A 48-year-old mother of six, spoke on 23 November 2023 about fleeing the Israeli bombings, staying in a displaced persons’ camp, and losing her mother and brother My husband and I lived with two of our six children in an apartment on the seventh floor of the al-Karamah Towers, in the northwestern part of Gaza City. On 7 October 2023, at 10:00 P.M., our area was heavily bombed. The entire house filled with dust and sand. We took shelter in the back room, which was relatively safe because it faced away from the blasts. My brother-in-law’s sons were also with us – ‘Abed, 29, and Muhammad, 20. We all hid in the room together for two days. The next day, the bombings intensified around our building. We realized that even if we stayed in the room, we wouldn't be safe, so we decided to leave. I’m used to leaving our house temporarily to shelter from Israeli bombings from previous wars. On 9 October 2023, we left home and went to stay with our extended family nearby, in a-Shati Refugee Camp. My husband and I and our six children stayed with them for a week. My mother, Hayat (Abu Lashin) Abu Tabikh, 67, and my brother, Ibrahim Abu Tabikh, 42, and his seven children, who also lived in our area, moved to the refugee camp a week after the war began, to stay with my sister Du’aa, 37. I saw them twice while we were in the camp. It was very dangerous in the camp, too, with non-stop bombing. At some point, the Israelis bombed a mosque near us. After a lot of discussion among us, and after the Israeli army demanded everyone evacuate south to the other side of Wadi Gaza, we all decided – my family, my mother, and my brother Ibrahim – to head to Khan Yunis, which was considered safer at the time. In the end, my mother and brother changed their minds. We didn’t have a car, and there was no public transportation, and they said they couldn't walk that distance. I tried to convince them it was very dangerous at a-Shati and that even camp residents were afraid for their lives now and had to leave. But they refused. On 15 October 2023, my husband, my children and I left a-Shati Refugee Camp at 9:00 A.M. We planned to go to Salah a-Din Street and continue from there to Khan Yunis. When we reached ‘Asqoulah Square, after four hours of walking, we sat down to rest. Fortunately, we found a car that gave us a ride from there. At 4:00 P.M., we got to a displaced persons’ camp near an UNRWA school in Khan Yunis. Thousands of people were crowded into a small space there. I was shocked by the number of displaced persons and didn't know what to do. We started looking for a corner to settle in. We found a bit of concrete floor near a flight of stairs, and someone brought us a few blankets from the UNRWA offices at the school. But then one of the people who were in charge came and told my husband and our sons that the area was for women and children only, and directed them to another area designated for men. That was the arrangement for families that didn’t have their own tent to stay in together. My husband and the boys slept on the floor for three days, without mattresses and blankets. Then friends of ours came to the camp and gave us some materials to use to build a tent for our family. It was a very light tent, and it shook with every gust of wind. After we set it up, we managed to get blankets for my husband and the boys. The conditions in the camp were catastrophic, without clean drinking water and basic public or personal hygiene. Everyone drank water from a well in the center, without even knowing whether it was potable. To go to the toilet, you had to line up for an hour or two. For a week, we didn’t taste bread. Thank God, there were good people giving out portions of food, which included canned food, but no bread. A week later, people came to the center and gave us money to buy food. I went with my children to the bakery. There was a very long line. We stood there for two hours, and then a building behind the bakery was bombed. I grabbed the kids and ran without buying bread. My children keep getting sick. They’re catching colds and suffering from severe digestive diseases because of the bad sanitation here. There was no medication at the clinic, only pain relievers. The pharmacies had no medication, either. We could barely contact my mother and brother, who stayed behind in a-Shati, because the communication networks weren’t functioning. It was very, very stressful for me. I managed to get them on the phone just once, after dozens of attempts, and spoke with both of them. I heard bombings in the background and was terrified something would happen to them. I asked them to leave the camp so they wouldn't be killed, but my mother said she couldn't walk and that “Our fate is in God's hands.” After more houses in the camp were bombed, they realized they couldn't stay there and moved to an UNRWA school nearby, hoping it would be safer. But even around