A paramedic carries a Palestinian child wounded during Israeli bombardment to the emergency ward at the Nassr Hospital in Khan Younis, southern Gaza Strip, July 9, 2024. Photo: AFP.
Expressions of “there was no trace of my child,” “blood was the only thing you could hear, see and smell,” and “the street was a pool of blood” unravel the horrors of the Aabasan massacre.
Dozens of residents of Aabasan al-Kabira, located on the southeastern outskirts of Khan Younis in Gaza, were massacred by heavy bombs, which were dropped on civilians by Israeli warplanes. This is just one of thousands of similar massacres in recent months, through which Israeli occupation forces are turning Gaza into a lifeless region.
“There was no trace of my child,” “blood was the only thing you could hear, see and smell,” and “The street was a pool of blood” are testimonies The Guardian reported from survivors of one of four harrowing massacres that occurred at or near schools housing forcibly displaced families over the course of four days last week.
I think this child survived.
Israel just bombed a UN school in Nusairat refugee camp and buried more children under rubble.
Gaza is a constant daily massacre. Please don't let the media distract you with propaganda about other events.
Keep focused. Keep sharing. pic.twitter.com/nEaSUns8i3
— Khalissee (@Kahlissee) July 14, 2024
On Saturday, an Israeli strike targeted a UNRWA-run school in the Nuseirat refugee camp in central Gaza, where approximately 2,000 forcibly displaced individuals were taking shelter, resulting in the killing of 16 people.
On Sunday, an Israeli strike on a church-run school in Gaza City resulted in the killing of dozens, as reported by local sources.
Additionally, on Monday night, another UNRWA-run school in the al-Nuseirat camp was bombed by Israeli airstrikes, resulting in several casualties.
‘There was no trace of my child’
Last Tuesday evening, at around 6:30 pm, Rita Abu Hammad, an energetic and cheerful eight-year-old, stood in front of the school where her family had been sheltering for weeks amid the ongoing Israeli genocide in Gaza. Nearby, in a tent, were her three brothers, sister, and their mother, Rima Abu Hammad.
“Suddenly, we heard sound of a missile, and then a very strong explosion,” Abu Hammad, 36, told The Guardian. “Then the sound of screaming, ashes, and blood were the only thing you could hear, see and smell. When I pulled myself together, I remembered that my daughter had been standing near the school’s gate. I ran madly, and screaming her name.”
In piercing pain, Abu Hammad began looking for her daughter, searching through the injured, the dead, and the scattered body parts, but she was unable to find her.
“There were many bodies, including children, women, and men, some cut to many pieces, some burnt alive. The street was a pool of blood. But there was no trace of my child,” she sorrowfully said.
This is the 500 tone bunker buster the US gave Israel to genocide #Gaza pic.twitter.com/gOW8nmO2qY
— Syrian Girl 🇸🇾 (@Partisangirl) July 14, 2024
Abu Hammad and her relatives spent an hour searching around the site of the school bombing in Aabasan. When they still couldn’t find her daughter, they went to the hospital and separated to continue the search.
“I said to my brother, I will go to the emergency department, and you will go to the mortuary and look for her. After a long search, I found her, she was alive but badly injured with shrapnel in the back and chest,” she said.
“I felt very happy and sad at the same time. I was happy because I did not lose her, she was still alive with me, and I felt sad for her condition and pain, but I still thank God for her presence and that she was not among the children who died there. It is true that the war is nine months old, and every day has been difficult, but I did not have a harder day than that day,” she painfully narrated.
More Than 70 Palestinians Killed as ‘Israel’ Strikes Al-Mawasi ‘Safe Zone’ in Gaza
‘I found all my friends and people around me, cut into pieces, and killed’
On Tuesday, Khaled Abu Anza, 23, was sitting at the gate of the Aabasan school next to his Wi-Fi stall when the Israeli airstrike hit.
“We were going to go and play football but we decided to stay. There was an explosion and when I looked around, I found all my friends and people around me, cut into pieces, and killed. I wanted to help people but when I looked at myself, I found that I had shrapnel in my chest, back and feet, and I was bleeding,” he told The Guardian.
“After about 20 minutes, a truck came and they carried me with it, and it was full of corpses … And I was the only living person in the truck … This is enough, ……………………, just to stop the war,” he agonizingly said.
‘Daily vision of horror’
Over the weekend, the UN and other humanitarian officials reported worsening conditions as temperatures reached 40°C, highlighting shortages of essential supplies, limited water, and increasing disorder.
An official described the situation as a “daily vision of horror” with minimal stocks of medicine, insufficient supplies of food, and “nowhere near enough water.”
“Hospitals keep reopening with fewer doctors, less machines, less medicines each time. They are run by an army of burned-out heroes,” the official stressed, as reported by The Guardian.
Dr. Mohamed Saqr, the head of nursing at Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis, told The Guardian that the situation there was “catastrophic”. Even before the brutal Israeli attacks last week, the hospital was full.
“We are the only operating major hospital in southern Gaza serving more than 1.2 million residents and displaced people in Khan Younis. There were no single empty beds, even in the emergency department,” Saqr bitterly stated.
When the school was bombed by Israeli airstrikes on Aabasan, the Nasser Hospital received 23 martyrs and 56 injured in less than half an hour.
“The situation was very difficult. We did not have sufficient tools or equipment, not even sterilizers or even gauze to wrap wounds, even gowns for operations. We treated the injured on the floor of the reception area or in corridors,” Saqr stressed.
