I lived with my wife Maha, 31, and our two children, Muhammad, 9, and Lama, 7, in al-Qaryah al-Badawiyah (al-Maslakh), an area of the northern Gaza Strip, next to the Hamzah School. I worked as a technical nurse in the operating room at al-Awda Hospital in the Tel a-Za’atar neighborhood of Jabalya.
When the war began on 7 October 2023, I continued working at the hospital. The next day, while I was at work, my entire extended family was forced to leave our home. They took some clothes and blankets and moved to Khalifah bin Sayyed School in Beit Lahiya. Whenever there is an escalation, we leave the house. It’s very close to the border, and there are Israeli army positions just one kilometer away.
My family stayed in a classroom at Khalifah bin Sayed School for a long time. I couldn’t leave my work at the hospital to join my wife and kids there, and I stayed behind. The hospital was full of wounded and dead people, especially in the first days of the war. More and more injured and killed people were brought in all the time. I had a professional and moral obligation to stay there and treat the wounded, to stand by them.
When the military invaded Beit Lahiya, my family was displaced again. This time they went to Jabalya Refugee Camp, to my wife’s parents’ home. They managed to stay there for a long time, until the occupation’s planes attacked the house. Thank God, no one was hurt in the bombing and everyone stayed safe and sound.
We were wearing medical uniforms. In the courtyard there were lots of soldiers; snipers were on the roofs of nearby houses, and tanks surrounded the area from all sides. They ordered all the men to strip
After the bombing, my wife and kids were displaced again, and this time they went to Old Gaza Street in the town of Jabalya. There, they stayed in a school that had been converted into an IDP camp. That whole time, I stayed at my job and never left the hospital. I saw a lot of severe cases, especially children who were injured and killed. Once, a photo of me with a little kid in my arms was posted on social media. I felt like he was one of my own children. It was very painful.
One of the hardest moments I experienced was in November 2023, when Israeli army tanks reached the hospital, surrounded it and launched an attack. Among other things, they attacked the building with the designated operating rooms on the southern side of the hospital, as well as the hospital’s third floor. Three doctors were killed in the attack: Mahmoud Abu Najila, Ziad a-Tatari and Ahmad a-Sahar, all general practitioners. Some nurses were injured and a few had limbs cut off. Some of the people who were in the hospital accompanying patients were also killed, and three of them were buried in the hospital grounds. At the time, the situation in the hospital was bad and we were suffering from a shortage of food and of nutritional supplements for children.
The siege on the hospital continued until the morning of 16 December 2023. That day, at around 9:00 A.M., the Israeli army tightened the siege. They summoned the hospital director, Dr. Ahmad Muhanna. He went down to the yard, and the army interrogated him for an entire day — until the morning of 17 December 2023. They took down the details of everyone inside the hospital, about 260 people. They also took a list of the medical supplies needed and told Dr. Muhanna that everyone in the hospital had to evacuate. Dr. Muhanna came upstairs and told us the military was ordering all of us to leave.
We were still in the middle of medical procedures. At around 1:00 P.M., a lot of troops suddenly stormed the hospital building, firing heavily. They entered the operating room where I was working with four other medical staff. We were handling a very urgent case: a girl with third-degree burns whose bandages we were changing under full anesthesia. We were just about to finish the procedure, but the Israeli soldiers ordered us to leave the girl. We stayed as long as we could until we managed to finish. When we were done, we asked her mother to take her, and we followed the soldiers out to the hospital courtyard.
We were wearing medical uniforms. In the courtyard there were lots of soldiers; snipers were on the roofs of nearby houses, and tanks surrounded the area from all sides. They ordered all the men to strip, even though there were also female nurses and women accompanying patients there. There were about 100 of us men in the courtyard. We obeyed and took off our clothes, leaving only our boxer shorts on. Then they tied our hands behind our backs with zip ties and blindfolded us. I couldn’t see anything.
They led us on foot about 500 meters and then removed my blindfold. I found myself inside a military post they’d set up near the Indonesian Hospital, which is close to our hospital. There were lots of soldiers there, as well as several tanks.
They called us in for interrogation one by one. After about three hours it was my turn, and they interrogated me standing up. They asked about my personal details, the nature of my work, my salary, where I live and my marital status. They asked whether there were Hamas tunnels in the hospital. I told the soldier that there were no tunnels inside the hospital, and explained that the hospital is a civilian facility. At that moment there was an explosion, I didn’t understand where it came from, and several detainees were injured, some of them hospital administrative staff who were lightly wounded by shrapnel. They received no treatment and no one checked on them.
