The Electronic Intifada 14 October 2024
The home of Ramzi Abu Sahloul in Khan Younis sheltered 300 people, but Israeli forces destroyed the home in January 2024.
When my family of eight was forcibly displaced from our home in Gaza City’s al-Rimal neighborhood, Ramzi Abu Sahloul took us in, fed us and provided for us.
By January 2024, we had taken shelter at Ramzi’s home in Khan Younis for 45 days, along with about 300 other people. Ramzi’s home actually comprises two residential buildings, so he was able to accommodate us all.
The evening of 21 January and the days that followed were the most terrifying I have experienced in my life.
That evening, Israeli rockets ignited the sky above us. We received no warning from the Israeli occupation forces to evacuate, so we stayed put, but for two continuous hours, our block was repeatedly hit by Israeli missiles.
It was as if the gates of hell had been flung open.
The next day, Israeli tanks and bulldozers advanced onto our block from the Nasser hospital, and snipers were positioned on roofs.
We all descended to the ground floor, as it seemed safer than the upper levels of the building where the snipers’ weapons were trained on us.
The hours passed slowly that day and night. We grew thirsty and hungry, but our supplies had been depleted and we could not leave to retrieve more. Some of us eventually fell asleep, but some of us stayed awake all night.
But when Israel bombed the adjacent residential tower that night, we were certainly all awake. It caused a massive explosion and a raging fire next door. We were terrified, yet we remained in Ramzi’s home.
“Do you have any fighters?”
The next day, seemingly random yet direct gunfire targeted our building. An Israeli tank fired a shell at the outer gate of the residential complex and destroyed all the cars in the garage.
The sound of Israeli soldiers approaching grew louder, and then came that terrifying moment when they asked in Arabic: “Do you have any fighters?”
Someone responded: “We are all civilians, most of us women and children.”
They threatened to kill us if we lied. They then ordered the families to segregate from each other and to exit the building. They ordered each of us to carry our IDs with our hands raised.
When it was my family of eight’s turn – four of them children – I saw 12 soldiers lined up, their weapons pointed at us. The apparent commander inspected us intently and then ordered us in broken Arabic to head to Rafah, a supposed safe area.
In Gaza, nowhere is safe. Still, I silently thanked God that we had survived.
We exited the building, through the bombed outer gate, a tank gun tracking our movements and a soldier yelling at us to not look back.
What I saw next is a nightmare that I cannot forget.
The soldier showed no mercy
The streets of Khan Younis were utterly ruined. Snipers were stationed at every corner building.
We reached the end of the street and waited for the remaining families to come out of the building. At that point, Ramzi told us that he was going to return to his home. We urged him not to, but he insisted.
He carried a white flag, but the soldier showed no mercy. He shot Ramzi and Ramzi fell to the ground. Dead at the age of 51.
Ramzi’s son Muhammad, who is 22, screamed out for his father. A group of men helped Muhammad carry his father’s body back to “safety” away from the home.
When I saw Ramzi’s body, I burst into tears. His wife collapsed, weeping. We called an ambulance and his sons accompanied him to the hospital, though we were certain Ramzi was already dead.
The pain of this loss was and still is unbearable. Ramzi had sheltered us for so long, asking nothing in return.
What we take with us
We waited for hours at the end of the street for the remaining families to exit the home and join us.
Yet they never did. Over 50 members of the Abu Sahloul family were trapped in the home.
The occupation acted with ruthless cruelty as they bulldozed the street in front of the building, creating giant piles of dirt over five meters high. These piles blocked the door, and the family – including the elderly and those with disabilities – was forced to climb over them under a barrage of bullets.
After waiting for any form of transportation, we saw an empty truck. We asked the driver to take us to Rafah.
I’ve been displaced seven times in the past year and am currently living in Deir al-Balah.
Each time we are displaced, we set off into the unknown. We leave behind everything except our fears and memories, whether of the kindness of friends who have taken us in, or the brutality of the Israeli occupation forces.
Tareq Zaqout is a writer and teacher from Gaza.
