Mirvat Zidan

A 20-year-old resident of al-Amal neighborhood in Khan Yunis, Mirvat, recounted how her brother was killed when the military ordered her family to leave, and how she witnessed her mother killed by the military at a GHF aid distribution site in western Rafah on 3 June 2025:

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Up until the war, we – my father, Muhammad Zidan, 47; my mother, Rim, 44; and my siblings Nabil, 23; ‘Abd a-Rahman, 15; Ahmad, 12; Tahrir, 11; Zein a-Din, 7; and Razan, 5 – lived in our home in the al-Amal neighborhood. My sister Nasmah, 22, lives with her husband, Ahmad Zidan, 28, also in Khan Yunis.

We were a happy, simple family who managed to live with dignity. But this cursed war has cost me those most dear to me and turned our lives into hell.

We stayed in our home until we had to leave on 22 January 2024, when the occupation army ordered us to evacuate the neighborhood, laid siege to Khan Yunis, and invaded it. When we left home, we joined a convoy of people, and Nabil must have gone ahead of us. The whole way, we thought he was at the front of the convoy, but when we left the city we learned he had been killed before even leaving Khan Yunis. Because of the siege, we couldn’t return to say goodbye and bury him.

We were displaced to Rafah and lived in a tent there for a few months until the army invaded that city, too, and then we went back to Khan Yunis. We found our home partially destroyed. We cleared away some of the rubble, cleaned the house, and went back to living in it. We looked for Nabil’s body all that time. In the end, when the Civil Defense Forces opened a mass grave that the army had dug, my mother identified him from the bodies that were retrieved. We buried him with very heavy hearts. We all cried and sank into deep sorrow. 

We stayed at home until the army ordered us to evacuate again, and we moved to a tent in the al-Mawasi area of Khan Yunis. The living conditions were horrible, both when we were home and in the tent. It was very hard to get food and water, and to charge our phones and flashlights. We felt deeply humiliated and a great sense of injustice. We waited in line for many hours at the soup kitchen to get a meager plate of stew. At some point, the crisis became so bad that we could barely get any food. 

In May, we heard they were going to hand out food at sites set up by the Israeli army. We were really happy and said that God had taken mercy on us. We thought those sites would be safe, but it turned out they’re death traps.

The distribution sites were in western Rafah. My mother, father, siblings, and I decided to go there just like everyone else. Sometimes I went with my mom and just one of my siblings, and other times my dad would also join us. The walk from the al-Mawasi area to the site took us between four and six hours, depending on how fast we walked. The first time we went was on 26 May 2025. At first, we would leave before dawn – at around 3:00 A.M. – arrive in the morning, and not be able to get any food. We tried that three times. Then we started leaving at 11:00 P.M. to make sure we’d be able to get a package, but even then we failed because tens of thousands of other people came. Sometimes the army fired in our direction. When we didn’t manage to get any food, we’d go home heartbroken, disappointed, and furious at the injustice. 

On 2 June 2025, my mother, my brother Ahmad, 12, and I went together. My father was very tired and decided not to join us this time. We left at 8:00 P.M. and walked at an easy pace so as not to get there too exhausted – it took six hours. After we passed the Mu’awiyah Mosque, we rested a bit, and then continued until we got close to the site. 

When we approached it, the army suddenly opened massive fire. It was unbelievable. There was heavy shelling and firing from drones above us. There were huge crowds of people. We hid between low concrete walls that surrounded market stalls on the shore.

When the shooting stopped, we moved again towards the distribution site. I was in front, and behind me, my mother was holding Ahmad’s hand. Then the shooting resumed, and a bullet hit my mother in the head. I turned around and saw her lying on the ground. I thought she had fainted; I couldn’t imagine she’d been killed. I called to her, “Mom! Mom! Can you hear me?!” People told me she’d been killed, but I kept begging her not to leave me. I held her hand and felt for her pulse. When I put my head on her chest, I could feel her heart still beating. I asked for someone to help me, but nobody could because the firing was incessant, and they shot anyone who lifted their head. Those were horrifying moments. 

That happened at about 3:30 A.M. on Tuesday, 3 June 2025. About 30 people were killed and 200 were injured. 

I stayed by my mother. The heavy fire continued. I didn’t know where my brother Ahmad, who fled when they started shooting again, was, and I heard people saying that the son of the woman who was killed was also killed. I didn’t know what to do: leave my mother and go look for Ahmad, or stay by her side? When I was finally sure that she was dead, I went to look for him between the masses. It took me hours, but I finally found him alive. We went back to where my mother was killed, but we didn’t find her. While we were looking, we found my sister’s husband, also called Ahmad, who came to look for us after he heard about the massacre. We continued looking for her, including at the British, American, and Red Cross field hospitals, but we didn’t find her. After that, we looked for her at a-Nasser Hospital, which is where the wounded were taken, but she wasn’t there, either.

An hour and a half after we got to a-Nasser, an ambulance arrived with my mother’s body. They put her body with the unidentified corpses. We identified her, and that was the horrible end. We cried and screamed from the pain and injustice. Our whole family came, and we all said goodbye. My mother was a good woman and was so loved by everyone. Since she was killed, we’ve been living in darkness. 

Now the situation is very difficult. We barely have anything to eat, and there are virtually no soup kitchens left. Today my father went to a-Tahliyah, east of Khan Yunis, hoping to get a package of food for us, but returned empty-handed. This time, too, they shot at people. A shell fell near my father, and he was lightly injured by shrapnel in his left hand. He told us that dozens of people were killed and wounded, and it was very dangerous to be there.

* Testimony given to B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 17 June 2025

* As of 16 July 2025, Mirvat Zidan’s family is in the al-Zawaydah area. The family no longer takes the risk of going to aid distribution centers.