family in a modest house in a crowded camp where hundreds of families live in difficult conditions, and most people struggle to make a living.In recent months, army raids on the camp have increased, and there’s a raid or some kind of military activity almost every week. Every time it happens, people get wounded or die. Because of the overcrowding and the narrow alleyways, it’s not always possible to see the forces.On the morning of 16 November 2025, the kids were at school, and my wife and I were at home. At around 2:00 P.M., the kids came back from school, and we had lunch together. My son Jadallah also came home, but he said he’d already eaten and wasn’t hungry.Later in the day, we went about our usual routine at home. Jadallah said he wanted to go to the club where he used to play billiards and other games with his friends. The club is about 300–400 meters from the house, at the end of the road leading out of the center of the camp.Jadallah left for the club at around 3:00 P.M. Afterwards, we learned from social media that there was military activity in the camp and that soldiers were deployed in the area. Suddenly, we heard several gunshots. My wife was frightened and immediately said that Jadallah had been hurt. She had a strong gut feeling. I tried to reassure her and told her that nothing had happened.I rushed up to the second floor, where there’s a window overlooking the entrance to the alley across from the club. My wife came up after me, and then we saw our son, we recognized his clothes, lying on the ground, moving and writhing, with many soldiers around him.We all went into shock. The kids also came and saw their brother lying on the ground, surrounded by soldiers. None of us could do anything or get close. The army prevented the ambulance from reaching him from both sides of the camp and didn’t give him medical treatment.My wife tried to go there and get close to him, but the soldiers ordered her to go back and fired in the air. My son was left lying there wounded for about an hour, writhing in pain. He could have been treated during that time.Then the soldiers brought a mat, put him on it and took him away in a jeep.We waited to hear something, and time barely moved. After a few hours, we were informed via the coordination office that our son had been killed. I don’t know what his condition was when the soldiers took him. They shot him, many soldiers, armed, and didn’t let anyone go up to him and treat him.They killed my son in cold blood. I don’t know why they shot him. They were right next to him and could have grabbed him with their hands instead of shooting him for no reason. There were no clashes in the area, and my son did nothing.We’re just ordinary people, living our lives, and we have no trouble with anyone.My son was a schoolboy, a helpless child. They killed him and took him away, and I don’t even know for sure that he’s really dead. I want to see my son; I want them to return his body to me.
On 2 December 2025, soldiers shot and killed Muhannad Zghayyir while he was driving a car, during an operation to arrest him. According to the military, several hours earlier, Zghayyir had run over a soldier at a checkpoint in western Hebron. The media reported that she was lightly injured. The military also said that Zghayyir was wounded by soldiers’ gunfire, fled the scene, and posed a threat to the soldiers while driving.
On 13 December 2025, soldiers raided the town of al-Yamun and clashes broke out. After Muhammad ‘Abahrah, 17, threw an IED at soldiers in the street and tried to flee, soldiers who had taken over a nearby house shot him. The soldiers then dragged his body to the entrance of the house and prevented a Palestinian ambulance crew from approaching him. His body was loaded onto a military vehicle after about ten minutes. ‘Abahreh was an Islamic Jihad military wing operative. Israel is holding his body.Muhammad’s mother, ‘Ayidah ‘Abahrah, 41, a mother of five, recounted in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 26 March 2026:My son, Muhammad, whom I used to call by the nickname Hammoudeh, was my eldest. He was born three years after my husband Iyad and I were married.Muhammad was a diligent student, and Iyad and I eagerly waited for him to finish high school and receive his matriculation certificate so we could provide him with an academic education. But fate intervened. The Israeli military killed him before he had a chance to complete his secondary schooling.Muhammad was killed on Saturday, 13 December 2025. I still remember that the day before, he asked me to help him understand a text about the life of the Russian writer Dostoevsky. It was part of the Arabic language curriculum. Muhammad was interested in this text, which talks about people who discussed ideas that were critical of the regime, but the oppressive