Kids of The Gaza Holocaust

By Nour Dawood

Since October 2023, when Israel launched its genocidal war in Gaza, over 16,800 children have been killed. Behind each staggering statistic lies a name, a face, a story. These children had dreams, hopes, families who loved them, and futures that will never unfold. Israel may claim military objectives, but the reality on the ground reveals children at the heart of its devastation.


Here, we honor the stories of 20 children whose lives were brutally cut short. Their stories have been pieced together through interviews with their families, social media posts, and news reports. These are not just numbers. They are names, stories, and tragedies that must not be forgotten.

Aya and Aboud Abu Oun (6 and 5 years old)

Siblings Aya and Aboud Abu Oun were killed on October 17. Their mother, Asmaa Mughari, shared their memory with heartbreaking tributes on social media. Aboud, her youngest, had picked out a jacket he was excited to wear but never got the chance. His love for drawing was so strong that the family kept searching the rubble of their home, hoping to find any of his sketches. “I keep asking them if they found anything,” Asmaa shared.


In another post, Asmaa celebrated Aya’s first graduation certificate. “It was your first achievement in school, and I’m so proud of you—both in life and in death,” she wrote, expressing the unbearable pride and loss every parent hopes never to experience.

Hind Rajab (6 years old)

On January 29, six-year-old Hind Rajab was killed when an Israeli tank fired at her family’s car in Tal Al-Hawa. According to the UN’s Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), forensic evidence confirmed that the shots came from close range. Hind was trapped among the bodies of her family members for hours, crying for help over the phone in her final moments.


Her mother, Wissam Hamadah, shared the agony of not being able to save her. “My sweetheart, I couldn’t reach you. Forgive me,” she tearfully recounted. Hind’s body was recovered days later, along with two paramedics who had been killed while trying to rescue her.

Juman Fahem Husnin (13 years old)

Juman was a bright, ambitious 13-year-old who excelled in school and Islamic studies, even memorizing the Quran. She had dreams, especially of peace, hoping for a day when her family would be reunited without the fear of war. On her birthday, December 1, she expressed this wish, but just six days later, an Israeli missile struck her home, killing her, her two sisters, Yaman and Bisan, and wiping out most of her family.


Her aunt shared a deeply emotional tribute: “The missile erased them from our civil registry, but not from our hearts. Juman’s smile, her kind eyes, remain untouched, even by war.”

Mohammed and Zeina Hijazi (4 and 2 years old)

Mohammed and Zeina Hijazi were displaced from their home in northern Gaza to Deir Al-Balah, seeking refuge from relentless bombings. But even in displacement, they found no safety. On December 23, Israeli airstrikes killed both children. Their father remembered Mohammed’s love for simple joys—cake on his birthday, mulukhiyah, and shawarma. “He was so excited to start kindergarten, but instead, he joined the kindergarten of paradise.”


Zeina, only two years old, adored her older brother. She would often tease him by pulling his hair, but they were inseparable. “When Zeina took her first steps, Mohammed was the one who excitedly shared the news with our family,” their father recalled. “Now, they walk together in paradise.”

Laya Naim (3 years old)

Laya was a lively three-year-old with a love for staying up late, dancing, and playing in the water. On January 6, she was killed in Gaza City by an Israeli airstrike. Her mother, Asma Naim, shared her grief through poignant words: “You loved everything about life—parties, swimming, strawberries. I can’t grasp that you’re gone.”


The memory of Laya’s blue dress, her messy hair, and her infectious joy lives on in her mother’s heart. “You loved your father so much, and you looked just like him,” Asma shared, her pain reflected in every word.

Yousef Abu Mousa (7 years old)

Known for his big heart and his habit of initiating family group hugs, Yousef was a joyful presence in his home. His father remembers how Yousef would always ask about his work hours and excitedly greet him when he came home. “Every time I went to work, he’d run to me, hug me, and kiss me. He was always the first one there,” his father shared.


On October 15, an Israeli airstrike hit their family home, taking Yousef’s young life. His father’s pain is immeasurable: “I lost everything, but the biggest loss was my son Yousef.”

