we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
Injured and twice left for death, Mohammed Nasir focuses on life.
Mohammed Nasir tends his garden with assistance from his daughter. Photo: Zyad Nassar
Mohammed Nasir, 44, from Beit Hanoun in the northern Gaza Strip, owned a home and a carpentry workshop and lived a secure life with his family before the war. The war, however, took away both his home and his livelihood. He suffered an injury that resulted in the loss of his leg and was shrouded for burial twice after being presumed dead. Yet he survived and returned to farming, which has since become his life.
In early April 2025, I interviewed Mohammed in the tent he was living in, after a fellow journalist described him as someone with a remarkable story to tell.
When the war broke out on Oct. 7, 2023, shells began falling across Beit Hanoun. One landed near Mohammed’s home while he and his family were sitting together drinking coffee and discussing whether they should stay or flee. The shell answered the question for them. Mohammed, his wife and their children were lightly wounded. They decided to leave Beit Hanoun. They made their way to the Indonesian Hospital in northern Gaza.
“The hospital was packed with displaced families. There was no room for us, so I told my wife to take the children south.” He stayed behind with hundreds of others, waiting for what he believed would soon be the end of the war.
“I thought the hospital would keep me safe,” he said. “I never imagined the occupation forces would storm it.”
But on Nov. 24, 2023, Israeli forces surrounded and entered the hospital. Mohammed described shells falling indiscriminately and quadcopter drones firing into crowds while, through loudspeakers, soldiers ordered everyone to evacuate.
“I followed their orders,” he said. “I thought if I did what they told me, I would be safe outside.”
He was wrong. As displaced people streamed out of the hospital, tanks opened fire. Mohammed was watching as five patients were killed where they stood. Then, while he was standing at the hospital gate, soldiers fired a shell directly at him.
“I found myself on the ground and had no idea where I was or what had happened,” he later recalled about the moments before he lost consciousness.
He woke up inside a body bag in the morgue freezer of Kamal Adwan Hospital. “I thought I was dreaming. Then I saw people carrying me out to be buried, and that’s when I realized it was real.” He raised his hand. His brother saw the movement and rushed to pull him out and return him to the hospital.
Treatment was nearly impossible amid severe shortages of doctors and medicine. After a week at Kamal Adwan Hospital, Mohammed was transferred in an unconscious state to Nasser Hospital in southern Gaza. Once again, the doctors believed he was dead. For the second time, he was wrapped in a shroud and prepared for burial. And then someone noticed that he was still breathing.
Doctors determined that his foot had to be amputated, but the hospital was overwhelmed with casualties, so the procedure was delayed for two days. The delay led to kidney poisoning, requiring dialysis before the amputation. The amputation was carried out in three stages until the surgeons ultimately removed his leg up to the mid-thigh. He was not given anesthesia for any of these surgeries.
Mohammed Nasir uses water bottles to start his vegetable plants. Photo: Zyad Nassar
After recovering at Nasser Hospital, Mohammed reunited with his family in southern Gaza. When a ceasefire was announced at the end of January 2025, they returned to Beit Hanoun.
“I found it completely destroyed,” he said.
He pitched a tent beside the rubble of his former home and settled there with his family, like hundreds of other families who returned to find their homes reduced to ruins. Then, on March 18, 2025, the ceasefire collapsed and Israeli strikes resumed across Gaza, particularly in border areas. Beit Hanoun was among the hardest-hit locations.
Mohammed and his family were displaced once again, this time to western Gaza City. There, after they had set up another tent, his wife made a simple suggestion: Plant something.
Mohammed began clearing the ground around the tent by hand, sitting on a chair as he moved stones and debris. He first planted tomato seeds by pushing them into the soil. Nearly one hundred seedlings emerged. Later, he bought pepper and eggplant seeds from the market and planted them along with parsley and onions.
When I first met Mohammed, he was tending his crops. Despite the exhaustion visible on his face, and his severe lack of resources, he worked with genuine passion. He clearly loved farming.
His plot of land is small — no more than 25 square meters (269 square feet) — but it feels alive. Around him are his children, all under the age of 10, helping him care for the plants.
Because of his amputation, Mohammed cannot stand for long periods, even with the help of a crutch. He often gardens while sitting on a low platform, about 15 centimeters (6 inches) high, which makes the work easier for him.
This small plot has become the family’s primary source of food. More than that, it has become a way to help others and share what little they have with neighbors in need.
“When a neighbor asks me for vegetables and I give them some, I see the happiness on their faces,” he said. “But, honestly, I think I feel that happiness even more than they do.”
After a pause, he added: “Farming is my life now. When I stand in front of this tent and look at what is growing here, it takes me back to before the war. I had a house with a garden full of vegetables and fruit trees. This is the closest thing to that life that I still have.”
Mohammed ended the interview with a message he seemed to have carried for a long time: “To everyone who has lost a foot or a hand: this is not the end of life; it is the beginning of it. Invest your time and energy in building the land.”
Mohammed has come back from death twice, and the injuries he sustained, compounded by the lack of timely medical care, have left him with lasting consequences. But he has discovered in himself a real passion for farming and for sharing his crops with neighbors in need.
This article is co-published with Washington Report on Middle East Affairs.
