Israeli troops entered Balata Refugee Camp in a van disguised as an ambulance, killed bystanders and used a resident as a human shield

On Thursday, 19 December 2024, around 10:00 A.M., two vehicles with Palestinian license plates drove into the market street, a central thoroughfare in Balata Refugee Camp in Nablus. One was painted dark, with a siren and features of an ambulance, and the other was a white minibus. Many residents were out on the street shopping, and five or six armed Balata Brigade operatives were also present. One of the operatives signalled the minibus driver to stop, and the person next to the driver opened the door and started shooting indiscriminately in the general direction of the operatives. Immediately afterwards, soldiers emerged from both vehicles and opened fire. They injured at least six people, including two of the armed operatives and an elderly resident, Halimah Abu Leil, 80, who was also hit by the initial shooting and died of her wounds soon after.

During the raid, which lasted about two and a half hours and centered on the market street, the soldiers blocked all attempts to take the injured people to the hospital, except for the deceased Abu Leil. They also commandeered at least one house and used a woman who lives in it, Lara Sawalmeh, as a human shield. The soldiers fired out of Sawalmeh’s home at the street and at neighboring houses, killing Qusai a-Saruji, a young man who peeked out the door of his balcony to check if the raid was over so he could go to work. The soldiers surrounded the camp center and took over areas in the southern part, where they commandeered a building at the end of al-Hashashin Street and fired out of it, seriously injuring camp resident Diyaa Hashash who was on his way home with a friend.

That day, [my mother] said goodbye and assured me there was nothing on the street. She watched me walk away. [...] Around 8:30 A.M., I called her after I saw on social media that army troops and vehicles were gathering [...]. Around 10:00 A.M., I heard that special forces were operating in the camp. My heart started pounding. I called my mom, but she didn’t answer [...] In the end, one of my sisters called and told me our mother was killed.

From the testimony of Nadia Abu Leil, Khalimah’s daughter

In a response cited in Haaretz on 3 January 2024, the military stated that the troops were on a mission to arrest suspects and that “terrorists opened fire and threw explosives at our forces, who responded with gunfire. Hits were reported. The claim that during the exchanges of fire between the terrorists and our forces, noncombatants who were present in the area were hit, is known.” However, footage of the first moments after the troops were identified shows no shooting or throwing of explosives by Palestinian operatives. Also, the soldiers are clearly seen getting out of a vehicle that appears to be an ambulance and out of a civilian vehicle, a claim the military itself confirmed.

I left my shop near the market street and went to buy bread from the al-Qatawi Bakery [...]. When I was halfway there, suddenly massive shooting started in the area. I felt intense pain on the left side of my stomach and in my back and fell down. I crawled about ten meters into a nearby houseware store, which was empty. [The soldiers] threw me into the jeep and then four or five soldiers got in. They blindfolded me with a piece of cloth. I lay on my back and the soldiers hit me and kicked me, including in my head, chest and face. I screamed and asked for medical attention, and they shouted at me in Arabic. One of them said I’d be raped in prison.

From the testimony of Hussein Abu Leil

The military paid lip service to the matter in a response to The Guardian, saying that “the use of the ambulance-like vehicle during the operation was a serious offence, exceeding authority, and a violation of existing orders and procedures.” This is a questionable response, given that the soldiers did not act spontaneously but were on a planned operation that blatantly violated international law. The military added that “the use of civilian and medical means for military purposes is prohibited, and any deviation from this does not reflect the conduct of the IDF” - even though Israeli forces have previously disguised themselves as medical personnel, with Israel even boasting about this.

The military’s lenient treatment of a grave incident in which soldiers killed two civilians, injured others and denied them access to medical care is evident: the only actions taken were a reprimand of the unit commander and a disciplinary note for the platoon commander. The soldiers even chased one of the injured people, Hussein Abu Leil, into a shop in which he found cover, fired into it to scare him, arrested him and abused him, while he posed no danger to them. He was released without charges and admitted to an Israeli hospital.

Sequence of events

At 10:00 A.M., Halimah Abu Leil, 80, was buying goods on the market street as she did every day and paused to chat with another woman. Just then, the fake ambulance and minibus drove onto the street. The soldiers in the minibus opened fire and hit Halimah, who fell down. While she lay there, soldiers in the fake ambulance fired more shots in her direction. She was hit in the chest, stomach and left leg and died soon after. The soldiers allowed a Red Crescent ambulance to access her only more than an hour later, after she was dead, and continued to prevent to other injured people.

