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What should have been an ordinary day; a family shopping for flour, a boy selling coffee, a child walking home from school, ended in sudden, senseless tragedy. Life in Gaza was once again shattered by violence.
The attack struck a bustling public market in Gaza city, where families, children and the elderly had gathered in search of food amid the continuing war and famine. Israeli warplanes bombed the area without warning, killing 33 civilians, according to Gaza’s Health Ministry.
Among the dead were a mother, father, and their hungry child, who had just returned from school. Their lives ended not in their home or on the battlefield, but on a street turned red with blood, echoing with the cries of the wounded.
“The people were just trying to live,” said Mohammed Mushtaha, 34, a husband and father of three. He had been at the market with two friends when the missiles struck. “We were asking about the price of flour, just trying to feed our children. There’s nothing left at home.”
Then came the explosions.
“Suddenly, there was a blast near a restaurant. Minutes later, another missile hit. Everyone dropped to the ground. There were bodies everywhere. Blood everywhere. One of my friends was killed, the other injured. I was injured too.”
“The massacre was horrific,” he continued. “Innocent people, just trying to survive, died in the street. Some were hungry, others sick – all of them desperate. No one deserved this.”
Mohammed’s injuries are moderate; doctors expect he’ll be discharged from Al Shifa Hospital in two days. But the emotional wounds and the memories will remain long after.
Among those killed was 14-year-old Ahmad Abu Seif, known in the community as “the coffee boy.” A familiar face in the neighbourhood, he sold hot drinks on the street to support his mother and sisters, now living in a tent after their home was destroyed and their father killed in an earlier air strike.
“Everyone knew Ahmad,” said Ihab Al Maghribi, a local multimedia worker. “He was full of energy and determination. He always said he worked so his mother and orphaned sisters could eat.”
“I remember when he came to me asking for money to start selling coffee,” Ihab recalled. “I gave him what I could. A few days later, there he was, selling with pride. Everyone loved him.”
But the same street where Ahmad built his modest livelihood became the place of his death. He was killed while working – doing what he had fought so hard to do with dignity and purpose.
“He had no weapon, no anger – only hope,” Ihab said. “But he died with none of it fulfilled. He joined his father, just as he once said he would. He believed death might be a kind of peace.”
Also killed in the air strikes was a young boy named Noah, while walking home from school.
“Noah had just celebrated his birthday the day before,” said his father, Dawoud Al Saqqa, his voice trembling. “He was so happy. He wished for the war to end, for the massacres to stop. But the treacherous Israeli hand was stronger than his dreams, and it took his life.”
“The occupation wants to destroy every trace of joy within us,” Mr Al Saqqa told The National. “And now they’ve taken Noah, the light of our life.”
Noah was a dedicated student who dreamt of studying medicine. “He died so young, before he could become anything. This brutal war spares no one – neither the young, the old, women, nor children.”
“The whole world must act to end this massacre, this chaos,” Mr Al Saqqa pleaded. “We’ve lost everything- our children, our homes, and all we once held dear.”
