The Electronic Intifada 19 March 2025
Jihad Nael al-Minawi has been missing since late March 2024.
Thousands of Palestinians have been reported missing in Gaza after Israel’s 15-month long genocide. Their loved ones are trapped in a cycle of hope and despair, what psychologists call “ambiguous loss.”
How do you explain to a child, unborn when her father disappeared, what happened to him, the dilemma facing Aisha Abu Amra?
Would it be easier to learn that the missing person is dead, as Khalil Abed says, to end the agony of not knowing?
The International Committee of the Red Cross says it has received over 14,450 requests from Palestinian families to locate missing persons. Of these, 3,680 cases have been closed with the resumption of contact.
In July of last year, Save the Children announced that “up to” 21,000 children were unaccounted for in the chaos of Israel’s indiscriminate attacks in Gaza.
The Electronic Intifada interviewed some of those still living with the “ambiguous loss” of not knowing what has happened to their loved ones.
Aisha Abu Amra, 54, housewife
My parents and I were displaced to Deir al-Balah from Gaza City at the beginning of the Israeli genocide. Displacement was not an easy choice, but it seemed the only viable option for survival. We carried what little we could and left our home and all our memorable possessions behind.
Abdullah, my eldest son, was my pillar of strength. At 26, he was strong and patient, standing by me during the darkest moments. But little did I know that Abdullah wouldn’t be in contact again as of this writing.
One day, he left the house and didn’t return.
I went to every hospital in the area, reviewing the lists of the injured, looking at the faces of people, searching for Abdullah among the beds. But he was nowhere to be found.
Next, I would check the lists of martyrs, trembling every time I saw the name “Abdullah” on any list. But he was not on any of them either. Then I turned to the lists of detainees held by the Israeli military.
Again to no avail.
More than a year has passed since he disappeared. Abdullah didn’t just leave me behind; he also left his wife, who was then expecting their first child. He had dreamed of becoming a father.
She has since given birth to a girl.
How will I one day explain her father’s fate to her?
Should I tell her he’s alive somewhere, determined to come back?
Or should I tell her he’s gone and will never return?
Amani al-Qassas, 31, teacher
My family spent many years in Gaza moving between rented homes, dreaming of finally having a house where we could settle.
That dream came true after much effort about two months before the Israeli attacks began in October 2023. I contributed my share through my salary as a teacher.
But Israel’s airstrikes forced us to flee the north, leaving behind everything my father owned and had built. During our displacement, our home was looted multiple times. We learned this from neighbors who hadn’t left.
One day, my father decided to return to check on the house. We were all opposed to the idea, fearing for his safety. But he didn’t listen.
He never returned.
Did he reach the house?
Was he arrested?
Did something happen to him on the way?
Hope and fear consume me every day.
My father wasn’t just a father; he was our family’s source of strength and happiness.
Aya al-Minawi, 20, dental student
On 28 March last year, my brother, Jihad Nael al-Minawi, made the decision to return to northern Gaza with a friend despite all the dangers and warnings.
We tried to dissuade him, but he was determined. Since then, we haven’t heard anything from or about Jihad.
We have searched long and hard. We’ve checked hospitals and clinics, hoping that if he had been injured he would be there. We went to Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital where unidentified bodies were being recorded.
Thank God he wasn’t among them.
After that, we turned to the Red Cross/Red Crescent, human rights organizations and the Palestinian Authority’s committee on detainee affairs. We got nothing.
Months went by. We prayed day and night for a sign or any news that could ease our hearts. On 30 December 2024, a glimmer of hope finally emerged. We heard from a friend that a recently released prisoner had claimed that Jihad had been with him in the Naqab prison. He said that Jihad asked him to tell someone from his family that he was there and that we shouldn’t lose hope.
The information brought us a bit of relief, but it was accompanied by immense worry, not least because of the many reports of torture and abuse in Israeli prisons.
Prisoner rights organizations have yet to confirm Jihad’s detention. We remain in a state of uncertainty.
Khalil Abed, 46, construction worker
During our displacement from the Shaboura neighborhood in eastern Rafah, my 21-year-old son Baraa went missing.
We had left our house on foot in the late hours of 26 June 2024, fearing death or arrest as Israeli tanks and soldiers were everywhere. We managed to evade them and camped out overnight without blankets or extra clothes to keep warm.
In the morning, Baraa was gone.
Thus began a frantic journey to find him. I contacted the Red Cross/Red Crescent multiple times. I went almost daily to Nasser Medical Complex in Khan Yunis to check among the injured and the dead.
I also went to crowded places, including markets and bakeries. I posted a missing-person notice for my son, hoping someone might have seen him and would contact the number listed on the flyer.
Dealing with the disappearance of a son is harder than mourning his death or dealing with the anxiety over his arrest. Hearing about his death would be easier for me than the agony of waiting. I don’t know anything. I don’t know if he’s been torn apart by dogs. I don’t know if the occupation military arrested him and took him to one of their prisons.
When you’re lost, no one knows anything about you.
After the ceasefire announcement on 19 January, I regained some hope of finding my son, dead or alive.
I am still searching.
Rasmi al-Khalidi, 53, construction worker
Since February 2024, I have not known where my son Luay is or whether he is still alive.
He was displaced from the al-Zeitoun neighborhood in Gaza to the al-Nuseirat camp in the central Gaza Strip via the Netzarim checkpoint on Salah al-Din Street, which connects northern Gaza with the south.
For the past year, I have been hoping for any clue to inform me of Luay’s fate. But the resources to track him down or find out what happened to him are few, and the number of missing persons is large.
A friend who was with him told me that an Israeli soldier stationed on a sandhill near the Netzarim checkpoint had called out for them to come to him. Since then, we’ve heard nothing else. I have repeatedly called his phone, but it is always turned off.
Some prisoners who were released from Israel’s Sde Teiman detention center reported that he was there when they were. Others told us he was killed at the checkpoint while trying to pass.
During my search, I came across similar cases of other families also searching for their loved ones, unable to find them. The issue of the missing has received widespread attention after the ceasefire was announced.
We are all waiting for any news that could reveal the fate of our lost ones.
Yusra Abu al-Khair, 39, housewife
I last saw my husband Ahmad and son Yasser in the Al-Shifa Hospital in March 2024. We had gone there due to intense Israeli shelling in our Sheikh Radwan neighborhood
Israeli soldiers stormed the hospital on 18 March 2024 and forced all the women and children to leave. That’s when we were separated. Since then, I have tried to gather any information that might reveal the fate of my husband and son. I have found no trace of them.
I reported their disappearance to all the relevant authorities, and I registered through the link provided by the Ministry of Health in Gaza regarding war casualties, hoping for assistance in uncovering their fate, but to no avail.
Were they killed and buried?
Were they arrested?
Did they manage to escape?
I don’t know, and I still have no answer.
My family members and I are civilians. We have no connection to armed groups, and we are not to blame for Israel’s genocide.
Rifqa Hijazi is a writer and content creator in Gaza.
Taghreed Ali is a journalist in Gaza.