Habiba Abd El-Qader (9 years old)

Habiba, a talented young girl, excelled at school and loved painting. She had dreams of becoming a doctor, but those dreams were destroyed when an Israeli airstrike hit her home on October 25. Her mother, Feda’a Murjan, begged for an end to the bloodshed. “Please stop all of this. My Habiba is gone, and I don’t want more mothers to go through this pain.”

Abdullah and Mahmoud Abu Salima (15 years old)

Twins Abdullah and Mahmoud were avid soccer players with dreams of representing Palestine on the national team. Abdullah hoped to become a defender, while Mahmoud aspired to be a goalkeeper. Their connection was more than just brotherly love—they shared the same passion, the same goals. Mahmoud would often proudly declare that he was “seconds” older than his brother.


On October 23, their dreams were shattered when an airstrike killed both boys, their mother, and several other family members.

Reem Nabhan (3 years old)

Reem was the apple of her grandfather Khaled’s eye. He lovingly called her “the soul of the soul” and, even during the war, would bike long distances just to get her favorite foods like ketchup. “Reem was a part of my life,” Khaled told Anadolu Agency, his voice breaking as he recounted how an Israeli airstrike struck their home.

“I found myself buried under the rubble,” he said. “I suffered bruises, and my daughter was injured, but worst of all, we lost Reem and Tariq, my beloved grandchildren. My other son and daughter were also wounded.”

His dreams of seeing Reem grow up, go to university, and turn to him for advice on her future were shattered. “She was my light,” he added.

Salma Jaber (4 years old)

Salma was the spirited middle child between her older sister, Sarah, and her younger brother, Omar. On December 5, as their family tried to flee northern Gaza for safety, Salma ran towards her father, a photographer working for UNRWA, when she was shot and killed. “My three-year-old son, Omar, still asks me where Salma is,” Hussein Jaber told Al Jazeera. “He doesn’t understand how she could have been walking beside him, and now she’s just gone.”

Her absence haunts the family as they struggle to explain the incomprehensible to a child who can only remember her as a constant, loving presence.

Mahmoud Al-Dahdouh (15 years old)

Affectionately called “Little Wael” after his father, veteran Al Jazeera correspondent Wael Al-Dahdouh, Mahmoud was determined to follow in his father’s footsteps. During the war, he and his sister Kholoud posted videos documenting Gaza’s suffering, pleading for help. “There is no safe place in Gaza. This is the fiercest war we’ve ever known,” they said in one video.

On October 25, Mahmoud’s life was cut short along with his mother, his seven-year-old sister, Sham, and his infant nephew, Adam, in an Israeli airstrike on Nuseirat refugee camp. Twenty-one others perished with them.

Mahmoud’s dream of becoming a journalist and sharing Gaza’s story with the world died that day, but his voice lives on through the videos he courageously shared.

Lauren Al-Koumi (2 years old)

Lauren was the “long-awaited joy” of her family. Her uncle, Akram Hassan, mourned the niece he adored before ever holding her. “For the first and last time, I became an uncle. Lauren’s laughter stole our hearts. She was the family’s fruit, as her grandfather lovingly called her.”

Lauren’s potential was limitless. “She might have grown up to be an engineer like her father, or a teacher like her mother. She could have been a beauty icon, but the oppressive machinery of the occupier stole her from us.”

Akram’s heartache pours through his words as he reflects on all the moments he’ll never share with his beloved niece.

Yousef Shahada (5 years old)

Yousef, known for his striking green eyes, was just starting kindergarten when his life was cut short. He was killed along with his mother Du’aa and his only brother Musab, and their father followed them as a martyr ten months later.

Yousef’s mother, devastated by her loss, spoke through tears. “He’s not a number. My son has a name. People must know the names of our martyrs.”

Tala Abu Ajwa (10 years old)

Tala was just a child, joyfully playing outside in her pink roller skates when tragedy struck. Her father, Hussam, recounted the devastating moment: “At 5 p.m., Tala finally convinced her mother to let her go outside. A few minutes later, two massive explosions rocked our building. I rushed downstairs, and the first thing I saw was her pink roller skate, barely visible under the rubble.”

