Graduation day, August 2023. Obaida earned a degree in nursing from Al-Israa University. Photo: Malak Serria

What is this hell we are living in? What awaits us after all this? It is truly unbearable. Its cruelty goes beyond human imagination.

How can we live through this bitter reality with our spirits broken? How can we live with the absence of my one and only beautiful brother? Obaida’s beauty was always a beauty of his soul and character as much as it was his face. My eyes long to see his angelic face, to hear his kind words that left a fresh imprint on the hearts of everyone, young and old alike.

I remember one time when Obaida entered the room to find me in tears. Instead of just asking what was wrong, he sat with me and began telling jokes, making me laugh until my tears turned to laughter.

How can I forget that he loved us more than himself? One time, my sister Asmaa could not pay the rent, so he hurried to her with the money. When my sister asked my mother about his kindness, she answered, “It was his tuition money. He decided to delay his studies and save up again.”

My mother always said, “Obaida was the gift we never expected.” Our family was small. We were three girls; he came into our lives after 11 years of waiting.

On the morning of October 7, 2023, Obaida was asleep at our home in Gaza City, when the sound of gunfire woke him. He rushed from his room, asking us, “What is going on? What is the news?”

The situation quickly deteriorated, with bombs falling and danger escalating. This marked the beginning of our suffering and displacement. After relocating several times, my mother, my sister, and I relocated to our relative’s home in Qarara, Khan Younis, on November 11. Obaida and our 60-year-old father remained in Gaza City at home.

We have had to relocate over and over to escape the constant fear of being killed, which haunts us even in our sleep. We have moved more than five times, first from Shuja’iyya to Sabra, then from Sabra to the south. The journey was terrifying as we continued to Nuseirat and finally to Rafah City and the Al-Mawasi area. Anxiety has never left us.

Obaida would call to check on us, and he could hear the fear in our voices. We were so far from him, and all we could do was pray. At the beginning of December 2023, hunger and fear were overwhelming; even basic necessities, like flour and sugar, became scarce.

One day he called us. He asked our sister Islam, “What do we have today for lunch?” She replied, “We have extra canned meat.” His voice broke as he responded, “Save one for me; I am starving.”

The days dragged on, filled with the horrors and suffering of war and hunger. Its curse felt endless. In the first two months, we lost our uncle and his entire family. Only two children survived. I remember Obaida calling, his voice barely audible, choking on tears.

Then we lost contact with Obaida. He had called the night before, wishing us all well, as the first day of Ramadan approached. And then, nothing.

The waiting was agonizing. Grief added years to my mother’s life. Our father wandered the streets and hospitals of Gaza City, worn from hunger and fear, looking for Obaida.

On March 23, 2024, our father received a call. By then it had been 13 days since Obaida went missing. The call came from a hostage held with my brother who had been released. My brother gave him our phone number and asked him to call us. And he gave us the news. “Obaida’s being held by Israel, in Ofer Prison.” Two months ago another detainee held with my brother called us to say Obaida is in Negev Prison. This is the last news we have heard.

The combination of the horror of realizing the terrible circumstances he might be in and the relief that he was still alive was too much to handle.

Since then, my family and I are constantly looking for news about the Palestinian hostages. We take turns keeping up with their updates and everything related to them. We hoped that any news about a released “prisoner” might bring some word about Obaida to comfort our hearts, which are full of fear and longing.

During one of the rare releases, a hostage, who was released from Nafha Prison, said in an interview that an Israeli officer hit him in the chest during interrogation, breaking two ribs. His pain was unbearable, but the guard only gave him painkillers every three to six days.

I wish the war had ended our lives before Obaida was taken. I wish we had stayed in Gaza City and faced death together, rather than having our hearts broken daily. The feeling of helplessness has overwhelmed me and paralyzed my thoughts for the past year. My mother sits near the tent entrance, hoping at any moment to see him approaching.

Fragile tents, our only refuge, on the beach of Mawasi, in Rafah. Photo: Sara Serria

We have been living in these conditions, in this tent, in the Mawasi area, for more than a year now.

When Eid came, we missed his bright face. We were used to seeing him on that morning, wearing his new clothes and kissing his parents’ hands. Everyone felt his absence. Our niece Malak did not come to visit us with her mother because she could not imagine Eid without her uncle.

With every release, we hear unbelievable stories of torture. One hostage who was released from Negev Prison said that an Israeli officer extinguished his cigarette on his chest during interrogation, burning through his clothes and searing his skin.

In the first months of the war, Obaida probably lost about 10 kilograms (22 pounds) due to hunger and deprivation. How much more has he lost now after almost a year of internment?

Israel practices the harshest forms of torture and oppression, beyond imagination. The Israeli wardens control the type and amount of food given to Palestinian hostages, and they bind hostages’ hands and feet with metal cuffs. In many cases, people are handcuffed throughout the day, including during transport or while being held in cells. Sometimes the cuffs are so tight that the hostage’s limbs are amputated. Why do they bind people when they are already behind iron bars, guarded by armed soldiers?

I wonder, in this cold weather, do they have enough blankets? Do they have jackets and clothes to protect them from the cold and winter illnesses?

We live now for the day of his release. It cannot come soon enough.

This article is co-published with Washington Report on Middle East Affairs.