The Electronic Intifada 7 October 2024
Islam Abu Obaid (R) and her mother Heba (L) at Islam’s graduation from nursing school.
In mid-October 2023, nearly a year ago, I received a text message that tore my heart apart. My closest friend Islam had been martyred, along with 18 members of her husband’s family, the Abu Obaids.
Without any forewarning, an Israeli airstrike incinerated their home in Beer al-Naja in northern Gaza.
Islam was 22 years old and pregnant. She was eagerly awaiting the arrival of her and her husband’s first child. She once told me that she couldn’t stop imagining what their child would look like and what it would feel like to be a mother.
Islam’s husband was the sole survivor of the Israeli attack. Their dream of creating a family was shattered by Israel before it could ever be fulfilled. The weight of such a loss is indescribable.
Islam’s family, her mother and father, searched all night for their daughter, visiting every hospital and clinging to the hope that she might be alive. The morning after the Israeli attack, they found what they believed to be Islam’s charred body under the rubble, along with her unborn child.
Islam was a new graduate of the University College of Applied Sciences’ Faculty of Nursing. Her killing came so quickly after graduation that she was not even able to pursue a career.
A week before Israel’s war on Gaza, Islam’s sister visited us. After a while, she said she had a surprise, that Islam was also coming. She arrived then, gracing my home with her presence. It was the last time I saw her. I didn’t know that was to be our farewell.
Our lovely chef
Islam Khader Ibrahim Hamada became Islam Abu Obaid when she got married.
But I always called her “our lovely chef.”
She loved surprises and surprising other people. On my 21st birthday, she brought me a beautifully decorated homemade cake and cupcakes, even though I told her that I wanted nothing special.
I was lucky that she was not only my close friend, but also a relative. She was the daughter of my father’s cousin.
It was such a beautiful feeling to be remembered and cherished by someone like Islam, who paid attention to such details. Although these memories now carry with them a sense of loss, they also bring a profound feeling of love and gratitude.
Islam was a vibrant and enthusiastic person. She would wake up at 3 am to bake pastries. And at dawn she would walk with her friends on the beach.
Whether we gathered at her home or ours, she would prepare bashamel, or bechamel, my absolute favorite. I used to say that no one could make it like Islam. Since her martyrdom, I swear I will never eat it again. I want to remember the flavor of her cooking forever.
Islam was the only person who made me laugh from the depths of my heart. When we were together, the laughter flowed. It’s been a long time since I laughed like that.
No grief, no loss, no pain
Islam and her mother Heba were more than just friends; they were soulmates. When Islam was martyred, I couldn’t fathom how her mother would find the strength to carry on.
On 9 August 2024, we were further devastated by the heartbreaking news that Islam’s mother, sister, brother and beloved uncle were martyred in an airstrike on the Nuseirat camp.
It is a tragedy yet it is also a solace. I envision Islam now, joyfully reunited with her family in the gardens of delight, where there is no grief, loss or pain.
I do not know if I can live a happy life without her. Nearly a year has passed since her martyrdom, but I can still feel her spirit, unseen and unheard.
I still send her text messages, to talk to her. It is still not real that she is gone.
Rawan Khaled Hamada is an English student at the Islamic University of Gaza.