Tala was covered in blood, struggling for her last breath. The pink roller skate, once a symbol of her innocent joy, became a haunting reminder of what the war had taken from her family.

Khaled Al-Shawa (17 years old)

Khaled was riding his bike when he was killed in a targeted attack meant for Al Jazeera journalist Ismail al-Ghoul and cameraman Rami al-Rifi. His mother’s voice cracked as she spoke to Al Jazeera: “He’s not a number. My son has a name, and everyone must know it.”

Khaled wasn’t just a victim of war; he was a boy who cared for his family and neighbors. Every day, he carried food in his backpack to deliver to an elderly neighbor and his injured son, a small act of kindness that now carries the weight of an unimaginable loss.

Ziad Sidam (3 years old)

Ziad was just 3 years old when an Israeli airstrike tore through his family home in the Nuseirat refugee camp. His father, consumed by grief, shared his heart-wrenching final moments. “I tried to protect you, son, but I couldn’t. I did everything I could, but it wasn’t enough.”

As Ziad’s father rushed him to the hospital, he realized his son was dying in the car. “Tell God how scared you were when the bombs fell, Ziad. Tell Him everything, my love. You used to talk about everything.”

These stories are just a fraction of the thousands of children whose lives have been stolen. These children are not numbers. They are stories, memories, and bright futures that Israel has erased. We will continue to say their names, share their stories, and never allow their humanity to be lost in the statistics.

This article is reprinted from the Quds News Network

CrossFireArabia

CrossFireArabia

Dr. Marwan Asmar holds a PhD from Leeds University and is a freelance writer specializing on the Middle East. He has worked as a journalist since the early 1990s in Jordan and the Gulf countries, and been widely published, including at Albawaba, Gulf News, Al Ghad, World Press Review and others.

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Living With The Dead: Gazan Families Forced to Make Homes Among The Graves

In Gaza, even the cemeteries are no longer reserved for the dead.

CROSSFIREARABIA – In Gaza, even the cemeteries are no longer reserved for the dead.

Between headstones and freshly turned earth, Palestinian families have stretched sheets, driven wooden poles into the ground and erected makeshift tents. Children carry water through rows of graves. Mothers cook whatever food they can find beside burial plots. Washing hangs between tombstones. At night, families retreat behind thin pieces of cloth, surrounded by graves because, after repeated displacement, they say there is simply nowhere else to go.

The extraordinary sight is now part of Gaza’s displacement crisis: Living families making temporary homes in places built for the dead.

In Khan Younis, Deir al-Balah and elsewhere in the Gaza Strip, cemeteries and their surroundings have become last-resort shelters for Palestinians whose homes were destroyed or who were ordered to leave areas where they had already sought refuge.

The Palestine Information Center documented the Abu Samak family sleeping on the ground between graves in Al-Sawarha cemetery in Al-Zawayda, central Gaza, after they were forced from their home east of Deir al-Balah. The family said areas to which displaced people had been directed were already packed, leaving them with few choices. Father Adham Abu Samak summed up the family’s predicament with a question heard repeatedly across Gaza: Where are we supposed to go? 

Another displaced woman, Ibtisam Abu Amra, told the Palestine Information Center that her family fled from Abu Arif east of Deir al-Balah and eventually ended up in a cemetery in the centre of the city. She described displacement as taking the children, elderly relatives and whatever possessions could be carried and heading towards an unknown destination. When every alternative was exhausted, she said, the cemetery was what remained.

Ten Children Living Among the Graves

One of the clearest recent examples comes from the Al-Namsawi area of Khan Younis.

In July 2026, Al Jazeera documented the family of Mazen Younis, who, with his wife and children, had been living inside a cemetery in the Mawasi area of Khan Younis for around a year and a half.

The family had originally lived in the Al-Manara neighbourhood before successive displacement forced them elsewhere. Eventually they reached the cemetery.

Their “home” consisted largely of fabric screens erected between graves.

There was no normal kitchen, reliable water supply or the basic infrastructure associated with a house. Younis, who suffers from heart disease, relied on his young daughters to bring water to the family, even when the available water was not suitable for drinking.