government and its officials arrested the protesters when they learned of their attempted coup. Dostoevsky, who was one of them, was sentenced to death. But on the day the execution was supposed to be carried out, when he was on the gallows, the death sentence was canceled and commuted to four years of hard labor.I still remember my son’s reactions to this text and how deeply absorbed and focused he was in it. I felt that his interest in the story was very deep as I explained it to him. Since my field is social studies, I was able to simplify the narrative for him. The story is about a man who, after four years of hard labor, decided, during his imprisonment, to change his life and write a memoir.Muhammad said to me: “Mother, after you explained the story to me, I began to understand its meaning: ‘He was born, lived and died,’ or, actually: ‘He was born, lived and didn’t die.’” I asked him: “Which of the two life stories do you prefer?” and he replied that he chose the second option: he was born, lived and didn’t die. Because there are people in society who can do good deeds for others and leave a legacy that benefits future generations. And whoever defends his land and homeland leaves behind a beautiful legacy.On the day he was killed, Muhammad woke up in the morning and ate breakfast with his brothers and sister. He had just started his final year of high school, so he stayed home all day studying.During the day, I visited my sister, who’d just had a baby, in a village called Muthalath a-Shuhada. While I was at her house, my sister’s children and I spoke with my son Muhammad on a WhatsApp video call to see how he was doing. He was eating his favorite food: olive oil, za’atar and labaneh. He’d always ask me to make him a plate like that.Afterward, I went back home to al-Yamun to take care of the house and the children, and to help them with their homework in preparation for school the next day, Sunday.At around 8:30 P.M., Muhammad told me that he’d finished studying and doing his homework and that he wanted to go out to meet his friends in the neighborhood. This was normal. We were used to him going out to meet his friends, spending some time with them and then coming home.At around 9:30 P.M., I prepared dinner for the family. Muhammad was still out with his friends, so I called and sent him WhatsApp messages inviting him to join us for the meal, but he didn’t answer. It wasn’t clear whether he even saw my WhatsApp messages.I started to worry. I sent messages to our extended family, my brothers and sisters, and my husband’s brothers and sisters, asking whether Muhammad had visited any of them. At that time, there was no military presence in al-Yamun, and it didn’t occur to us that Muhammad might have gone to the neighboring town of Silat al-Harithiya.But Muhammad didn’t answer the calls or messages, and I started having doubts and feeling anxious, the natural fear that every mother has. My husband and I went out and started walking around the neighborhood to find out what was going on and to look for Muhammad. We ran into someone and asked him what was happening in the area, and he told us that there were raids in Silat al-Harithiya and that the Israeli military had wounded two unidentified people there, and this was posted on social media. At that point, my anxiety grew, and I was afraid that one of these unidentified people was my son, Muhammad.When I got back home, I found relatives there who had begun to arrive. Even before they managed to tell me that Muhammad had been killed, I understood it from the expressions on their faces. The relatives did confirm that Muhammad had been killed by Israeli military gunfire. I felt immense pain and burst into tears.Muhammad always knew how to create a wonderful atmosphere, and he filled the house with joy and laughter. He always pampered his little sister, Kawathar, who was in first grade.My son was killed by soldiers, and his body is being held by the army. I desperately want to recover his body and bury him in the town’s cemetery, so that I can visit his grave and say goodbye to him.My children are going through a tough time. They keep asking about Muhammad. Yihya, who is 14, has been distraught since Muhammad was killed. Even his hair has started to fall out. He is suffering especially from his loss.
On 15 December 2025, soldiers who got out of a jeep shot ‘Ammar T’aamrah from a distance of about 30 meters in the town of Tuqu‘, Bethlehem District, after he threw stones at the armored jeep. He was evacuated by car to the town clinic and from there to a hospital in Beit Jala, where he was pronounced dead.
Click on the map or list to view the stories of the children and teenagers killed, along with testimonies from eyewitnesses and family members and the findings of B’Tselem’s investigation into each case.