The soldiers spread out throughout the neighborhood and the shooting continued. Qusai got dressed and prepared to go to work [...] I heard a loud gunshot and saw Qusai trying to cover his ears with his hands before collapsing to the floor. Blood started pouring out of his mouth, nose and ears. I screamed and called for help. My brother called an ambulance, but it didn’t arrive.

From the testimony of Karimah a-Saruji on the killing of her nephew Qusai

The soldiers’ shooting also injured two armed operatives, who fled and were treated in the field, and three civilians. One was injured lightly in his home, and two were injured near shops they worked in: Muhanad al-Qatawi, 22, was hit in the hand while standing by his window and managed to get to hospital only after the forces left; Ashraf Tirawi, 24, was hit in the right leg and fled; and Hussein Abu Leil, 25, was shot in the stomach and crawled, severely injured, to take cover in a neighboring shop. The soldiers continued shooting into the shop and then sent in a drone to identify him. Then, they went in and one of them fired a shot at the wall behind Hussein. The soldiers then put him on a military jeep that took him to the Huwarah military base, with soldiers abusing him on the way. He was given first aid at the base and then transferred to Rabin Medical Center in Petach Tikvah, where he underwent surgery. A few days later, he was transferred to Rafidia Surgical Hospital in Nablus.

Lara Sawalmeh, 23, a law student, was preparing to leave for university when she heard the shooting on the street. She decided to stay home to avoid the gunfire, but soon afterwards, soldiers broke into her home. They locked her in the toilet for about half an hour, and then one of them ordered her to go to the Abu Jaber family’s house on the same street and film the people inside—most likely after the soldiers noticed bloodstains on the stairs leading to the family’s house. Meanwhile, the soldiers took over her home and fired out of some of the windows. Sawalmeh was forced to walk barefoot to the Abu Jaber home, filming on her phone. After she knocked on the door and no one answered, other soldiers on the street aimed their weapons at her. She was then detained in a nearby house along with other women, some of whom were from the Abu Jaber family and told the soldiers there was no one home. The soldiers tried to force Sawalmeh to back to the family’s house again, but she refused. They sent a drone in and, after confirming the house was empty, broke in and caused extensive damage.

After they kept me in the toilet for half an hour, one of the soldiers told me to come out. He showed me a small screen with a photo of a house across from mine, the Abu Jaber family’s house, and ordered me in Arabic to go there and film whoever was inside. I told him I didn’t want to go and that I didn’t know them, but he shouted that I had no choice. He looked scary: he was wearing a black mask over his face and I could only see his eyes.

From the testimony of Lara Sawalmeh

Qusai a-Saruji, 25, was about to set out for his work at a barbershop when he heard the shooting and decided to wait until the forces left. He peeked out to the street once in a while to check if the raid was over. At one point, he peeked out from his second-floor balcony and soldiers shot him dead. The bullets, which hit him in the head and neck, were likely fired from the window of Sawalmeh’s home. A-Saruji’s parents and aunt who were in the apartment with him tried to call for an ambulance, but were told the DCO had only approved the evacuation of Halimah Abu Leil. A-Saruji’s body remained on the floor of the family’s home for about two hours before it was taken to a hospital.

That morning, before they learned of the raid, friends and relatives Diyaa Hashash and Hashem Hashash left their homes in the al-Hashashin neighborhood, in the southern part of the camp, and headed to the market street to have breakfast together. When they neared the area they heard intense shooting and decided to turn back. They walked east along al-Hashashin Street, which runs east to west through the camp, until other residents told them there was an Israeli military jeep nearby. They waited a while and when it seemed the road was clear, continued east. They had only gone a few meters when soldiers who had come out of the jeep and positioned themselves in a building at the western end of the street, fired several shots at them. Diyaa was hit in the hand and abdomen and collapsed. Hashem dragged him to a nearby house, where he received first aid. Since the military was blocking ambulances from reaching the area, the owner of the house drove Diyaa to the hospital in his own car. Diyaa underwent surgery and was hospitalized for about two and a half weeks. Hashem stayed in the house until the forces left the camp around 12:30 P.M.

Around 10:00 AM, I was walking with my friend Hashem Hashash to have breakfast on the market street. We heard heavy gunfire, and residents said there were Israeli special forces on the market street, so we started heading back to our neighborhood, al-Hashashin [...]. A neighbor told us there was a military jeep at the end of the street leading to our house. We waited a few minutes, and after I looked toward the western end of the road and saw nothing, we continued walking. We only went about six or seven meters and then we heard gunfire. I felt intense pain in my stomach and fell down.