Instead of attending school, the girls spent part of their day fetching water and walking to a takiyya, or community food kitchen, to collect meals.

Even that food, the family said, was insufficient.

Younis’s wife said there was no cooking gas or many of the other necessities normally found in a household. The children travelled daily for food and water while the family endured the heat, insects and the psychological strain of living surrounded by graves. The report also described rodents and scorpions as part of the family’s surroundings.

It is an existence reduced to its most basic components: Something overhead for shade, something beneath the body for sleeping, a container in which to carry water, and, when available, a pot in which to heat or cook food.

A Tent Becomes the Entire House

Reporting by the Gaza-based Safa News Agency provides another window into what happens when a family’s entire domestic life is compressed into a tent.

Displaced Palestinian Mardai Shahada described the tent as simultaneously the family’s house, bedroom and kitchen — their whole existence confined to cloth and plastic incapable of properly protecting them from the summer heat or winter cold. , Safa, the Palestine Press Agency has documented families patching worn tents with nylon and thread simply to keep some protection between themselves and the weather.

Other Safa reporting describes displaced people sitting beside plastic tents, storing water in buckets and improvising shelters from whatever materials they can obtain. During extreme heat, tents can become almost impossible to remain inside during daytime, while insects and even snakes have been reported around sleeping areas. ⁠

Winter presents the opposite problem.

Gaza’s Civil Defence told Safa that 1,542 tents were flooded by rain in just two days around the beginning of January 2025, with water rising above 30 centimetres in some locations. Bedding and personal belongings were soaked and some displaced people suffered severe shivering from the cold.

For families living in cemeteries, these same problems are compounded by the environment around them. There are few proper drainage systems, bathrooms or established water points designed for hundreds of people to live there.

Cooking Beside Graves

Life continues because it has to.

Families collect drinking and washing water in plastic jerrycans and buckets. Food comes from humanitarian assistance when available, community kitchens, relatives or whatever can be purchased at increasingly difficult prices.

Cooking is often improvised.

With kitchens destroyed and fuel scarce, displaced families across Gaza have relied on small fires and makeshift cooking arrangements beside their tents. Safa described families in displacement camps gathering around fires at night during cold weather.

Inside the cemeteries, domestic objects consequently appear in surroundings where they would once have seemed unimaginable: Cooking pots, plastic bowls, mattresses, blankets, clotheslines, water containers and children’s belongings sitting beside gravestones.

A cemetery ceases to function exclusively as a burial ground. It becomes a neighbourhood — but one without the services of a neighbourhood.

Toilets Are Another Problem

Sanitation is among the least visible but most serious difficulties.

There are generally no household bathrooms for families who pitch tents inside or beside burial grounds. Displaced people depend on whatever communal facilities exist nearby, improvised latrines or rudimentary pits.

The shortage of proper sanitation can create another danger.

In July 2026, Al Jazeera reported that a displaced Gaza resident trying to enlarge an absorption pit for wastewater beside his tent in Gaza City’s Sheikh Radwan neighbourhood unexpectedly uncovered the body of a child who had previously been buried there when the area was being used as an improvised wartime burial site.

The incident illustrates the extraordinary overlap that has developed between displacement and burial in Gaza: People are sometimes living on land where emergency graves were dug during earlier stages of the war.

Cemeteries Within Cemeteries

The crisis is made more complicated because Gaza’s burial system itself has been transformed.

Sanad News Agency, citing the Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor, reported in September 2024 that around 29 major improvised mass burial locations containing more than 3,000 bodies had been identified, while more than 120 smaller improvised mass graves containing three or more people had been created across Gaza since October 2023.

Sanad has subsequently reported efforts to remove bodies from some of these temporary wartime burial grounds and rebury them in established cemeteries. In December 2025, for example, Gaza Civil Defence said 94 bodies were removed from an improvised cemetery in Sahaba Street in Gaza City as part of a wider effort that had involved moving the remains of thousands of people previously buried in emergency locations.

The result is a landscape in which the distinction between residential space, displacement camp and burial ground has repeatedly been erased.