The unprecedented scale of killing of Palestinian children and teenagers by Israeli forces is the result of a reckless open-fire policy, expanded to be even more permissive than in the past, that is currently being implemented in the West Bank. Those responsible do not try to hide this policy; rather, they give it full systemic backing, as reflected in the remarks of Central Command Chief Avi Bluth, who publicly boasted that “we are killing like we haven’t killed since 1967.” Bluth’s claim that “96% of those killed were involved in terrorism” – an allegation exposed as a brazen lie by documentation of the circumstances of death in B’Tselem’s list of Palestinian fatalities – also reflects the Israeli system’s routine identification of Palestinians killed by Israeli forces as “terrorists” or “terror operatives”, including civilians who were not members of an armed organization and posed no danger at the time they were killed. This identification creates, de facto, systemic impunity for killing.
The Israeli system does not stop at justifying these killings after the fact. It also refrains almost entirely from holding the perpetrators accountable. According to data from the human rights organization Yesh Din, since the start of the war in October 2023, no indictments are known to have been filed in cases involving killings in the West Bank. Yet the immunity guaranteed in advance and the absence of any real demand for accountability after these crimes are committed are not confined to the legal sphere. They are also reflected in “public impunity” that stems from the Israeli public’s indifference to the killing of Palestinian children. In this context, the sharp rise in the killing of children in the West Bank by Israeli forces cannot be separated from the more than 21,000 Palestinian children that Israel has killed as part of its genocidal assault on the Gaza Strip since October 2023. The fact that even this inconceivable number has not led to public demands for a change in the policy of killing shows how far the dehumanization of Palestinians has gone in Israeli eyes. These processes are what enables a reality of killing children as a routine matter.
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The Palestinian children and teenagers killed by Israel in the West Bank in 2025. Photos courtesy of their families
A bloody history of children and teenagers killed
The scale of the killings since the start of the war in October 2023 recalls – and even exceeds, relative to the length of the period – the scale of killing documented during the second intifada. In less than four and a half years, from October 2000 to 8 February 2005 (when the Sharm el-Sheikh Agreements were signed, widely regarded as marking the official end of the intifada), Israeli forces killed 251 Palestinian children and teenagers in the West Bank. Another five were killed by settlers during that time.
This investigation focuses on 2025, during which Israel killed 54 Palestinian children and teenagers in the West Bank. For comparison, from the end of the second intifada on 9 February 2005 to the end of 2021 – almost 17 years – Israeli forces killed 194 Palestinian children and teenagers in the West Bank. Ten others were killed by Israeli civilians during that period, and two more by an Israeli actor whom B’Tselem was unable to determine whether he was a soldier or civilian. The years 2023 and 2024 saw a record number of child and teen fatalities: in 2023, 120 Palestinian children and teenagers were killed, 80 of them in under three months after 7 October. In 2024, 89 children and teenagers were killed.
Although the number of Palestinian children and teenagers killed by Israel declined in 2025 compared to the previous two years, it remains one of the deadliest years recorded over the last two decades. Compared to the period from 2005 to 2021, in which an average of 13 Palestinian children and teenagers were killed every year by Israeli soldiers and civilians, the figures in 2025 more than quadrupled. In that year, three children between the ages of two and nine were killed, nine children between the ages of 10 and 13, 17 teens between the ages of 14 and 15, 16 teens aged 16, and 9 teens aged 17.
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The spike in the killing of Palestinian children and teenagers in the West Bank began in 2022. That year, the number of fatalities more than doubled, from 16 in 2021 to 34 in 2022. The increase coincided with the military's declared easing of open-fire regulations at the end of 2021, reportedly permitting soldiers to use lethal fire against stone throwers in a departure from previous rules. The new regulations permitted use of lethal fire even at individuals fleeing after suspectedly throwing stones, who no longer posed a danger – in violation of international law. After 7 October 2023, the rules of engagement were further expanded, leading to another sharp rise in fatalities. This escalation was fueled by desire for revenge and growing dehumanization of Palestinians in Israeli public discourse (see chapter "Incitement to Genocide and Dehumanization Since October 2023" in Our Genocide, July 2025).
