‘Abdallah Shaqurah

A 40-year-old widower and father of three from the city of Khan Yunis, ‘Abdallah related how his 7-year-old his mother killed and described the family’s displacement and severe hunger

I lost my wife, Ulfat Khaled Hamudah, 35, on 24 January 2024, by army fire. I have three children: Muhammad, 14, Amjad, 12, and Arkan, 7. Before the war started, I worked in a restaurant, but since then I have lost my job and become unemployed.

When the war broke out, we stayed in our home in the al-Amal neighborhood of Khan Yunis until January 2024. Then, the occupation forces started advancing into our neighborhood, shelling from tanks, firing from quadcopters and bombing from airplanes. Ulfat and I decided to leave with the children for a safer place and began preparing to evacuate. That day, our son Arkan had a toothache, so before we left, Ulfat took him to the Red Crescent dental clinic near our house. I stayed home with the other boys to pack for the journey and arrange a car for us to travel in.

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Even though the army was already in the area around our house, I didn’t think my wife and son would get hit on the way to the clinic. But as soon as they reached the Red Crescent gate, there was a combined assault: shooting from a quadcopter and a tank shell. My wife was hit in the stomach by shrapnel and killed instantly. Arkan, who saw her killed, came home alone, crying. When I asked him what happened, he just said his mother was dead. The shooting and bombing continued, and I couldn’t get to her.

I gathered my children, and we left the house quickly. I don’t even know who buried my wife. That same day, we went to Rafah.

In addition to the war, fear, and panic of the past year and a half, we also went through losing my wife and the children’s mother. This loss is unbearably hard for me and the children. Arkan’s trauma was especially severe, having seen his mother killed before his eyes. He can’t forget the sight and probably never will. Since then, we have lived in deep sorrow and grief. Ulfat was everything to us. Without her, our lives are shrouded in darkness. A mother is a child’s entire world. Every time they hear the word “mother,” I see the sadness on their faces, especially Arkan’s. Six months after we lost Ulfat, on 21 July 2024, my mother, Zaher Shaqurah, 77, passed away and the children suffered another loss. Ever since, they constantly ask about both of them, and all I can say is, “Look up to the sky – your mother and grandmother are there.”

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We stayed in Rafah for five months, living in a tent that was unfit for habitation. There were bombings everywhere. As a father, I try to do everything I can to care for my children’s needs and protect them. But displacement is an exhausting and painful experience for everyone, and those five months were filled with suffering.

Then the army invaded Rafah, and we were forced to flee again. We went back to our home in Khan Yunis and found it damaged but still standing. I fixed what I could so we could live there. I contacted the Civil Defense, and they took us to my wife’s grave. When my children first arrived at their mother’s grave, they refused to leave all day. They spoke to her and cried. Later, we moved her body to the neighborhood cemetery.

In this brutal war, we’ve endured so much: killing, displacement, destruction, and hunger. But the hunger we’ve experienced in the past two months is on a different scale. The crossings are closed, and no goods are allowed into Gaza. This is another method of warfare the Israeli military uses against civilians in Gaza – starvation. My children beg me to get them meat or eggs, and I have to tell them there is none and I can’t. What crime have my children committed? Why must they starve?

The hunger imposed on us now is crushing. There is nothing available except a little flour, canned goods, rice, grains, peas, and beans. The only fresh vegetables for sale are tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers, but they are too expensive for us. There is no meat, fish, or eggs at all. Even the food we can buy, we can’t afford to cook. There is no cooking gas and we can only cook over a fire, but firewood is too expensive for us, so we rely solely on prepared meals distributed by soup kitchens and some canned food. Without the soup kitchens, we would have died of hunger by now. We stand in long lines for food and come home with a plate of stew. Sometimes my children stand in line; sometimes I do. A kilo of flour costs 50 shekels (~ USD 14) and when I can, I buy and bake bread, but it runs out quickly. We have been truly starving for 53 days now.

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I make do with one meal a day so I can give my children two. In the morning, we eat falafel and bread. Two falafel balls go for 1 shekels (~ USD 0.3) here, but they’re not filling. In the evening, if we’re lucky, we get food from the soup kitchen, and if there is any, I also open cans of beans.

Until the new siege we got food parcels from UNRWA and other aid organizations, but now there are none. Sometimes, when we have no food and the soup kitchen is closed, we live on bread and tea that I make. Lately, many soup kitchens have closed.

Standing in line for food at the soup kitchens is also extremely dangerous, especially for children. I heard that not long ago, a child was trampled to death in the crush of a line like this in northern Gaza. The army has also bombed soup kitchens while crowds were waiting in line, killing and injuring people. One of these incidents happened in Mawasi, Khan Yunis. The army bombed innocent people who were just waiting in line for a plate of stew.

I can’t remember when we last ate dairy products or fruit, or drank juice. We’ve forgotten what healthy food is. My children have lost a lot of weight because they eat only canned food, grains, and soup kitchen meals. Those dishes are also usually made from canned goods, not fresh vegetables. This food isn’t nutritious and even harmful. Sometimes the children have severe stomach aches and diarrhea. It pains me to see them so thin. We miss the taste of so many things, seeing markets full of goods. The children often go to bed hungry, and I’m sick of living like this.

Another major problem is the lack of access to banks. To withdraw money, we pay high commissions to money changers. This situation has brought me to the brink of destitution. Everything here in the Gaza Strip is frozen in place. There is no life here, only death, destruction, bombings and hunger.

We also suffer greatly from the relentless noise of the bombings, which is beyond what any human being can bear. My children long for a single night of peaceful sleep without interruptions, without fear or panic.

On top of all this, my children’s right to education has also been denied. Their schools were destroyed. Everything beautiful in life has been taken from them. They deserve to grow up in safety and security, like children everywhere. But the occupation has robbed them of their mother and their safety, and is now starving them.

I want my voice to reach the entire world, so that everyone hears of our suffering, the torment my family is going through, the loss, the displacement, and especially the hunger. The war of starvation is the worst of all. Here, we are condemned to a slow death. Everyone expects to die in the bombings at any moment, but even if we survive the bombings, we will die of hunger.

* Testimony given to B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 23 April 202