It was winter and I was very cold. We were still wearing only our boxers, and we asked them to give us something to wear. After about three hours, the soldiers brought blankets they had taken from nearby houses and threw them over us. Then they removed the zip ties, dressed us in white overalls, tied our hands behind our backs again with zip ties, blindfolded us, and took us to an unknown location. There, we heard very loud movement of tanks. I think it was a military post.
After about two hours, Dr. Ahmad Muhanna, the hospital director, arrived. He called the names of 16 people, including me; Dr. ‘Adnan al-Bursh; Dr. Ayman a-Skafi; his brother, Muhammad a-Skafi; a paramedic named Khaled Abu S’adah; and a security officer at the hospital, Iyad Abu Sharkh. They gathered us and led us to an unknown area.
In the middle of the night, we were shocked to find they’d put us inside a house that had been rigged with explosives. They removed our blindfolds and we saw mines scattered throughout the house. Then they blindfolded us again and tied our hands. After a few hours, a truck arrived at the entrance of the house, and they violently and barbarically forced us into it, kicking and hitting us hard with their guns.
They put us inside a house that had been rigged with explosives. They removed our blindfolds and we saw mines scattered throughout the house.
They used heavy swear words against us, calling us “sons of whores,” “sons of bitches,” and saying “curse you all, one by one.” While we drove, I managed to shift my blindfold a bit and see the road without the soldiers noticing. I realized we were on the route leading from al-Awda Hospital toward the Erez checkpoint. During the ride they attacked us again, kicked us hard with their military boots, beat us with their hands and guns and swore at us: “You sons of bitches, sons of whores.”
At the Erez checkpoint they unloaded us while beating, pushing and humiliating us. They ordered us to take off the overalls again and stay in our boxers. We stayed like that for a long time. We were very cold, and we were hungry and thirsty.
Then they took me into a room and removed my blindfold. I saw several male and female soldiers there, and the female ones mocked me and hit me. One of them threw a pack of cigarettes at me, swore at me and called me “son of a bitch.”
Then they ordered me to take off my boxers, and I was left completely naked in front of the female soldiers. They searched me very thoroughly using a scanning device. Then they gave me underwear and gray prison pajamas. They blindfolded me again, tied my hands and took me somewhere else; I didn’t understand where we were. There, they beat me with batons or sticks for a long time. Out of desperation, I tried to push the blows away and fight back at the soldier, but I couldn’t. Just then, they gave me a heavy blow and I felt one of my ribs break.
From there they transferred me to another place, this time in an armored vehicle. I understood the place was called “al-Kalabat”: they threw me on the ground and dogs started stepping on me and attacking some of the other detainees. The soldiers cursed me in Hebrew, and I didn’t understand what they were saying.
They transferred us again in buses to a different place. During the ride, they ordered us to sing “Medinat Yisrael Haya” (“the State of Israel is alive”) and “Am Yisrael Hai” (“The people of Israel live”) and hit us, regardless of whether we sang or not.
I was completely exhausted from the beatings, the hunger and the thirst. I hadn’t eaten anything that entire day. At a certain point I felt weak and passed out. I woke up inside a shack. I was lying on the ground, without handcuffs or a blindfold, and there were other detainees around me. I asked one of them, “Where am I?” and he said, “It’s okay, don’t worry.” They got me some water. I asked him, “What time is it?” and he said, “Almost 4:00 A.M.”
Suddenly, lots of soldiers from a special unit entered, along with a lot of police dogs. As soon as they came in, they threw a massive amount of stun grenades, swore at us with vulgar insults, and said things like: “Anyone who lifts his head, I’ll fuck his mother. I’ll bring her here and do this and that to her, you dogs, you sons of whores.” They assaulted some prisoners very violently, set dogs on them and then lined us up to count us. They counted us and called our names. Anyone who heard their name had to say, “Yes, okay captain.”
We were about 150 people in the shack. I was given inmate number 5879. They tied us with metal handcuffs. I stayed blindfolded for 41 days in a row.
We stayed there. In the morning, they brought us breakfast: two pieces of bread and a small box of jam. Lunch was bread with a can of tuna, and for dinner they brought us bread and an apple.