From the testimony of Diyaa Hashash

B’Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb’i collected the following testimonies;

On 22 December 2024, Karimah a-Saruji, 59, recounted the shooting of her nephew Qusai a-Saruji in his home:

On Thursday morning, around 10:00, I was at home near the market in the center of the camp. We heard heavy shooting nearby, so I went outside to close the door to our building. I live on the first floor, and my brother Hamed and his family live on the second floor. From the doorway, I looked out to the street and saw soldiers and a vehicle that looked like an ambulance about 50 meters away from us. I closed the door and went up to Hamed’s apartment on the second floor. He was there with his wife, Jamileh, 63, and their children, Shaimaa, 23, and Qusai, 25.

The soldiers spread out throughout the neighborhood and the shooting continued. Qusai got dressed and prepared to go to work at his barbershop on al-Quds Street. He told me he wouldn’t go until the soldiers left the area, but he just wanted to step out onto the street to see what was happening. I asked him not to go so he wouldn’t get hurt, and he agreed. Two minutes later, he stood by the door to the kitchen balcony and opened it. I said: “Please, Qusai, don’t go near the door. I’m afraid you’ll get hit.” Just then, I heard a loud gunshot and saw Qusai trying to cover his ears with his hands before collapsing to the floor. Blood started pouring out of his mouth, nose and ears. I screamed and called for help. My brother called an ambulance, but it didn’t arrive. Every time we called the Red Crescent, they told us they couldn’t reach us. Qusai showed no signs of life—he was killed instantly. There was nothing we could do.

I got a blanket and covered him. We waited for more than two hours until the army left the area, and only then were the paramedics able to come and take him to the hospital. But we already knew he was gone.

He was a kind-hearted person everyone loved. He was like a son to me, not just a nephew. He grew up in my home. I feel immense sorrow and a terrible loss. He didn’t even go out to the balcony, not even a single step—he was just standing by the door. The shooter was probably on one of the buildings nearby. I heard they put snipers on a lot of rooftops in the area. The shot couldn’t have come from below, because the soldiers couldn’t have seen him standing on the second floor from the street.

Qusai was killed for no reason. If the raid had started a little later, he would have already been at work and would still be alive.

On 22 December 2024, Jamileh a-Saruji, 63, a mother of six, recounted the killing of her son:

At around 10:00 A.M., I heard heavy shooting. My son Qusai woke up, took a shower and got ready to go to his barbershop on al-Quds Street. I asked him not to go outside because of the shooting, and he promised he wouldn’t.

Soon after, my sister-in-law, who lives on the floor below us, came up and sat with us in the kitchen. Qusai kept wanting to peek outside to see if the army was still on the street so he could leave for work. Each time, his aunt warned him to be careful and not go look. He went again to the kitchen balcony door, and I saw him fall down with blood pouring from his nose, ear and mouth. He didn’t move or make a sound. I didn’t understand what happened because I didn’t hear any noise. I don’t know how it happened. I started screaming and crying. I asked someone to call an ambulance, even though I already knew he was gone.

I sat next to him and recited verses from the Quran. I couldn’t do anything else. When they killed my son, they tore my heart out. He did nothing wrong. Qusai was a good son. Every morning he checked I was okay and made sure I took my medicine. He was a kind, gentle person.

On 6 January 2025, Hussein Abu Leil, 25, a father of a baby, recounted how he was injured and arrested:

At around 10:00 A.M., I left my shop near the market street and went to buy bread from the al-Qatawi Bakery about 40 meters away. When I was halfway there, suddenly massive shooting started in the area. I felt intense pain on the left side of my stomach and in my back and fell down.

I crawled about ten meters into a nearby houseware store, which was empty. The gunfire outside continued. My back was bleeding and I didn’t know what to do. I tried to call for an ambulance, but they told me they couldn’t reach me because the army was blocking access to the area. I looked for something to stop the bleeding and found cloth cushion covers. I pressed them against the wound. I could barely stand the pain. I wanted to apply pressure to stop the bleeding and found a rope, but I couldn’t move my left hand—it was numb. I grabbed the rope with my teeth and right hand and tied it around the wound. I felt a bit better, but I was still afraid I would black out. Somehow, I managed to stay awake.

About five minutes after I came into the shop, soldiers started shooting heavily into it. The shooting shattered the glass of the front door and some glass cups and plates. I think they fired about 20 to 30 bullets, all aimed at one corner of the store, while I was in another corner. I was sure I was about to die. I closed my eyes and recited the shahadatain. Glass shards flew everywhere, also near me. I don’t know how I wasn’t hit.

Then they sent a drone into the store and it filmed me. Through the drone, they asked what my name was and I told them. The drone stayed there for about 15 minutes. After it left, the soldiers fired dozens more bullets into the store. Then the shooting stopped.

