My name is Sara Khrais, and I am the daughter of Hala Khrais, the Palestinian grandmother who was mercilessly shot by an Israeli sniper on the 12th November 2023, as she walked holding her 5 year old grandson’s hand and a white flag. Prior to the 7th of October life was good. I am a young woman with dreams of becoming a software engineer. Life laughed in my face. I achieved my goals in high school, and I'm engaged to the person I love. I'm also excited to share in my big brother Mohammed’s happiness, as he prepares to marry the love of his life. Mohammed graduated from Al-Azhar University, with a Bachelor's degree in software engineering. He is smart, and passionate and started working in his last year, and our mother was very proud of him. The love of his life is Sondos Nashwan, a creative lecturer who was the top of her class. Up until the 7th Octover, she worked as a lecturer for 2 different universities, she was very happy with her job. She is my best friend and they truly deserve each other. On the 7th of October, Mohammad was supposed to visit Sondos’ family to ask them for their blessing to marry. Our mother, Hala, was very excited and wanted Mohammed to start looking for a venue for their engagement party. There was excitement, joy in our home and everything was going well until that morning. Suddenly, a huge rocket attack was thrown into the sky and human fighters were going to the borders. Strange sounds and fumes filled the air, we did not understand what was happening. We were shocked and confused, Mohammed was upset because his visit was ruined. The war began, and Israeli fighter jets bombarded our city, destroying everything in their path, and trying to wipe out the city in which we were born and raised. Day by day, the situation worsened, and thousands of people were killed in Israeli airstikes, bombing hospitals, civilian blocks and mosques. Our daily life lost all sense and meaning, our only concern was to stay safe, to stay alive, but safety and security had become as scarce and unreliable as the water supply. On the 11th of November 2023 without any warning, the Israeli tanks and snipers surrounded our neighborhood, no one was allowed to move outside, and anyone who moved would be killed. We stayed inside the house, and contacted the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) to make a secure path so we could leave the house and move to another area. The ICRC told us “your area now is a combat area and we can't do anything.” The next morning, on the 12th November 2023, my mother, Hala, woke up for Al-fajr prayer. After prayers she made a cup of coffee, as usual, for her love, Basem, my father. Their love and marriage has united them for over 30 years and blessed them with seven children. My mother then proceeded to make the most delicious breakfast we ever had. I could not have imagined that it was would be the last breakfast she would ever make us. I still cannot believe it. Suddenly, a strange voice started shouting in the neighborhood, he said that we could move out of our neighborhood and move to another area. We prepared our bags and luggage, and I told my mother to let me take Tayem, the 5-year old son of my sister Hiba, a soulful, patient, and brave young woman. My mother insisted Tayem stay with her. As you will have seen from the video evidence on the internet, my mother was at the front of the group as we all started moving down the street. While we were walking, a soldier started waving his hands to the left, signalling we should change direction. We started shouting at our mother who had not noticed the soldier, but she didn’t hear us and so an IDF sniper shot her. She was unarmed, holding a white flag in one hand, and the small hand of her 5 year old grandson in her other. The soldier ignored all of these things. He ignored her civilian status, her age, her white flag of mercy, the little boy in her care, and he decided to kill her. Those mere seconds it took to fire the shot and for the bullet to hit her, killed not only the nucleus of our family, but it killed our hopes, our plans, our mornings together, the breakfasts she’d make us, the prayers, the happiness. Everything, everything was taken from us with one bullet. The bullet went out from the sniper’s rifle, without any mercy, it pierced her chest, reaching her heart. It was not a normal bullet, it was an explosive bullet that made a huge hole in her chest. My mother fell to the ground immediately, but we did not understand what had happened. Mohammed stood, frozen, for a few seconds, then rushed to our mother, trying to help her. I started shouting at Mohammed to stay away,, but he was deaf to any warning, his only concern being our mother, lying shot on the ground. My father and Mohammed carried her back to our home, and my cousins tried to give her first aid, but it was hopeless, there was no chance of saving her. She left us, taking with her everything we knew and wanted in this life. In the moments that our mother was shot and she hit the floor, Tayem, her grandson, my nephew, ran, in a fear and panic that no adult can understand. In the chaos and commotion he ran towards a group of people and we lost sight of him. He was lost to us for several days and we only later discovered that he had travelled with them and had safely left the area. Hiba, my brave sister and loving mother of Tayem, who was now lost, stood at the feet our mother and announced her death with respect and composure. My family buried my mother at the end of the corridor, I called it the black area since now it holds the darkness of her death. After hours and hours of shocked and grief stricken sobbing, I started to calm my breathing; accepting the reality of losing my beloved mom, my backbone, and recognise the reality that we were still stuck in a dangerous combat area. The morning after losing my beloved mom, I woke up for Al-fajr prayer and prepared a cup of coffee for my father, just as my mother had done the day before, and for all those years before. He told me that I am as affectionate as my mother, which made me happy, giving me the energy to raise up, and support my father in this situation. After days of heavy bombing, a temporary ceasefire started and we were allowed to leave our home safely. Mohammed and I left Gaza city. Our journey was one of fear, disbelief and horror. The ground was scattered with dead bodies, the landscape torn and scarred by the weeks of Israeli airstrikes. Random shootings from the IDF threatened our lives. We reached Khan-Younes, I stayed there for 8 days before being forced to flee again because the Israeli tanks started to move towards us again. In the evening of that same day, 3rd December, I was able to to cross the border. However, my brother Mohammed was not allowed to and remains stuck in Gaza, along with the rest of my family. My family are still facing death at every moment.

