The Electronic Intifada 24 February 2025
Destruction in the Sheikh Radwan neighborhood of Gaza City, October 2023. (Khaled El-Hissy)
It was 1996 in Ukraine.
My elder daughter Oksana was studying medicine and met a young man named Mohammed El-Hissy from Gaza. Mohammed was also a medical student and planned to work as an ophthalmologist when he went back home.
Two years later, Oksana and Mohammed got married.
In 2001, Mohammed obtained a master’s degree. Five years later, he decided to return to Gaza.
On 27 January 2006, my husband and I had to say goodbye to our two beloved grandsons and our daughter.
It was a foggy and bitterly cold day. The snow came up to our knees.
In 2007, my dear husband died from skin cancer.
Those years were extremely hard. But I felt a sense of relief each time I received a call or a message from my grandchildren in Gaza.
My eldest grandson Emad would send me letters, asking if I would ever come to visit his family in Gaza. Three of his siblings were born after his parents moved there from Ukraine.
I knew that traveling to Gaza was a dangerous and draining process. But I decided to go there in 2012 and 2018 as I wanted to see my beloved family.
In 2012, I had to enter and leave Gaza via a tunnel.
I have always missed my daughter and my grandchildren. And little by little my love for that place called Gaza has grown.
On 24 February 2022, I woke up and prepared to go to work. Then I heard the sound of sirens from all directions.
Suddenly, the electricity went out and phone and internet connections were lost.
It turned out that Russia had attacked the territory of Ukraine and had begun bombing and killing people.
I had a very hard time coping during that period. My health began to deteriorate due to the constant stress.
I thought that the war would end soon. But it did not.
It intensified day by day.
Starting from scratch
My grandchildren and my daughter in Gaza stayed in touch and were always seeking to comfort me. As there was no end in sight for the war in Ukraine they suggested that I go and live with them in Gaza.
I was hesitant. Moving to Gaza would mean starting from scratch. But my daughter and her sons assured me that they would support me in every possible way.
In January 2023, my daughter came from Palestine to Ukraine. I sold everything I had and the following month traveled with her to Gaza.
Emad and Khaled, my grandsons, waited for me at the Rafah crossing, which separates Gaza from Egypt. I had not seen them since I visited Gaza five years earlier.
I got out of the taxi, hugged them and wept. I was so relieved to see them again.
Everyone helped me to start my new life. My son-in-law’s father gave me an apartment, which I shared with my grandson Khaled.
I spent a lot of time with Khaled. I woke him up in the morning and made breakfast before he went to his classes at university.
As Khaled was getting excellent results in his studies, he started working when he was in his third year.
He never came home empty-handed. He was always buying me chocolates and inviting me on day trips.
Khaled brought me great joy. My health improved and I began to enjoy little moments of happiness again.
I embraced Gaza and its beautiful culture.
I loved how family bonds were so strong. I loved gatherings at Ramadan, the rituals at Eid, the deep love of education that I witnessed and the profound respect for older people.
Horror
On 7 October 2023, I was awoken by the terrifying sounds of rockets and explosions.
I was extremely worried. But my daughter reassured me.
She told me that the violence would likely end within a few weeks.
On 8 October, the situation became more serious. The noise of Israel’s bombing and shelling could be heard everywhere.
As the days passed, things got worse and worse. Electricity and water were cut off, goods started disappearing from the stores, prices rose steadily.
Worst of all, the Israelis never stopped bombing and shelling. A pattern developed: first you would hear a whistling sound, then a heart-wrenching explosion.
I spent the days with the family in Gaza City’s Sheikh Radwan neighborhood, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy despite the horror. But the horror never eased.
Amid all the violence, Khaled became ill.
He had to undergo daily blood tests. I accompanied him to the hospital for one of his tests – that was on 16 October 2023.
The scene in the hospital was apocalyptic. There were people crammed into it.
Wounded people – some of whom had lost body parts – lay, covered with blood, in the corridors. The cries of pain echoed throughout the building.
I had witnessed one year of war in Ukraine.
But this? This was not a war – it was something so horrific that it cannot be described in words.
On our way home from the hospital, we stopped to check on my elder grandson Emad in Gaza City’s al-Rimal area.
Israel had bombed al-Sousi mosque – which was opposite Emad’s apartment – a week earlier. A place of worship had been transformed into a heap of rubble.
Although a week had passed, the streets were still stained with blood. Fragments of dead bodies remained visible.
It was the first time in my life that I saw the effects of a massacre.
A truck had arrived carrying potable water. A crowd had gathered around it; everyone was trying to fill a container with water.
Unexpectedly, we found Emad in the crowd. He, too, was waiting for his turn to get some water.
After he had filled his container, Emad hurried toward us and hugged us.