At 11:30 A.M., I saw a crew carrying a woman to an ambulance. I tried to call for an ambulance and gave them my exact location, but they said they were only allowed to evacuate the dead woman and no one else.

About half an hour later, five soldiers raided the shop. They shouted in Hebrew, “Hey, terrorist, where’s the gun?” I understood them because I used to work in Israel and know Hebrew. I told them I was a civilian and put my hands up in the air. One of them fired a gun at the wall behind me. Two of the soldiers forced me to my feet and led me to one of the military jeeps parked at the entrance to the store. They threw me into the jeep and then four or five soldiers got in. They blindfolded me with a piece of cloth.

I lay on my back and the soldiers hit me and kicked me, including in my head, chest and face. I screamed and asked for medical attention, and they shouted at me in Arabic. One of them said I’d be raped in prison. He repeated the threat several times. I begged them for water. I was completely exhausted. I was struggling to breathe and felt like I was dying. One soldier forced my mouth open with his fingers. I felt that he was about to spit in my mouth, so I cursed him and he kicked me in the face. The pain was unbearable.

The jeep stopped, and the soldiers dragged me out and threw me to the ground. Later, I learned we were in Huwarah. I fell so hard, it felt like my bones shattered. One soldier cut off my clothes, and another told me in Arabic I was injured in my butt and would be raped in prison. Then a medic in a military uniform arrived. She removed my blindfold and told me in Arabic not to be afraid and that she would take me for treatment. She gave me an injection in my neck—I don’t know what it was. When I woke up, it felt like only five minutes had passed, but I found myself in Beilinson Hospital and it was already the evening. I wasn’t aware of the time that passed. I realized I’d had surgery. They told me my spleen and kidney had been removed.

I stayed there until Saturday, 21 December 2024. Then I was transferred by ambulance to the Qalqiliyah checkpoint, where a Red Crescent ambulance took me to Rafidia Hospital in Nablus. I stayed there until 5 January 2025. I’m still under medical supervision.

I still suffer from pain in my stomach, chest and back. I can’t sleep.

On 7 January 2025, Lara Sawalmeh, 23, described how she was used as a human shield during the raid:

At 10:00 A.M. I was at home, getting ready to leave for university, when I heard massive gunfire very close by. I live in a third-floor apartment on the market street. I was too afraid to look out the window. I was in my bedroom and was just about to go down to the first floor, where my husband’s family lives, when I heard people speaking Hebrew in the stairwell. I stayed put until suddenly, about 15 to 20 soldiers entered my apartment and pointed their guns at me. One of them threatened in Arabic to shoot me if I moved. Another soldier shouted at me and took me to the toilet, also threatening to shoot me if I made any movement. He took my phone and another soldier stayed by the toilet door. From inside, I could see the soldiers firing out of the kitchen window.

After they kept me in the toilet for half an hour, one of the soldiers told me to come out. He showed me a small screen with a photo of a house across from mine, the Abu Jaber family’s house, and ordered me in Arabic to go there and film whoever was inside. I told him I didn’t want to go and that I didn’t know them, but he shouted that I had no choice. He looked scary: he was wearing a black mask over his face and I could only see his eyes.

He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me toward the stairs. I was barefoot, but I was so scared I didn’t even ask to put on shoes. The soldier unlocked my phone, switched to video on the camera, and then ordered me to go. I went, shaking and crying, and reciting the shahadatain.

On the street, there were three military jeeps, with two or three soldiers standing next to each one. I was terrified they’d shoot me.

I walked to the Abu Jaber family’s house, about 100 meters, and knocked on the door but there was no answer. I walked away until I saw several soldiers in an alley about 20 meters away from the house. They shouted at me to throw my phone on the ground and take off my coat, and then they pointed a red laser at my face. I put my phone on the ground and took off my coat. Then they ordered me to turn around. After that, they told me to put my coat back on.

One of the soldiers signaled me to go into another house in the same alley, where there were several women from that family. A few minutes later, the soldier returned and told me to go back to the Abu Jabers’. He ordered me to unlock my phone and switched it to video mode. I tried to tell him I was scared, and he told me to trust him and help him take out all the terrorists. I said I didn’t want to and that I was scared. I cried and screamed until he left me alone. A little later, he came back and told me again that I had to go film. He was holding my phone. I cried and screamed again until he left. That happened three times.

While I was there, around 11:00 A.M., I was sitting at the entrance of the house when I saw Palestinian paramedics and an ambulance who took away a woman on a stretcher. I thought she’d fainted or something, and was shocked when I realized she was killed by shooting. I don’t know how I didn’t see her on the street earlier. About half an hour later, the soldiers brought over a few women from the Abu Jaber family and asked them who was in their house. They said no one was there. The soldiers asked why there was blood on the stairs, and the women said they didn’t know. Later, I heard that the soldiers sent a drone into the Abu Jaber house and after they confirmed it was empty, they stormed inside.

