Abd Al-Salam. Photo provided by the family

In the heart of Gaza, amid narrow streets shaded by olive trees, my beloved Uncle Abd Al-Salam and his four children lived a life full of love and warmth. Their home was a sanctuary: Every room echoed their shared moments — laughter, playful arguments, and studying.  Even when the siblings were apart, they were united, intertwined like hands joined in family prayers before sleep.

Huthyfa, 13, and Ahmed, 11, were inseparable. They walked to school together every day, their steps in sync, and always returned home side by side. Even though the brothers weren’t in the same grade, they would always meet during breaks and share the same school activities. They helped each other with homework, exchanged tips on different subjects, and spent hours studying together and memorizing the Qur’an with determination. There was a friendly rivalry between them, each one pushing the other to do better, which showed in their grades, always above 99%, and they memorized the entire Qur’an.

Everyone at school loved them. The teachers would always send messages to my uncle, thanking him for raising them so well. They’d share photos of Huthyfa and Ahmed with captions like, “The Qur’an’s guardian” or “The outstanding Huthyfa/Ahmed.” It wasn’t just their grades that impressed people — it was how they carried themselves, their respect for others, and the way they made everyone around them feel good. I can still picture those photos, with Huthyfa and Ahmed standing side by side, smiles wide on their faces, looking proud of what they had accomplished.

Even when they played, they were an unbeatable team. On the FIFA Stadium, they kicked the ball with energy and skill, as if they were professional players. They passed the ball smoothly between each other, always knowing where the other would be. You could hear their laughter as they moved around the field, pretending to dodge defenders and sending the ball with all their strength. Even though they were young, they played with excitement and passion, as if they were in a crucial match.

Huthyfa and Ahmed holding school certificates they received for having achieved the highest scores. Photo provided by family

Hala, 8, and Alaa, 7, were like two pieces of a puzzle that always fit perfectly together. There was no “Hala’s toy” or “Alaa’s toy” – everything was “ours.” They sat next to each other, surrounded by dolls and the soft light from the iPad, completely lost in their imagination. One sister would start a story about a princess stuck in a tower, her voice full of excitement. The other would quickly jump in, adding details about how the princess escaped or a magical creature that helped her.

Their voices blended together like they were reading the same story, as if they had their own secret world. They excelled in their studies and always achieved the highest grades. They were smart and quiet. Though they occasionally quarreled, they always forgave each other quickly.

Hala and Alaa were like twins in both their style and appearance. Photo: Abd Al-Salam

Uncle Abd Al-Salam was the one who instilled this spirit in his children. He didn’t just see his children as his kids: To him, they were the embodiment of his dreams. He dreamed of them excelling in their studies, memorizing the Qur’an, and growing up with strong values and high morals. He wasn’t just a father — he was everything to them.

Every morning, he started the day with energy, ready to give his children the best start. He made sure they followed a routine —first, memorizing the Qur’an, then studying, followed by playtime and helping with chores. He didn’t just tell them what to do; he guided them, sat with them as they memorized, listened to them recite, and encouraged them when they struggled.

When he came home from work, he never let exhaustion stop him. His first thought was always his children. He called each one by name, his voice full of warmth and care, asking, “What did you memorize today?” “How was school?” “Did anything make you happy or upset you?” He listened carefully, making sure they felt heard and loved. He did not let life pull him away from them. He carried their worries in his heart, for they were his precious treasures, and he feared losing them. He took his children with him everywhere — to the market, family visits, and even the simplest errands.

On the morning of December 30, 2023, the laughter that once filled the house disappeared, and the warmth of family moments faded away. My uncle Abed Al-Salam, his son Huthyfa, and his daughter Hala were martyred in an Israeli airstrike that targeted my grandfather’s house.

The building that once pulsed with life, like the hearts of its inhabitants, became suddenly silent, as if time had stopped. In a moment, we lost so much. The moment was unbearable when Ahmed and Alaa had to say goodbye to their father, brother Huthyfa, and sister Hala.

Ahmed stood before his brother, his study partner and best friend, struggling to come to terms with the magnitude of his loss. As for Alaa, she gazed at her sister one last time, trying to memorize every detail of her face. That moment, frozen in time, is etched in my memory, especially the image of little Alaa bidding farewell to Hala. I couldn’t help but wonder: How can a child, just 7 years old, in an instant lose her father, brother, sister, and the home that was once filled with their laughter and love? How can she possibly comprehend such a loss? How can she say goodbye to everyone who was her entire world in that single moment? The shock was overwhelming, and the silence that followed was louder than any cry of pain. The hands that had never parted in life could not hold each other one last time before the final farewell.

However, love doesn’t die with the body. Their love remains in the memories we cherish in our hearts, in the silent prayers we send to them every day. The values they lived by — strength, love, faith, and resilience — still light the path for those who remain. Their story is not just about loss, but about an eternal love that lives beyond death. As long as their names are spoken and their dreams are alive in our hearts, they are never truly gone. Our comfort lies in knowing that this world is temporary, and that we will reunite with our loved ones in the highest paradise, where there is no separation and no pain.