From the beginning of 2025 through 7 June 2026, Israeli forces killed 12 children and teenagers in the West Bank – including two brothers, 5 and 6 years old, in the town of Tamun, and a seven-month-old baby in the city of Hebron, killed by Israeli forces who fired at the cars they were driving in with their parents. In addition, a settler shot and killed a 14-year-old.
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Number of children and teenagers killed by Israeli actors in the West Bank, from the end of September 2000 to the end of 2025
Breakdown of incidents in which Israeli forces killed Palestinian children and teenagers in 2025
B’Tselem’s investigation of these cases found that only two of the 54 Palestinian children and teenagers killed in the West Bank in 2025 were armed with firearms at the time they were shot. Another four threw improved explosive devices (IEDs) at Israeli forces, and one assaulted a police officer with a knife. Thirteen were shot while throwing stones at roads or at armored Israeli forces, with no injuries reported from the stone-throwing. By contrast, at least 21 were not involved in any clashes, even when clashes were taking place nearby that included stone-throwing, hurling explosives or live fire. Regarding 12 minors, the military claimed they had tried to injure forces by throwing Molotov cocktails, IEDs or stones; B’Tselem’s investigation could neither verify nor refute this claim. Another teen was the object of a targeted killing. Forty-seven of the children and teenagers were killed by gunfire, and the remaining seven in airstrikes.
Eleven of the children and teenagers were killed by gunfire from military ambushes. In these incidents: two were shot while throwing stones at a road; regarding two others, the military claimed they had been throwing stones, but B'Tselem's investigation could neither verify nor refute those claims; one was shot while passing near a spot where soldiers were lying in ambush and was not engaged in any activity; and six were killed after the military alleged they had thrown Molotov cocktails, and B'Tselem's investigation could neither verify nor refute the allegations.
Nine other minors, including two girls, were killed during military raids on Palestinian communities. No arrests were carried out during these raids, and no clashes developed. One was killed inside her home, two were killed near their homes, four were passing by and one teen was killed at his workplace. Regarding the latter, B'Tselem's investigation could neither verify nor refute the military’s claim that he had tried to hurl an IED.
Four minors were killed during arrest operations. One was the target for arrest, one participated in an exchange of fire during the operation, one threw stones at a military jeep and another was passing by.
Seven minors were killed in airstrikes. One had planted an IED, two were mistakenly identified as having planted IEDs, and four were in the yard of their home or on the street when they were killed.
Two other minors were killed after attacking or allegedly attacking Israeli forces. One attacked a police officer with a knife. The military claimed the other had tried to run over a soldier, but B'Tselem's investigation found that this allegation does not align with the facts.
Eighteen other children and teenagers were killed during clashes. Of these, 12 were killed in clashes involving only stone-throwing; 8 threw stones at military or police forces, including 4 who threw stones at armored military vehicles; 2 threw stones at homes being raided by soldiers; and 2 others threw stones at soldiers or police officers, with one of them starting while the forces were inside an armored jeep and continuing after they got out. Three of the teenagers did not take part in the clashes at all, and in another case it is unknown whether he participated. Six other minors were killed during clashes that also involved the hurling of IEDs or live fire: one took part in an exchange of fire, three hurled IEDs, one did not participate in the clashes and another aimed a laser pointer at soldiers.
The remaining three minors were killed in circumstances not described above. One was shot while throwing stones at a checkpoint. Another was shot after, according to the military, he had thrown an IED, a claim B'Tselem could neither verify nor refute. The third was shot after, according to the military, he was suspected of setting fire to an object near an earthen roadblock, a claim that likewise could neither be verified nor disproved.
Denying and delaying medical treatment
In nearly a quarter of the cases, involving 13 children and teenagers, the military delayed or completely prevented medical teams or local residents from reaching the wounded persons to provide first aid or take them to hospital. In at least four cases, access was blocked for several minutes, including one case in which soldiers raided the clinic to which the wounded person was taken and held up his transferal to hospital. In four cases, access was denied for a prolonged period of between 20 and 40 minutes. In another five cases, access was denied for an unknown period. In at least nine cases documented by B'Tselem, soldiers fired live shots in the air or at residents and medical personnel to keep them away from the wounded persons.