Emad told me that he was gathering what was left of his belongings. The following day he would be coming to live with us.
When I asked why, he told me to come and take a look at his apartment.
The apartment looked like a battle had been fought inside it. The main door was shattered because the explosion which occurred when Israel attacked the mosque was so intense.
The whole apartment was now full of broken glass from the windows and other debris. The dust in the air was suffocating.
It was clear that the apartment was no longer habitable.
Eerie
As sunset approached, we bid farewell to Emad, hoping to see him the following day. Everything was getting dark and there were no streetlights.
It took a long time to find a taxi. And when we were finally in one, something exploded in front of the car.
The atmosphere was eerie. We were exposed to the fumes from the explosion; they were undoubtedly toxic.
The driver pressed on despite everything. Once we reached home, both Khaled and I were sweating profusely and struggling to breathe.
We both collapsed on a bed as soon as we got inside.
My daughter sprang into action, applying warm compresses to our noses. That helped us to begin breathing more easily.
After a week of blood tests, the doctors observed that Khaled’s hemoglobin levels had been falling and that his platelets were becoming dangerously low. Then – on the evening of 17 October, we received the worst news – Khaled had been diagnosed with blood cancer.
I cried bitterly when I got that news. Khaled is a grandson whose kindness knows no bounds.
On 19 October, I was walking down the stairs to the hallway of my home with my grandchild Zamzam, then 8. In an instant, a whistling sound pierced our ears.
Smoke and dust filled the air.
Four windows were blown in by the airstrike. They came crashing down around Zamzam and me.
Seconds later, we heard the screams of those neighbors who had survived the airstrike. The screams were spine-chilling.
Apart from being scratched by broken glass, neither Zamzam nor I were injured.
Just a few meters from our building, I saw a massive crater left by the explosion.
Fourteen members of the extended El-Hissy family were killed by Israel in this airstrike. The heat from the explosion was so intense that some bodies were almost evaporated, leaving just small remains.
These terrifying scenes took a toll on my health. I began to have heart problems and severe anxiety.
Khaled clearly needed treatment for his cancer. Yet when his mother and I accompanied him when he had an appointment at the Turkish-Palestinian Friendship Hospital, the doctors revealed that they did not have adequate resources to treat his condition.
They recommended that he seek medical care abroad.
Israel attacked the Turkish-Palestinian Friendship Hospital while we were there.
Snipers were targeting anyone who tried to leave the hospital. One attack caused a window in the room where Khaled was receiving treatment to be shattered.
We were forced to seek refuge in the hospital’s basement. We huddled there for days, until it was arranged for us to leave the hospital in an ambulance and go back home.
Teacher of life and hope
On 6 November 2023, our entire family fled northern Gaza for Rafah in the south. We had to walk through what Israel called a “safe corridor.”
Never in my darkest nightmares did I imagine I would have to walk under the watchful eyes of snipers in the scorching early afternoon sun, witnessing the horrific sights of exploded vehicles, decomposing bodies, scattered limbs and bones.
I had to keep walking for four hours. That was painful as I have had knee joint inflammation since 2018.
I was overwhelmed by the sun and collapsed on the sidewalk. My son-in-law had to revive me by splashing water – that he had carried with him – on my head.
I still cannot fathom how I survived that ordeal, nor can I comprehend the struggles faced by other women my age (I will soon be 68) – or older.
Israel’s claims that Rafah was a humanitarian zone were false. We heard bombings near us on a daily basis.
Finding a full loaf of bread became a daily challenge as wheat had been turned into a scarce commodity.
Water safe for drinking was hard to find.
As we were staying on the third floor of a building – my daughter’s friend hosted us in her home – we had to carry containers up a few flights of stairs. Then we had to divide the water between seven members of our family.
Having a shower, using the bathroom or accessing a reliable internet connection became luxuries, frequently unobtainable. Venturing to the markets in search of basic necessities only led to disappointment, as we were consistently greeted with empty shelves.
On 9 November 2023, Khaled and I left Gaza for Jordan to seek urgent medical treatment. My four other grandchildren and their parents remained in Rafah.
As I left Gaza behind, I was fixated on a vision of peace that seemed as distant as it was necessary.
Gaza, with its relentless challenges, had become more than just a place under attack. To me, it had become a teacher of life and hope.
It is a place that, despite everything, feels more like home than anywhere else, a sanctuary where the bonds of family and community have taught me the true essence of resilience and joy.
My journey continues, but my heart remains anchored in the hope that Gaza will one day thrive in peace.
Olena Boyko, a Ukrainian citizen, fled the war in Ukraine and relocated to Gaza in February 2023. She is currently in Jordan, accompanying her grandson for medical treatment.
Khaled El-Hissy provided translation from Russian.
