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Wael Al-Dahdouh was completely committed to his work, yet his equal commitment to his family forced him to make the hard decision to leave Gaza.
Wael Al-Dahdouh, Al Jazeera’s bureau chief in Gaza. Photo From Wael Al-Dahdouh’s Facebook page
In Gaza, journalism may cost you your life, the lives of those dearest to you, or your ability to ever hold a camera again.
The story of Wael Al-Dahdouh, who began reporting for Al Jazeera in 2004 and became Gaza bureau chief, is one example of the relentless brutality the occupation inflicts on Gazan journalists and their families.
In the early days of the war, his family fled their home in Tal Al-Hawa as they had done during previous Israeli attacks, fully aware that at any moment they could be targeted.
Wael Al-Dahdouh was completely committed to his work. “We barely saw him,” my friend Batoul, his daughter, told me. His son, Hamza, also a journalist, had been covering events in southern Gaza since the war began.
Wael’s family received persistent threats from the Israeli occupation, telling them to move south. After many warnings, they made the journey to the Nuseirat refugee camp on October 13, 2023, seeking shelter at a relative’s home. A total of 45 members of the Al-Dahdouh family sheltered in the house, including Wael’s wife Amna and his children, Batoul, Sondos, Mahmoud, Sham, Kholoud, and Yahya. Wael, however, remained in the north to continue his reporting.
Wael Al-Dahdouh’s home in Tal Al-Hawa, destroyed in the early days of the war. The house was empty at the time, as the family evacuated during every escalation. Photo courtesy the Al-Dahdouh Family
On the evening of October 25, we received the devastating news that the house sheltering the Al-Dahdouh family had been bombed, leaving most of them trapped. Overcome with shock and disbelief, I thought of Wael’s daughters, my friends for many years.
Civil Defense crews worked for hours to rescue them, eventually pulling out everyone except Batoul and her cousin. With no more sounds heard beneath the rubble, it was thought they had been martyred. “I was so incredibly thirsty that I could not even get a word out,” Batoul later told me. Her cousin’s scream alerted rescuers to their location.
Fifteen members of the Al-Dahdouh family were martyred in the strike. Many others were left wounded. It was a big story, and Wael was covering it. He arrived at the hospital to face a horrifying reality.
His wife, Amna, 15-year-old son, Mahmoud, 7-year-old daughter, Sham, and 18-month-old grandson, Adam, had all been martyred. Separated from his family since the war began, he had no chance to say goodbye or tell them once more just how much he loved them.
Following the attack on October 26, Batoul and her siblings made the decision to return to the north, seeking shelter at the home of their cousin Hamdan, a photographer working for Al Jazeera.
In the early hours of the morning, Sondos received a call from Israeli intelligence. “They threatened us again, warning that if we did not evacuate to the south, we would be killed,” she later told me.
Shaken by the threat, she and her siblings spent the day at the nearby Al-Shifa Hospital. After a few days, they moved to their father’s office in Al-Tabba Tower. Kholoud said, “We told him, if we die, we want to die together.”
By November 11, snipers were positioned on nearly every tower in the area. They requested an ambulance to evacuate, but with the Israel air force mercilessly attacking emergency services workers, this was too risky.
Sondos suggested heading south on foot. By then, the Netzarim Corridor had been imposed, and moving to the south required a lot of luck. In the end, they were able to cross the corridor and reached Al-Aqsa Hospital, where they lived in a tent for over a month. “After the bombing, the thought of staying inside a building terrified us,” Batoul explained. From Al-Aqsa, the family moved through Gaza City to central Gaza, and ultimately to Rafah, where they found shelter in the home of the friend of their brother Hamza.
With no food, medical supplies, or safe shelter, Al Jazeera instructed Wael to evacuate to the south via ambulance.
On December 15, Yahya was watching Al Jazeera when he suddenly cried out, “My dad is hurt!” He had just seen news of his father, Wael, and journalist Samer Abu Daqqa, 45, being attacked while reporting near a school in Khan Younis. Wael was injured in the arm; Samer was critically wounded. Israeli tanks surrounded the area, blocking ambulances from reaching him. Samer bled to death.
Wael paid little attention to his own injury. Seeing Samer die in front of him was much more painful. Samer was not just a colleague; he was like a brother.
Just weeks later, on January 7, 2024, a powerful strike hit near the house sheltering the Al-Dahdouh family. They rushed to the rooftop to see the target of the shelling, but they had no idea who had been targeted until a young child approached them and said, “Hamza is in there.”
In Wael’s absence, their brother Hamza was like a father to them. Now, Batoul recalls, “we only managed to hold his hand. His face was unrecognizable.”
“If you want me to feel at peace, then please leave,” Wael urged his family. Though it was a difficult decision, it was the only choice left in such unbearable circumstances. Having lost so much and believing that remaining in Gaza would only bring more pain, the family traveled to Qatar. Wael joined them some time later to receive medical care for his wounded arm.
Wael’s decision to leave was not an easy one. He wanted to continue to report on conditions in Gaza but could not allow his remaining family members to stay in danger.
Wael Al-Dahdouh’s story exposes the cruelty of the occupation and its deliberate strategy of targeting and silencing journalists and their families. What they fail to realize is the truth cannot be buried as long as someone is alive—even if it is the last child in Gaza.
This article is co-published with Washington Report on Middle East Affairs.