We were about 150 people in the shack. I was given inmate number 5879. They tied us with metal handcuffs. I stayed blindfolded for 41 days in a row. The shack smelled terrible. They let us go to the toilet once a day. The shack was open on all sides. It was very cold, and we got soaked in the rain. After some time they gave me a thin blanket. I was interrogated in that place once: they asked for my personal details and asked about tunnels and my work at the hospital.
After 41 days they transferred me to another place. During the transfer they beat me, and when I arrived they poured very hot liquid on my back. I didn’t know what it was, maybe boiling tea. I felt my neck and back burning. Then they took me to a cell, beat me with what felt like metal batons or sticks, and cursed me with insults like “you son of a bitch, I’ll fuck you.”
Afterwards, I understood that I was in Negev Prison (Ketziot). There were 12 prisoners and four beds in the room. Most of us slept on the floor. When I got there, because of all the beatings and the burn on my back, I broke down in tears. The shawish, who is the prisoner in charge of the other prisoners, called the guard and told him I needed pain relief. I was given a single painkiller about 10 days later.
Then a nurse examined me and decided to transfer me to another wing designated for sick prisoners. There were regular tents where they held people with diabetes, high blood pressure, etc. They put me there to treat my burns, which were second and third degree burns. I stayed there a whole year. There were five tents, each of them 5 by 10 meters, and each tent had 40 inmates.
The place was infested with insects. We all smelled terrible because they didn’t allow us to shower, and lice and scabies spread
The breakfasts they brought to the tent were not enough for everyone. Usually the meal included seven slices of bread, a cup of rice, a cup of lentils and one egg, all of which had to be divided among all the inmates in the tent. It wasn’t even enough for a little boy. The hygiene also terrible. They barely let us shower and when they did, it was for only four minutes in very cold water. Anyone who took too long was punished.
After a while in detention, I saw Dr. Ahmad Muhanna, the director of the hospital where I worked. He’d grown a very long beard and very long hair. The place was infested with insects. We all smelled terrible because they didn’t allow us to shower, and lice and scabies spread; the scabies appeared at the beginning of January 2024 and continued until I was released.
People also suffered a lot from stomach cramps, gastric and intestinal infections, and the flu. Some of the prisoners held with me died of kidney failure, including Muhammad al-‘Okah (Abu ‘Udai). I think their deaths may have been caused by the contaminated water we drank: they cut off the water supply, and when they restored it, it was only for one hour. We had no choice but to drink contaminated water. We collected water in the fold or lining of the tent, and sometimes we had to drink from the toilet cistern.
Our mental state was terrible. They prevented us from praying or reading verses from the Quran. Once, while we were praying, the soldiers heard one of the prisoners say “Allahu Akbar” and they raided the entire wing, beat us badly, cursed our mothers, and called us dogs and terrorists.
I suffered like that every single day until I was released.
I also saw prisoners who were sexually assaulted. Some were attacked by dogs in sensitive areas and after that had urgent surgery.
On my own initiative, I treated the sick prisoners with Polydine that the Israeli nurses gave me and disinfected surfaces with bleach. The Polydine gave the prisoners a sense of relief because they felt they were getting treatment, even though it didn’t actually help them. Later, allergies and pus-filled sores also spread in sensitive areas, including the thighs and groin. I felt that they’d deliberately brought us to this state.
I also saw prisoners who were sexually assaulted. Some were attacked by dogs in sensitive areas and after that had urgent surgery. Some prisoners bled from the rectum and urethra. One prisoner had to be amputated due to neglect and denial of treatment. Some lost bowel and bladder control, and some attempted suicide because they couldn’t bear the ongoing physical and psychological torture, which was horrific. One prisoner lost his mind. I’m not mentioning their names to avoid harming their privacy or that of their families.
At a certain point, they brought me before a judge in an Israeli court. It wasn’t face to face but through Skype. They accused me of being an “unlawful combatant.” The hearing lasted three minutes. The judge asked me, “Ibrahim, what is your full name?” and I answered him. Then he told me, “You pose a danger to the State of Israel, and therefore the court has decided to extend your detention until the end of the war.”
I met once with a lawyer from a human rights organization who came to the prison and asked me about my condition. After I was released, I understood that she had come because my wife contacted that organization. Through her, my wife was updated about my health condition and that I was being held in Negev Prison [Ketziot].
