Deir el-Balah, Gaza Strip – It’s been two weeks, and the al-Samounis nonetheless do not know what occurred to their sons and brothers. They’re in shock.
The 36 girls and kids, crammed into one tent for displaced folks on the grounds of Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital, have 4 blankets to share amongst themselves.
They used to dwell in Zeitoun, within the southeast of Gaza Metropolis, the place they farmed their 69 dunams (17 acres) in peace, they mentioned.
However from the primary day of Israel’s assault on Gaza, October 7, they have been pressured to flee south, and determined to take what the Israeli military mentioned was a “safe corridor”: Salah al-Din, the principle street that runs north-south within the Gaza Strip. However the hall was not so secure in any case.
Zahwa al-Samouni, 56, might barely discuss when she recounted how the Israeli troopers took her three sons away.
The household have been strolling on the street, attempting to not fixate on the our bodies of lifeless Palestinians on the bottom, after they reached a newly erected Israeli checkpoint. Earlier than the household might go by way of the turnstiles, the troopers ordered Abdullah al-Samouni, 24, to step to the facet of the street, in a trench hidden from view. His youthful brother Hamam, 16, began calling for Abdullah, visibly distraught. The troopers ordered Hamam to hitch his brother.
The oldest brother, Faraj, a farmer and father of six, shouted on the troopers, asking them the place they have been taking Abdullah and Hamam. His protest resulted within the troopers commanding him to hitch his brothers.
The remainder of the household, shocked, made their approach by way of the turnstiles.
“When we passed the checkpoint, I saw two men stripped to their underwear in the trench with numbers marked on their shoulders,” Zahwa mentioned. “There were other men, and I could make out my son Faraj.”
Her sister-wife Zeenat, who’s Abdullah and Hamam’s mom, mentioned she knowledgeable the Crimson Cross of the brothers’ names, ID numbers and cell phone numbers.
“Every day that goes by is like a year for us,” she mentioned. “I sit by the entrance of the tent hoping someone will have news of them. I just want to know what happened to them, if they’re OK, if they’re alive.”
The mom of seven had taken the so-called secure hall three days earlier than her sons and stepchildren. She had been staying at a relative’s home, then tried staying at a college shelter, however the bombings grew to become too intense.
“We were afraid, but we decided to take the risk because we knew other people who managed to reach south,” the 49-year-old mentioned. “We walked past our land, and we saw so many Israeli tanks there and all our homes destroyed.”
Zeenat and her household raised white flags and their IDs in entrance of the Israeli snipers.
“We walked with our hearts about to jump out with fear, starting from nine in the morning,” she mentioned. “When we finally got to Deir el-Balah, the sun was setting.”
She mentioned she had seen youngsters’s torn limbs among the many our bodies on the street.
Zahwa mentioned that when she made the identical trek three days later, Israeli troopers advised them anybody who stopped shifting in any respect or appeared again can be shot.
“They jeered at us as we passed the checkpoint,” Zahwa mentioned. “They swore at us in Arabic, using the most foul words, and cursed our prophet Muhammad and God. They called us Hamas supporters, and promised to finish us off when we go south.”
She gripped her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Her granddaughter and namesake, 10-year-old Zahwa, remembers the occasions of that day.
“We were walking, my parents and two brothers and three sisters, and when we got to the checkpoint the Israelis took my dad and uncles,” she mentioned, talking with a readability past her years.
“My dad [Faraj] was holding my hand, and the Israelis took him from me,” she mentioned, ache etched on her face. “The soldiers also took the bag that had our clothes in it. Just clothes, not bombs or weapons,” she scoffed.
The youthful Zahwa mentioned the Israeli troopers shot a person in entrance of them and did nothing as he bled to demise.
“The man had learning disabilities,” she mentioned. “He was walking in a line and looked back. The soldiers told him to look straight ahead, and as he turned his head they shot him in the stomach.”
“This is not a safe corridor, it’s a death corridor. It’s a corridor of fear,” she added. “They killed people, they beat them, and they made them take off their clothes.”
A pillar within the household
The horrors that the al-Samouni clan skilled are the newest in a sequence of traumas that started in the course of the 2008-2009 Israeli offensive when troopers killed 48 of their family members in Operation Forged Lead.
The military had corralled a number of households underneath one roof and fired missiles on the home, killing dozens. Some folks managed to get out, waving white flags, however when the Crimson Cross was granted permission to enter the constructing three days later, they have been met with the harrowing sight of 13 injured folks, together with eight youngsters, who spent days with out meals or water, surrounded by the our bodies of their dad and mom and family.
A type of killed was Zahwa’s husband, Attiya. Their daughter Amal, who’s Abdullah’s twin sister, was solely eight on the time however remembers the whole lot in vivid element.
“That cold January day, 100 Israeli soldiers raided our home and killed my dad in front of us,” the 24-year-old mentioned. “They first threw a grenade at the entrance of the house, engulfing us in smoke.”
The troopers shouted in Hebrew for the home-owner to step ahead. Attiya, who had labored beforehand in Israel, raised his arms and recognized himself.
“They shot him between the eyes, then in the chest,” Amal mentioned. “Then they kept shooting, riddling his body with bullets.”
Earlier, because the tanks surrounded their residence, Attiya had taught his youngsters to say in Hebrew “We are children”, nevertheless it made no distinction.
“After they shot my dad they began firing at us,” Amal mentioned. “Abdullah and I were both wounded. They set a fire in one of the bedrooms, and we were suffocating from the smoke.”
Hamam was barely a yr outdated on the time. Their brother Ahmad, 4 years outdated on the time, was shot twice within the head and within the chest and was left to bleed to demise till daybreak the following day, because the Israeli military prevented any ambulances from reaching the realm.
Ahmad died in his mom Zahwa’s arms. She had misplaced her husband, her son, and her residence and within the 15 years since that fateful day, the household needed to work twice as laborious to rebuild their lives.
Faraj was on the centre of all of it. He instantly took on the position of the person of the home with no complaints and helped elevate his youthful siblings. He was a farmer, and really helpful. He constructed his residence along with his personal fingers and, regardless of their modest background, refused any charity.
“He was a pillar we all relied on,” his mom Zahwa mentioned. “He was so caring, and with him around we never had to beg for anything.”
His daughter Zahwa can’t sleep at evening, questioning whether or not her dad is lifeless or alive.
“I want him back,” she sobbed. “He’s my rock; without him I am nothing. I miss holding his hand, I miss giving him hugs.”