My name is Sara Khrais, and I am the daughter of Hala Khrais, the Palestinian grandmother who was mercilessly shot by an Israeli sniper on the 12th November 2023, as she walked holding her 5 year old grandson’s hand and a white flag. Prior to the 7th of October life was good. I am a young woman with dreams of becoming a software engineer. Life laughed in my face. I achieved my goals in high school, and I'm engaged to the person I love. I'm also excited to share in my big brother Mohammed’s happiness, as he prepares to marry the love of his life. Mohammed graduated from Al-Azhar University, with a Bachelor's degree in software engineering. He is smart, and passionate and started working in his last year, and our mother was very proud of him. The love of his life is Sondos Nashwan, a creative lecturer who was the top of her class. Up until the 7th Octover, she worked as a lecturer for 2 different universities, she was very happy with her job. She is my best friend and they truly deserve each other. On the 7th of October, Mohammad was supposed to visit Sondos’ family to ask them for their blessing to marry. Our mother, Hala, was very excited and wanted Mohammed to start looking for a venue for their engagement party. There was excitement, joy in our home and everything was going well until that morning. Suddenly, a huge rocket attack was thrown into the sky and human fighters were going to the borders. Strange sounds and fumes filled the air, we did not understand what was happening. We were shocked and confused, Mohammed was upset because his visit was ruined. The war began, and Israeli fighter jets bombarded our city, destroying everything in their path, and trying to wipe out the city in which we were born and raised. Day by day, the situation worsened, and thousands of people were killed in Israeli airstikes, bombing hospitals, civilian blocks and mosques. Our daily life lost all sense and meaning, our only concern was to stay safe, to stay alive, but safety and security had become as scarce and unreliable as the water supply. On the 11th of November 2023 without any warning, the Israeli tanks and snipers surrounded our neighborhood, no one was allowed to move outside, and anyone who moved would be killed. We stayed inside the house, and contacted the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) to make a secure path so we could leave the house and move to another area. The ICRC told us “your area now is a combat area and we can't do anything.” The next morning, on the 12th November 2023, my mother, Hala, woke up for Al-fajr prayer. After prayers she made a cup of coffee, as usual, for her love, Basem, my father. Their love and marriage has united them for over 30 years and blessed them with seven children. My mother then proceeded to make the most delicious breakfast we ever had. I could not have imagined that it was would be the last breakfast she would ever make us. I still cannot believe it. Suddenly, a strange voice started shouting in the neighborhood, he said that we could move out of our neighborhood and move to another area. We prepared our bags and luggage, and I told my mother to let me take Tayem, the 5-year old son of my sister Hiba, a soulful, patient, and brave young woman. My mother insisted Tayem stay with her. As you will have seen from the video evidence on the internet, my mother was at the front of the group as we all started moving down the street. While we were walking, a soldier started waving his hands to the left, signalling we should change direction. We started shouting at our mother who had not noticed the soldier, but she didn’t hear us and so an IDF sniper shot her. She was unarmed, holding a white flag in one hand, and the small hand of her 5 year old grandson in her other. The soldier ignored all of these things. He ignored her civilian status, her age, her white flag of mercy, the little boy in her care, and he decided to kill her. Those mere seconds it took to fire the shot and for the bullet to hit her, killed not only the nucleus of our family, but it killed our hopes, our plans, our mornings together, the breakfasts she’d make us, the prayers, the happiness. Everything, everything was taken from us with one bullet. The bullet went out from the sniper’s rifle, without any mercy, it pierced her chest, reaching her heart. It was not a normal bullet, it was an explosive bullet that made a huge hole in her chest. My mother fell to the ground immediately, but we did not understand what had happened. Mohammed stood, frozen, for a few seconds, then rushed to our mother, trying to help her. I started shouting at Mohammed to stay away,, but he was deaf to any warning, his only concern being our mother, lying shot on the ground. My father and Mohammed carried her back to our home, and my cousins tried to give her first aid, but it was hopeless, there was no chance of saving her. She left us, taking with her everything we knew and wanted in this life. In the moments that our mother was shot and she hit the floor, Tayem, her grandson, my nephew, ran, in a fear and panic that no adult can understand. In the chaos and commotion he ran towards a group of people and we lost sight of him. He was lost to us for several days and we only later discovered that he had travelled with them and had safely left the area. Hiba, my brave sister and loving mother of Tayem, who was now lost, stood at the feet our mother and announced her death with respect and composure. My family buried my mother at the end of the corridor, I called it the black area since now it holds the darkness of her death. After hours and hours of shocked and grief stricken sobbing, I started to calm my breathing; accepting the reality of losing my beloved mom, my backbone, and recognise the reality that we were still stuck in a dangerous combat area. The morning after losing my beloved mom, I woke up for Al-fajr prayer and prepared a cup of coffee for my father, just as my mother had done the day before, and for all those years before. He told me that I am as affectionate as my mother, which made me happy, giving me the energy to raise up, and support my father in this situation. After days of heavy bombing, a temporary ceasefire started and we were allowed to leave our home safely. Mohammed and I left Gaza city. Our journey was one of fear, disbelief and horror. The ground was scattered with dead bodies, the landscape torn and scarred by the weeks of Israeli airstrikes. Random shootings from the IDF threatened our lives. We reached Khan-Younes, I stayed there for 8 days before being forced to flee again because the Israeli tanks started to move towards us again. In the evening of that same day, 3rd December, I was able to to cross the border. However, my brother Mohammed was not allowed to and remains stuck in Gaza, along with the rest of my family. My family are still facing death at every moment.