This happened at the beginning of October at the beginning of Israel’s re-invasion of the Jabaliya refugee camp.
The assault forced a large number of residents to flee. Most headed westward to areas in Gaza City considered relatively safer – even though everyone knows that nowhere is safe with an enemy that has proven over 14 months and many decades that it is ready to bomb anything and kill anyone, anywhere and at any time.
It was a day that had otherwise passed peacefully in our area of Gaza City, al-Jalaa. I had joined my brother, cousin and a group of neighbors and friends in the small garden of my friend Baha’s home, close to my house.
Baha’s garden was a regular meeting spot, where we would light a fire for warmth and heat canned beans for dinner while chatting and passing the time.
Earlier that afternoon, the al-Ghomri family had taken refuge in a nearby house, planning to stay with relatives who lived there for a few days before heading south in search of safety with a larger group of displaced families.
But the Israeli forces acted first. During our gathering in the evening, the military launched an intense bombardment in the area; it also struck the nearby house.
Everyone rushed to try to rescue people. I tried to call for help, but the bombardment was too intense and ambulances were at first held back. As we searched for the wounded and the dead, the ambulances that managed to get through prioritized those with moderate to severe injuries for transport to al-Ahli Hospital, while minor injuries were treated on-site by volunteers.
The dead were left to be counted and later moved to morgues.
Alive
In the chaos, we found a young woman, Aisha al-Ghomri. The force of the explosion had thrown her into the street, where she had landed on the broken sidewalk. Everyone assumed she was dead.
I was asked to carry her and place her among the other corpses to be removed later, either by car or donkey-pulled carts, as ambulance capacity was overwhelmed. However, as I lifted her with the help of my brother, I felt a faint breath.
We carried her to the hospital ourselves. It took some time. Along the way, I tried to sprinkle water on her face to get her to respond, but there was no reaction. Only her faint breathing betrayed continued life; her body remained completely still.
When we finally arrived, she was treated immediately. One of her injured relatives, who had thought she was dead, recognized her and broke down, saying he believed she had been blown to bits.
When I asked the medic about her condition, he told me that she had suffered a fractured spine and spinal cord damage. She was completely paralyzed. The doctor thanked me for saving her, but also told me she could only move her eyes.
And as I looked at her, I imagined her reproaching me in silence: “I wish you had left me to die with my family. Now I face a new kind of suffering.”
The night at the hospital passed quickly, and by morning I returned home with my brother. to our anxious family.