I stayed with the other women until the army left the camp around 12:00 or 12:30 P.M. After the soldiers left, I went home and found it completely ransacked. There were a lot of bullet casings by the windows in the kitchen, living room and bedroom. They clearly fired a lot of shots from there, probably including the shooting that killed Qusai a-Saruji in the house from us, near the Abu Jaber house.

On 15 January 2025, Diyaa Hashash, 20, recounted how he was shot during the raid:

At around 10:00 AM, I was walking with my friend Hashem Hashash to have breakfast on the market street. We heard heavy gunfire, and residents said there were Israeli special forces on the market street, so we started heading back to our neighborhood, al-Hashashin, in the southern part of the camp.

When we were closer to home, a neighbor told us there was a military jeep at the end of the street leading to our house. We waited a few minutes, and after I looked toward the western end of the road and saw nothing, we continued walking. We only went about six or seven meters and then we heard gunfire. I felt intense pain in my stomach and fell down.

Hashem pulled me to the doorway of a house and knocked on the door. The owner opened it and took me inside. He lifted my shirt and we saw I had a large wound in my stomach. They put a towel over it and tried calling for an ambulance, but they were told that the army was preventing ambulances from reaching the area.

After about half an hour, the man drove me to the hospital in his car. He turned on all the lights and drove fast. The pain was unbearable, and it felt like my stomach was burning. I couldn’t move. Everything was spinning and I couldn’t open my eyes.

I got to the hospital, but I don’t remember what happened there. I woke up in the ICU and was told that part of my colon was removed. Later, I learned that the bullet had entered my back and exited through my stomach. They told me I was also shot in my left hand, which I hadn’t even realized. I’d seen blood on my hand but assumed it was from my stomach.

I stayed in the hospital for two and a half weeks, half of that time in the ICU. Up until two days before I was discharged, I couldn’t eat at all. Then I started having liquid and soft food. I lost a lot of weight. Now, nearly a month after the injury, it still hurts when I eat.

They put my hand in a cast because the bullet hit a bone and exited. The cast was removed a week ago. I still need medical massage therapy and don’t have full control of my hand. I do physical therapy once every four days, am still under medical supervision and need to undergo tests. I can’t go back to work yet because I haven’t fully recovered.

After the incident, we learned that the soldiers had been inside a building at the end of the street we turned onto, about 300 meters away from us. The jeep that was there before had apparently dropped them off and they took up positions in a three-story building overlooking the entire street we were walking on.

On 28 January 2025, Halimah’s daughter Nadia Abu Leil, 51, recounted:

That morning, I woke up with a bad feeling in my gut. I’d had a nightmare and was afraid something would happen to someone from my family. I had tea with my mom, like we did every morning. She always pampered me and made me food and drink. Because there are raids on the camp so often, every morning she would go outside before me to check the coast was clear from soldiers. When I went out, she would stand by the door praying for my safety.

That day, when I went out, she opened the door for me, said goodbye and assured me there was nothing on the street. She watched me walk away. She never closed the door until I was out of sight. Around 8:30 A.M., I called her after I saw on social media that army troops and vehicles were gathering by the military base next to Huwarah. I realized a raid was coming and was worried. I asked her not to go out and she reassured me she wouldn’t and that she had everything she needed at home.

Around 10:00 A.M., I heard that special forces were operating in the camp. My heart started pounding. I called my mom, but she didn’t answer. I assumed she’d gone out and forgotten her phone, or maybe was stuck in an alley or sheltering in someone’s house because of the soldiers. Then my brothers and sisters started calling me, saying they couldn’t reach her either and didn’t know what was up. I was terrified.

In the end, one of my sisters called and told me our mother was killed. She said they’d taken her to Rafidia Hospital. I screamed and cried. I couldn’t believe that my mother, a dignified, warm woman, my best friend, was gone. I felt I aged in an instant and was completely alone in the world. My father died years ago, and my mother was the best thing left in my life. After losing her, my life has no purpose and nothing has meaning anymore. The world has turned dark. When I come home from work, I’m alone in an empty house. I miss the moments and meals we shared. I look at the corner where she liked to sit, on a mattress on the floor, and I start crying.

In the mornings, I drink tea alone in the empty house. I see my mother everywhere, in every corner. They took my mother away from me—a woman with a sweet soul that everyone loved. I visit her grave, cry and pray for strength. Everywhere I go, people remind me of her and how kind-hearted she was.

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