“On October 18, 2023, I was gravely injured. I had left my home close to the Israeli border, moving to my aunt’s house to seek safety. I was sleeping downstairs next to my father when the explosion occurred. We had thought the downstairs was the safest place to sleep, and we had stayed away from windows and doors in case a nearby bombing caused shrapnel to fly in. But there is no such thing as a safe place in Gaza.”
Hamood El-Mbayed, my 11-year nephew, recalls his terror when he was injured last year. The first blast injured him, with a barrage of intense shelling falling on his and his family’s heads. The huge explosions sent him and his family out of the house and into the street, and more rockets came while they ran. Hamood heard his father’s voice calling out for him but then disappear as another missile approached. The air filled with dust that spread rapidly and blocked Hamood from seeing if his father had survived. The smell of gunpowder filled the street, making him feel suffocated.
The bombs killed his father, his two aunts, and his aunt’s two sons.
Hamood said it was the first time in his life that he flew: “I flew around 14 meters in the sky, and when I fell, the roof of my aunt’s home collapsed on my right leg.” In that moment he saw blood flowing down the street and that his right leg had been severed from his body. “I cried out from the killing pain and asked for someone to save me. I put my leg next to me in the hope of taking it to the doctor to have it reattached.”
Hamood continues: “The pain was overwhelming, and I was initially amazed by the situation unfolding before me. However, soon after, I felt an electrifying surge coursing through me, driving me to confront the challenges ahead with unwavering determination. Moments later I fell unconscious. Before closing my eyes, I heard a dim voice coming from an ambulance and noticed a paramedic putting an oxygen mask on my nose. I passed out for nearly a day. Doctors said they thought they would lose me, but I survived.”
Hamood spent nearly a month and a half at Al-Shifa Hospital and was then moved from one hospital to another as Israel launched violent invasions against all hospitals in Gaza in the attempt to destroy any semblance of health care. In addition to the loss of his left leg, he has a deep and critical wound in his left buttock, severe bone loss in his right wrist, a complete fracture in the lower part of his remaining leg, and an auditory impairment caused by a massive explosion that struck during an evacuation. After leaving Al-Shifa his condition deteriorated as his injuries became infected due to the shortage of medicines and the need for an operation. Hamood requires a prosthetic limb for his severed leg as well as a bone graft and limb reconstructive surgery for his other leg. Without this, he may lose the remaining leg.
Though Palestinian doctors recommend that Hamood’s critical case be treated in Egypt, obtaining authorization from the Israeli occupation authorities is a lengthy and arduous process, often resulting in refusals. Israel also targets ambulances attempting to navigate the perilous route to the border between Palestine and Egypt. As such, the journey toward accessing the necessary medical care remains fraught with obstacles and dangers for Hamood, as well as countless others in Gaza.
Since the accident Hamood has had trouble sleeping. He tells me, “Whenever I go to sleep, my body turns into a battlefield of merciless blades that refuses to be subdued by medications. Sleep and calm are unattainable ghosts.”
Lately Hamood has been crying uncontrollably because of pain in his forearm. I took him to see orthopedic doctors three days ago, but they informed me that, although they are deeply sorry, they are unable to perform any treatments on him at this time. So Hamood now waits for days of peace and de-escalation.
Like so many in Gaza, Hamood, a mere child, is suffering despite posing no threat to the oppressive and fascist Israeli occupation. This harrowing incident serves as a stark reminder of the barbarity exhibited by the forces of occupation, highlighting the depths of their inhumanity.
Before his injuries, Hamood enjoyed being outdoors, playing football and hanging out with his friends, and would come home only to sleep. He says he wishes he could move like other kids in the world, but that Israel has denied him this. He sometimes begs to be lifted into his wheelchair so he can go outside and get fresh air.
He says, “The fact that people, especially kids, stare at me when I leave the house to get my wounds bandaged hurts me so bad these days. I am massively ashamed, yet it is the Israeli occupation forces that are the source of my embarrassment. But my family cares for me. They bring me anything I need from the market.”
Hamood’s road to recovery involves three operations. The first was the amputation. Then his buttock started to heal after the open incision was sutured. And now, looking forward, his dismembered leg and right hand must be rebuilt through plastic surgery, providing him a future where power and wholeness converge.
My dear nephew explains, “Every procedure is a step toward taking back my life and developing internal toughness. Even with my left leg reduced to a memory, I fly high in the midst of loss. The savagery of occupation does not break even the spirits of Palestinian children. Despite their handicaps, the disabled continue to strive for freedom and justice, becoming an unstoppable force that wants to see an unrestricted world.”
In the face of these hardships, Hamood says that hope remains his guiding light, propelling him forward on a path of resilience and unshakable determination. As a passionate football fan, he is driven to use his disability as a motivation to inspire people all around the world. “Champions never falter in the face of challenges,” he says. Many in his place would give up, but Hamood’s relentless spirit keeps him moving ahead toward the football pitch as well as Palestinian liberation. “We are fortified and unshaken by life’s tempests because our strength knows no bounds,” he says.