They transferred me from place to place and interrogated me. During the interrogations, the investigators tried to persuade me to work with them. They promised me new clothes and food, but I refused. They told me they had killed my entire family, which had a very deep effect on my feelings. I wished to die, because what meaning could life have if I spent it in prisons, under torture, and in the shadow of losing my family, my wife and my children. Still, somehow I felt that the investigators were lying and that my family was safe. After the lawyer’s visit, I understood that they really were safe, and that gave me hope.
Before I was arrested, I weighed 87 kilograms. During my detention I lost 25 kilograms.
On 14 February 2025, a delegation from the Red Cross arrived at the prison. I thought they would release us, because they asked whether we would be able to board the buses on our own. After the delegation left, that day, the soldiers assaulted me and several other prisoners very violently. The next day, another Red Cross delegation arrived. The guards took us out with our eyes covered, and under heavy beating we were forced onto buses that took us to the Kerem Abu Salem (Kerem Shalom) crossing. We walked into the Gaza Strip, and from there they took us to the European Hospital south of Khan Yunis. Later, I learned that our release was part of a deal between the Israeli army and the Palestinian factions.
My family and colleagues from al-Awda were waiting for me at the hospital. There was great joy, but it was mixed with deep sadness: I was very pained to learn that my father had been killed on 3 May 2024, in the bombing of the Salah a-Din School. I also learned of the deaths of colleagues who were like brothers to me: Haitham Hamad, Hamzah Nayfeh and Abu Islam Banat. The scenes of massive destruction I saw on the drive from the Kerem Abu Salem crossing to the hospital also made me very sad.
Despite everything, I was happy to be released, to meet my wife and children, and to meet my son who was born on 3 January 2024 while I was in detention. Meeting my baby for the first time when he was already a year-and-two-months old was an event in and of itself.
After that we walked to my grandfather’s house on alJalaa Street in Gaza City. I was shocked when I saw that his home was reduced to rubble. People told us that the army had bombed the entirety of the al-Qaryah al-Badawiyah area where we lived, which is very close to the border with Israel, and declared it a closed military zone. Our home was also destroyed.
The situation was hopeless. People who once had homes are living in tents in miserable conditions. I saw destruction on an enormous scale, especially in Jabalya R.C., which was practically wiped off the face of the earth. My colleagues tried to convince me to come back to work because it could help my mental state. But I preferred to be alone. I shut myself in the house for three months.
But on 18 March 2025, when Israel violated the ceasefire and renewed its war of annihilation on Gaza, I immediately returned to work. I couldn’t hold back from doing my job and treating the wounded. Even though during my detention the interrogators told me that I was forbidden from returning to work and threatened that something bad would happen to me if I did, I went back anyway.
Although I’m out of detention, I am still in a terrible psychological state. I tend to isolate and don’t like socializing with other people or even talking to my own family. I live in constant fear they will come and arrest me again. That’s why when the Israeli army invaded the Tel aZa’atar area and the forces approached alAwda Hospital, I preferred to stay away from work. I was afraid they’d arrest and torture me again. To this day, I suffer from insomnia and have difficulty falling asleep.
There is still severe hunger in Gaza, and it reminds me of the days I was in detention. I worry about my wife and children, especially the baby who needs formula. Our financial situation is very bad, which makes life in these terrible conditions even harder. I need to provide my son diapers and formula, but there are almost none in the markets. When they can be found, the prices are insane.
The Israeli army is threatening us again and demanding we evacuate the northern Gaza Strip ahead of its invasion of Gaza City. All the killing and destruction they’ve caused is not enough for them. They want to destroy the remaining houses and tents in the city. There’s gunfire every single second, at night from quadcopter drones and during the day from artillery shells. They want to force us to flee the city, but we have nowhere to go: we have no tent, no money, and I can’t secure even the most basic living conditions for my family.
I swore to myself that I would stay in Gaza City, even if the occupying army’s tanks crush us. The war has drained us, and all our hopes and dreams of living in peace and security have gone. We no longer have the strength to uproot ourselves again. In any case, we don’t have the money to pay for transportation to the southern Gaza Strip. We are like lifeless bodies.
We hope the war will end, that we’ll be able to sleep at night and live, even a little, without fear and worry, despite the destruction of homes, infrastructure and everything in the Gaza Strip. The sights are heartbreaking. The pain they’re causing us will leave its mark on us for a long time.
* Testimony given to B’Tselem field researcher Muhammad Sabah on 9 October 2025