Hundreds of Families Around One Khan Younis Cemetery

There is no reliable, comprehensive figure for how many Palestinians are currently living inside cemeteries across the entire Gaza Strip. Numbers vary according to location and repeated displacement, and families may enter or leave a site after evacuation orders, attacks or changes in military control.

It would therefore be misleading to put forward one precise Gaza-wide number.

What can be documented, however, is that the phenomenon extends well beyond a handful of isolated families.

The Palestine Information Center reported that an area around the Turkish cemetery west of Khan Younis contained hundreds of displaced Palestinian families. During an Israeli military incursion in July 2025, many fled again, leaving behind fragile tents and small quantities of food and possessions. The same report described torn tents, scattered belongings and burned food after the troops withdrew according to the Palestine Information Center.

Al Jazeera reported in July 2026 that hundreds of displaced families had erected tents in and around cemetery areas in Khan Younis, while its correspondent referred more broadly to thousands of families being driven towards cemetery areas during successive waves of displacement.

The distinction is important: Hundreds of families have been specifically documented at individual cemetery locations, but there is no authoritative census establishing the total number of people sleeping in cemeteries throughout Gaza.

Even the Cemeteries Are Not Safe

Seeking shelter among graves does not guarantee protection.

In July 2025, the Palestine Information Center reported an Israeli ground incursion around the Turkish cemetery, slaughterhouse area and outskirts of Mawasi in Khan Younis. Tanks, artillery and bulldozers entered an area where hundreds of displaced families had been sheltering, forcing people to flee once again. Residents later returned to find tents destroyed and possessions scattered.

The same report cited Gaza’s Ministry of Religious Endowments as saying around 40 cemeteries had at that stage been completely or partly damaged during the war. More recent reporting by the Palestine Information Center, citing Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor, said in March 2026 that its analysis of 62 official cemeteries found 39 completely destroyed and another 19 partially damaged, leaving only four without documented damage — figures attributed to the rights organisation.

That makes the choice of a cemetery as shelter particularly bleak.

Families do not move there because they believe a graveyard is comfortable or safe. They move there because a cemetery may contain one of the few remaining pieces of ground on which nobody is demanding rent and where a tent can still be squeezed between other displaced families.

Living Beside Death

For adults, living among graves carries its own psychological burden.

For children it can be worse.

They play where bodies are buried. They walk between graves to fetch drinking water. After sunset, darkness, stray dogs, insects and the presence of the dead can turn the surroundings frightening.

Yet by morning the ordinary routines begin again.

Someone searches for water.

Someone goes to the community kitchen.

A mother washes clothes or dishes with the small amount of water available.

A fire is lit.

Children emerge from tents.

Blankets and mattresses are rearranged.

And families who once lived in houses try to reproduce the smallest elements of home in a place never intended for the living.

Gaza’s cemetery dwellers are therefore not simply another image of displacement. They represent something more disturbing: The exhaustion of alternatives.

When homes disappear, schools become shelters, shelters are overcrowded or attacked, rent is unaffordable and every supposedly safer area fills with tents, eventually even land belonging to the dead becomes valuable living space.

For some Palestinians in Gaza, the question is no longer whether anyone should have to live in a cemetery.

It is much simpler.

Where else can they go?

The above feature article is written with the help of AI based on specific information fed about Gazans being forced to seek shelter in cemetries. It’s posted on crossfirearabia.com with full links and references.

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Palestine in Color Dresses

Imtiaz Abu Awad writes:

Palestine is a land steeped in history, its civilizations and peoples existing thousands of years before the advent of the Abrahamic religions. It was home to the Canaanites and other peoples of the region. Therefore, the history of Palestine does not begin with Judaism, Christianity, or Islam; these religions arrived later in a land with a history and civilizations rooted for millennia. The Palestinians today are an extension of this land’s accumulated history. It is unacceptable to reduce Palestine to a single religious narrative or to deny the roots of a people who have lived there generation after generation. Justice today lies in preserving the Palestinians’ right to their homeland, their dignity, and their security, along with the right of all to peace.

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