In a land where uncertainty reigns, love flourishes amidst the chaos, offering moments of solace amid life’s tumultuous currents. Recently graduated from university, Mohammad Basil Khrais was excited about his upcoming proposal to his sweetheart on the seventh of October, 2023. But as Gaza teaches us, plans are often interrupted by the unpredictable twists of fate, and escaping one form of death often leads to confrontation with another.
Mohammad, the only son, was adored by his six sisters and Hala Abedel-Aati, his mother. Hala was a popular Arabic language teacher for more than 30 years. Her former students would often come and visit her. She was proud of their achievements becoming doctors, lawyers, and professors. They were grateful for her support and help.
Mohammad’s plans and dreams were shattered on Oct. 7, a day etched in the collective memory of Gaza, when the cacophony of shells and missiles shattered the tranquility of dawn. In the midst of this chaos, Mohammad’s world, like everyone else’s, was turned upside down.
In the symphony of war, Gazans quickly learned to decipher the distinct sounds of shells and warplanes, a grim skill acquired over years of Israeli raids and relentless attacks.
But after the destruction of the bombs came the enforced displacement. Israel gave notice for Gazans in the north to move south. Faced with this dilemma, to leave their home to unknown areas and risk living in the streets, Mohammad’s family chose to remain home.
By November, Mohammad’s neighborhood had become a battleground, overrun by Israeli tanks and snipers. Amidst the chaos, loudspeakers blared warnings, urging residents to evacuate and to hold white flags for safety. With heavy hearts, families hastily packed their essentials into bags slung over their shoulders.
Mohammad, along with his mother, father, and siblings, joined the exodus, stepping out of their home with a sense of foreboding. Hala led the family out of their home, holding a white flag in one hand and her grandson Taim’s trembling fingers in the other, while trying to soothe his fear.
Together they emerged onto the street, joining a procession of their neighbors, a sea of white flags fluttering in the air. As they trudged forward, the rumble of tanks and the sharp crack of gunfire filled the air, a constant reminder of the perilous journey ahead. The weight of uncertainty bearing down upon them, but they pressed on, driven by the instinct to live.
Despite the assurance of safety promised by the Israeli occupation’s “safe passage”” marked by white flags, tragedy awaited. All it took was one bullet.
Just one bullet. It pierced through Halas’s heart, killing her instantly. Hala, the matriarch of the family, crumpled to the ground, her hand slipping from Taim’s grasp.
Mohammad, frozen in shock, felt disconnected from reality, as if transported to another realm. “I lost my focus and comprehension,” he recalls. “I felt like I was in another world.”
But reality soon crashed back, harsh and unforgiving. He raced to his mother’s side, hoping against hope for a sign of life, only to be met with the grim confirmation of her martyrdom.
With a heart weighed down by anguish, Mohammad made the agonizing decision to continue evacuating to Rafah, leaving behind his father in Gaza City — a gut-wrenching separation that tore at the very fabric of his being. His father remains steadfast in his refusal to abandon his wife’s final resting place. For him, the thought of leaving her behind is an unbearable burden, a betrayal of the love that bound them together in life and beyond.
For Mohammed, every heartbeat is a symphony of sorrow as he clings to fading memories of his mother, her gentle smile captured in photographs that serve as fragile lifelines in a sea of despair.
Yet, even as his longing for home threatens to consume him, the cruel hand of fate holds him captive. The family’s collective grief hangs heavy in the air, an unspoken testament to the profound depths of their loss — a loss that transcends words, leaving only the hollow ache of absence in its wake.