the school, the bombings grew worse. On 4 November 2023, my mother, my brother and his family, my sister ‘Aishah, 32, and her husband and children, all squeezed into one car and drove to a-Shifaa Hospital, where they found other cars taking displaced persons to the camp here in Khan Yunis. That day, my husband called ‘Aishah to check on my mother and brother. While he was on the phone, I saw his eyes go red. He choked up and couldn't speak. I asked, “What happened?!” and started screaming, “What happened, tell me! What happened?!” He said, “Your mother and brother were killed.” I felt like my soul left my body. I collapsed. Everything was blurry, and I didn’t understand what was happening. I shouted, “God! Why have you taken my mother and my brother?! Why did they die and leave me alone?! They were my rock, I can't survive without them!”  Left to Righit: Ibrahim and Hayat Abu Tabikh, Ghada's brother and mother. Photo courtesy of the family Later, ‘Aishah told me that while they were driving south along the road between al-Zahraa and a-Nuseirat Refugee Camp, the road was shelled. The shrapnel hit my mother, my brother and my niece Sujud, 16, who were sitting up front next to the driver, and my nephew Ahmad, 15, who was in the back seat, in the neck. My mother and brother were killed on the spot. They were taken away in an ambulance. The injured people were driven in people’s cars. My sister-in-law already lost her mother and four of her brothers at a-Shati R.C. Now she lost her husband, too. The rest of my brother’s and sister's families managed to reach Deir al-Balah and went to stay with my sister Ghadir, 45, in her house. I had six sisters and one brother, and now I’ve lost him. My mother always worried over us and tried to protect us from harm. Now she’s gone, too. We couldn't even say goodbye. They were buried immediately, as is the custom with martyrs, without waiting for all the family to reach the funeral. I wish I could have kissed my mother and brother goodbye before they were buried. I wish I could have hugged them! My nephew Ahmad was transferred to a hospital in the United Arab Emirates, because his injury is serious. My niece Sujud is still in hospital in Deir al-Balah, with fractures and crushed bones in her arm. * Testimony given to B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-KurdTestimony of Thu al-Fiqar Sweirjo on the shelling of the car in which Ghada's brother and mother were killed

A 48-year-old mother of six, spoke on 23 November 2023 about fleeing the Israeli bombings, staying in a displaced persons’ camp, and losing her mother and brother My husband and I lived with two of our six children in an apartment on the seventh floor of the al-Karamah Towers, in the northwestern part of Gaza City. On 7 October 2023, at 10:00 P.M., our area was heavily bombed. The entire house filled with dust and sand. We took shelter in the back room, which was relatively safe because it faced away from the blasts. My brother-in-law’s sons were also with us – ‘Abed, 29, and Muhammad, 20. We all hid in the room together for two days. The next day, the bombings intensified around our building. We realized that even if we stayed in the room, we wouldn't be safe, so we decided to leave. I’m used to leaving our house temporarily to shelter from Israeli bombings from previous wars. On 9 October 2023, we left home and went to stay with our extended family nearby, in a-Shati Refugee Camp. My husband and I and our six children stayed with them for a week. My mother, Hayat (Abu Lashin) Abu Tabikh, 67, and my brother, Ibrahim Abu Tabikh, 42, and his seven children, who also lived in our area, moved to the refugee camp a week after the war began, to stay with my sister Du’aa, 37. I saw them twice while we were in the camp. It was very dangerous in the camp, too, with non-stop bombing. At some point, the Israelis bombed a mosque near us. After a lot of discussion among us, and after the Israeli army demanded everyone evacuate south to the other side of Wadi Gaza, we all decided – my family, my mother, and my brother Ibrahim – to head to Khan Yunis, which was considered safer at the time. In the end, my mother and brother changed their minds. We didn’t have a car, and there was no public transportation, and they said they couldn't walk that distance. I tried to convince them it was very dangerous at a-Shati and that even camp residents were afraid for their lives now and had to leave. But they refused. On 15 October 2023, my husband, my children and I left a-Shati Refugee Camp at 9:00 A.M. We planned to go to Salah a-Din Street and continue from there to Khan Yunis. When we reached ‘Asqoulah Square, after four hours of walking, we sat down to rest. Fortunately, we found a car that gave us a ride from there. At 4:00 P.M., we got to a displaced persons’ camp near an UNRWA school in Khan Yunis. Thousands of people were crowded