‘When Israel Stole My Eyes…’
CrossFireArabia- August 18, 2025
By Fatina Abu Mustafa
“Blood covered my face. My hair was burning. The fire in my hair was the only light I could see,” Tasneem whispered, recalling the night her world collapsed.
I can’t imagine an end to this war. I can’t even define the peace of imagining what it would look like, because war has stolen everything from Gazans, even the light in their eyes.
Just months earlier, 19-year-old Tasneem was preparing for her tawjihi, Palestine’s crucial high school exams that decide a student’s future. Like thousands of other students in Gaza, she dreamed of scholarships, university, and a life beyond the blockade. Instead, she was fighting to keep her eyesight, grieving her sister and father, and carrying her schoolbooks through displacement camps.
Her story is one among thousands. According to Gaza’s Ministry of Education, 15,553 school students and 1,111 university students have been killed since the genocide began. Another 23,411 schoolchildren and 2,317 university students were injured, many left permanently disabled. For Gaza’s youth, war has not only destroyed classrooms but also their bodies and futures.
The Night That Changed Everything
It was October 10, 2023, at 2:30 a.m. in Bani Suhaila. Tasneem and her sister Hadeel stood at the window when shelling lit up the street near the Asfour station.
“Suddenly, smoke, dust, and fire blinded me,” Tasneem said. “Blood covered my face. My hair caught fire. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. My hair burning was the only light around me.”
When she looked back, she saw Hadeel lying on the floor in flames. “That moment is the hardest I’ve ever lived through,” she said through tears.
Tasneem stumbled down the stairs as flames consumed the upper floor. Shattered glass cut deep into her feet. Her leg broke when she slipped. Outside, the sky glowed red and the streets burned.
“I sat on the street with my hands on my head,” she recalled. “I just wanted this nightmare to end.”
Loss Upon Loss
Tasneem thought her entire family had died. Whispering the shahada, she braced for death. But her parents were alive, and in the chaos her mother tried to comfort her. “Mama, my face is all distorted. I can’t see, only blood,” Tasneem cried. Moments later, they discovered the unbearable truth: Hadeel had been martyred.
Her injuries were severe; a burst eyeball, retinal detachment, and deep cuts that required stitches. Gaza’s hospitals, overwhelmed and starved of resources, made her wait hours before doctors could treat her.
Just three days later, tragedy struck again. Her father, Adli Baraka, was killed in another Israeli strike. “I felt like I lost all my vision and hope,” she said.
The Fight for Sight
On October 11, a private doctor warned her family that her condition was critical. Without immediate surgery, she would go blind. With Gaza’s health system collapsing, the operation was performed without anaesthesia, crude stitches to hold her eye together.
The Ministry of Health in Gaza reports that around 1,500 people have already lost their eyesight during this genocide, while another 4,000 are at risk due to shortages of medicine and equipment. UNRWA has warned of catastrophic consequences as Israel continues to block vital aid, including supplies for eye surgeries.
For Tasneem, the pain was relentless. Doctors warned her not to cry, not to stress, not to strain her eye. But how could she obey, when she had just buried her sister and father, and was living under bombardment?
Dreams Against the Rubble
On November 3, 2023, after weeks of delays, Tasneem was finally evacuated to Egypt for emergency surgery. By the time she arrived, her right eye was blind. Surgeons injected silicone oil in hopes of saving her remaining sight.
Despite advice to stay in Egypt and continue treatment, Tasneem returned to Gaza. Her younger siblings were still there, and after her father’s death, she couldn’t abandon her mother. She gave up comfort and medical care to be with her family.
Now she lives in a tent, suffering headaches, worsening pain, and the weakening of her other eye. And yet, she studies. Every time she fled — from Bani Suhaila, then Rafah, then Deir al-Balah — she carried her schoolbooks with her.
“The doctors told me reading could make my eyes worse,” she admitted. “But I still took my books. They are my last hope.”
Her books are not just paper and ink; they are her defiance. In a genocide that has stripped her of almost everything, they are the one dream she refuses to surrender.
The Unseen Wounds of War
The physical injuries are only part of Tasneem’s struggle. Shame keeps her indoors. “When I wear the eye patch outside, I feel so ashamed,” she said. “I’m a young girl who wants to live like other young ladies.”
Her mother, Ghada, reminds her daily that she is beautiful, no matter the scars. But emotional healing is nearly impossible in a place with no safe spaces, no medical aid, and no support for trauma survivors. Every step of Tasneem’s recovery has come not from international organizations, but from her family’s sacrifice.
A Message to the World
When I asked Tasneem what she wants now, her answer was simple:
“I wish the war would end. I want the suffering to stop. I want proper medical care for my eye and to continue my education like other girls. I don’t want to lose my eyes — I need them as a child needs something with all of its heart.”
Tasneem’s story is one of tens of thousands. Gaza’s children are not just casualties of bombs; they are being starved, blinded, and denied the chance to learn. Her voice is a reminder that these are not numbers — they are young lives, interrupted but still fighting.
“Put yourselves in our place,” Tasneem said, her one good eye filling with tears. “You couldn’t live one minute as we do.”