In cases where soldiers removed the wounded from the scene themselves, Palestinian residents and medical teams were completely denied access and it remains unknown whether the military provided any medical treatment before the victims were declared dead or made any other attempt to save their lives.
Withholding bodies
As of 6 June 2026, Israel was still holding 18 of the 54 bodies, preventing their families from burying them and saying goodbye. This forms part of Israel's long-standing policy of withholding bodies, which is inconsistent with international law. Denying families the right to bury their loved ones, observe mourning rituals, and visit their graves causes immense suffering, all the more unbearable when the deceased are children and teenagers.
* The stories of the children and teenagers killed, along with testimonies from eyewitnesses and family members and the findings of B’Tselem’s investigation into each case, are presented on the map and list above.
On 17 May 2025, Israeli soldiers fired from an ambush at Nidal Shaghnubi and two other teens, while the three were throwing stones at Route 60. Shaghnubi was critically wounded, and his friends, who were also wounded, fled the area and were taken by residents to ambulances that took them to a hospital in the city of Nablus. Local residents who searched for Shaghnubi could not approach the area, as soldiers were still present and fired in the air, preventing his evacuation by ambulance. About two hours after the shooting, the Palestinian DCO was informed that Shaghnubi had died of his wounds. Israel is holding his body.
Nidal’s father, Wael Shaghnubi, 54, a father of five, recounted in a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb’i on 28 March 2026:
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Nidal Shaghnubi. Photo courtesy of the family
When Nidal was two years old, his mother and I got divorced, and I’ve remarried since. Nidal lived with us and used to visit his mother twice a month for a few days at a time.
On Saturday, 17 May 2025, at around 11:00 A.M., Nidal came back from a three-day visit with his mother, who lives in ‘Askar R.C. in Nablus. When he came back, he was happy and excited, and he showed me his first ID card, which he got two days earlier in Nablus. He asked me to look at his photo and asked how he looked. I told him he looked good. He was excited about being grown-up and having an ID card. I felt the same way. He was already taller than me, and I watched him mature by the day. He used to shave to make his beard and mustache more visible, and we’d laugh about it.
At around 4:30 P.M., we had lunch together, just the two of us. He told me about the visit with his mother and about visiting his uncles in Nablus. At 6:00 P.M., his friend Yazan came over, and they went to hang out in the village together. Nidal dressed smartly, as he always did, put on perfume, and left his new ID card at home because he was afraid he’d lose it. He went out and never came back.
At around 10:00 P.M., someone from the village called me and told me that Nidal had been wounded and that I had to come to the northern area of the village. I went there immediately. There were some residents there as well as three or four soldiers standing on the road. I went over to one of them and asked what had happened. He demanded to see my ID card. I told him I wanted to see the wounded person. He pointed toward a nearby olive grove and said: “He’s a terrorist.” I asked where my son was and asked to see him. I tried to move in that direction, but the soldier cocked his weapon, forbade me from coming closer and threatened to shoot me. I told him I was his father and that he was just a kid.
The soldier made a phone call and let me speak with someone who identified himself as the officer in charge of the area. The officer spoke Arabic and told me to pray for my son and have mercy on him. From what he said, I understood that Nidal had been killed. All I wanted was to see my son and find out what happened to him, how and why they shot him, and where he was wounded.
There were also military vehicles and a Magen David Adom [Israeli] ambulance on Route 60, which is nearby. Local residents held me and tried to calm me down. I called the Palestinian DCO, and they told me that the Israeli DCO had informed them of my son’s death. I asked where on his body he’d been wounded, but they told me they didn’t have that kind of information.
Since Nidal’s death, I’ve been having a hard time emotionally. I tend to isolate myself, and I have trouble working, even though I have to provide for my family. I don’t have a stable source of income, and my family’s financial situation is very difficult.
I still haven’t seen my son. They didn’t let me see him after he was wounded or after he died. When he was lying there in the grove, they didn’t let me go near him or look at him, and I don’t know where on his body he was wounded. His body hasn’t been returned to us, and we weren’t given the chance to say goodbye to him or to bury him.