into a small space there. I was shocked by the number of displaced persons and didn't know what to do. We started looking for a corner to settle in. We found a bit of concrete floor near a flight of stairs, and someone brought us a few blankets from the UNRWA offices at the school. But then one of the people who were in charge came and told my husband and our sons that the area was for women and children only, and directed them to another area designated for men. That was the arrangement for families that didn’t have their own tent to stay in together. My husband and the boys slept on the floor for three days, without mattresses and blankets. Then friends of ours came to the camp and gave us some materials to use to build a tent for our family. It was a very light tent, and it shook with every gust of wind. After we set it up, we managed to get blankets for my husband and the boys. The conditions in the camp were catastrophic, without clean drinking water and basic public or personal hygiene. Everyone drank water from a well in the center, without even knowing whether it was potable. To go to the toilet, you had to line up for an hour or two. For a week, we didn’t taste bread. Thank God, there were good people giving out portions of food, which included canned food, but no bread. A week later, people came to the center and gave us money to buy food. I went with my children to the bakery. There was a very long line. We stood there for two hours, and then a building behind the bakery was bombed. I grabbed the kids and ran without buying bread. My children keep getting sick. They’re catching colds and suffering from severe digestive diseases because of the bad sanitation here. There was no medication at the clinic, only pain relievers. The pharmacies had no medication, either. We could barely contact my mother and brother, who stayed behind in a-Shati, because the communication networks weren’t functioning. It was very, very stressful for me. I managed to get them on the phone just once, after dozens of attempts, and spoke with both of them. I heard bombings in the background and was terrified something would happen to them. I asked them to leave the camp so they wouldn't be killed, but my mother said she couldn't walk and that “Our fate is in God's hands.” After more houses in the camp were bombed, they realized they couldn't stay there and moved to an UNRWA school nearby, hoping it would be safer. But even around the school, the bombings grew worse. On 4 November 2023, my mother, my brother and his family, my sister ‘Aishah, 32, and her husband and children, all squeezed into one car and drove to a-Shifaa Hospital, where they found other cars taking displaced persons to the camp here in Khan Yunis. That day, my husband called ‘Aishah to check on my mother and brother. While he was on the phone, I saw his eyes go red. He choked up and couldn't speak. I asked, “What happened?!” and started screaming, “What happened, tell me! What happened?!” He said, “Your mother and brother were killed.” I felt like my soul left my body. I collapsed. Everything was blurry, and I didn’t understand what was happening. I shouted, “God! Why have you taken my mother and my brother?! Why did they die and leave me alone?! They were my rock, I can't survive without them!”  Left to Righit: Ibrahim and Hayat Abu Tabikh, Ghada's brother and mother. Photo courtesy of the family Later, ‘Aishah told me that while they were driving south along the road between al-Zahraa and a-Nuseirat Refugee Camp, the road was shelled. The shrapnel hit my mother, my brother and my niece Sujud, 16, who were sitting up front next to the driver, and my nephew Ahmad, 15, who was in the back seat, in the neck. My mother and brother were killed on the spot. They were taken away in an ambulance. The injured people were driven in people’s cars. My sister-in-law already lost her mother and four of her brothers at a-Shati R.C. Now she lost her husband, too. The rest of my brother’s and sister's families managed to reach Deir al-Balah and went to stay with my sister Ghadir, 45, in her house. I had six sisters and one brother, and now I’ve lost him. My mother always worried over us and tried to protect us from harm. Now she’s gone, too. We couldn't even say goodbye. They were buried immediately, as is the custom with martyrs, without waiting for all the family to reach the funeral. I wish I could have kissed my mother and brother goodbye before they were buried. I wish I could have hugged them! My nephew Ahmad was transferred to a hospital in the United Arab Emirates, because his injury is serious. My niece Sujud is still in hospital in Deir al-Balah, with fractures and crushed bones in her arm. * Testimony given to B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-KurdTestimony of Thu al-Fiqar Sweirjo on the shelling of the car in which Ghada's brother and mother were killed