From limb loss to rehabilitation: Inside Al-Bait Village, where Gaza's child amputees are learning to live again

Upon arriving at Al-Bait, the first village in Deir al Balah in central Gaza, providing education, healthcare and rehabilitation to orphaned children and children who have lost limbs, I expected to see children whose lives had been shattered by the devastation caused by Israel's ongoing genocidal war.

Instead, what stood out was the effort being made to give the children back something they had lost even before their limbs: the feeling of simply being children.

That sense of normality showed up in the ordinary things around the village: children sitting together for meals, drawings covering the walls, and teachers welcoming them as they arrived for the day, making the place feel less like a centre for children affected by the war and more like a new home.

This feeling of home is reflected in the name Al-Bait, which translates to 'the house' in English, and the idea for such a place came from an experience Abdulkarim Abu Daher, the founder, had several months before the village opened.

In July 2025, while Gaza was experiencing one of the most difficult stages of the war and famine, Abdulkarim left his home looking for food for his starving family.

Markets were empty and, after losing hope of finding anything, he headed towards an aid distribution point, hoping to find something among those returning from there.

On that journey, Abdulkarim saw scenes that would later lead him to create Al-Bait Village. 

While the sounds of bombing filled the area, he saw a mother trying to protect her child amid the fear and chaos and heard her saying, "I lost your father. Who do I have left if you leave me too?"

On his way back, he also saw two children who had lost limbs waiting for one of their relatives to return from an aid distribution point.

The scenes stayed with him after he returned home, and he began thinking about what he could do for children whose lives had changed in a single moment.

The project began to take shape in November 2025, with the village welcoming its first children at the beginning of 2026.

With limited funding and resources to begin with, a group of volunteers worked to transform a rented building into a suitable space for children, initially aiming to support around 130 children.

As more children began coming to the village, that number grew to around 240 children aged four to 14.

A new sense of routine

The daily routine at Al-Bait is designed around giving the children a sense of structure.

Every morning, a village bus picks them up and brings them to the centre, where teachers welcome them at the door before their day begins with education and skill-building activities.

Their time there isn't limited to books and lessons; some days are spent making wooden models, while others involve dabke, singing, and activities related to technology and artificial intelligence.

That routine also includes medical and psychological support, as the village provides healthcare and regular medical check-ups alongside rehabilitation for children who have lost limbs.

Every week, a psychologist meets with the children individually, as workers say not all the effects of the war show up in their bodies.

Some of what they carry shows up as fear, silence, or difficulty returning to daily life after experiences that have changed everything.

The children's physical and emotional needs can also affect how they adjust to the village itself.

Workers say some children arrived suffering from malnutrition and psychological trauma, while during their first days others did not want to study or stay at the village.

After months of displacement and fear, returning to any form of normal life could feel unfamiliar, but over time the place became part of their lives.

For some children, leaving the village has also been difficult because of the routine and community they found there.

One child who had returned to northern Gaza cried upon learning he would no longer be able to return to Al-Bait Village, so the team later arranged monthly transportation for him to continue attending.

For children who have lost limbs, however, the support they receive at the village is only one part of the much longer process of adjusting to life after their injuries.

Life without a limb

The loss of limbs among children has become one of the most devastating consequences of the war in Gaza, with thousands reported to have lost one or more limbs since Israel began its attacks on the Gaza Strip.

For them, the injury does not end at the moment of amputation, as the lack of suitable prosthetic limbs and rehabilitation programmes can affect their movement, independence and ability to return to the lives they had before.

The experiences of people who have lost limbs came into renewed focus in September 2026 after the controversy surrounding Adidas' campaign featuring an amputee Israeli veteran.

The campaign prompted criticism and calls for a boycott, while activists drew attention to people who have lost limbs in Gaza, and Adidas later apologised for the campaign.

But behind the debate around the advert are the stories of children facing a different reality: losing a limb, waiting for a prosthetic and going through a long process of rehabilitation to regain some independence.

For the children at Al-Bait Village, those difficulties show up in the details of their everyday lives, with each child experiencing how their injury has changed what they can do.

Mahmoud, a 10-year-old boy, was inside his home while his mother was preparing food when they were hit. He says his sister was killed before she could eat, while his own leg was amputated up to his hip.

"I was standing inside the home while mama was preparing food. Suddenly, we were hit. Even my sister was killed before she could eat. I was injured, and my leg was amputated up to my hip," he tells The New Arab.

Before his injury, Mahmoud loved playing, especially football, and imagined himself growing up like his older brother, going to the gym and practising sports.

Now, he says the hardest thing is going outside and moving around like other children, which has also changed ordinary parts of his life, such as buying shoes.

"The hardest thing for me is going outside and moving like the other children," he says. "I buy boots, but I only wear one of them."

For Mahmoud, the solution he wants is a prosthetic limb, which he sees as a way of regaining some of the movement he has lost.

"I want to have a prosthetic limb," he adds.

Abdul Rahman, 12, has already received one. Before his injury, much of his life revolved around playing outside and riding his bicycle, and he was sitting outside his home when he got off his bike to help a neighbour charge a battery.

Moments later, the bombing happened, leaving him injured and without his leg.

The injury affected more than just Abdul Rahman's ability to move; he says he became embarrassed about going outside and spent most of his time on his phone.

Later, receiving a prosthetic limb helped him regain some independence and made it easier to move around.

"I was embarrassed to go outside and move around. I spent all my time on my phone," he says. "Since I got the prosthetic limb, I have been able to move better."

Abdul Rahman adds that he dreams of having an advanced electronic prosthetic limb, but his priorities shift as he talks about the other children at Al-Bait Village who are still waiting for prosthetics.

Rather than focusing on what he wants for himself, he says he wants the other children to have the same opportunity to move more independently.

"I don't want an electronic prosthetic limb anymore. I just want all my friends here to have prosthetic limbs too," he explains.

The long road to independence

Mohammed, a child from northern Gaza who was displaced to Deir al Balah, is also still adjusting to the changes caused by his injury.

His father had gone to an aid distribution point in the Al Nabulsi area during the famine, and after his father was delayed, Mohammed and his brother went looking for him before they were hit by shelling.

Before the injury, Mohammed says he was able to run, carry water jerrycans and do whatever he wanted, but he now needs help with many parts of his daily life even though he has received a prosthetic limb.

"I used to run, do whatever I wanted, and carry water jerrycans," he says. "Now I feel trapped."

Mohammed says the prosthetic limb has helped him, but only partly restored the independence he had before his injury.

"The prosthetic limb helped me by about 50%," he continues.

His experience reflects a wider problem facing the children at Al-Bait Village, because receiving a prosthetic limb is not necessarily the end of the process.

Children still need rehabilitation and time to learn how to use their prosthetics, while access to suitable limbs and the equipment needed to support their recovery remains a major challenge.

Al-Bait Village continues to support children who already have prosthetics and help others whenever resources become available, but the need remains much greater than what the village can provide on its own.

For children still waiting, losing a limb can affect ordinary parts of life, from moving around outside and playing with friends to doing things as simple as putting on a pair of shoes.

That is why the work at Al-Bait goes beyond rehabilitation. The village is also trying to provide children with a place to learn, eat together, participate in activities, and spend time with others who have experienced similar things, while supporting them through the emotional and physical effects of the ongoing genocide. 

Months after Abdulkarim first saw children who had lost their limbs while searching for food for his own family, he now stands among hundreds of children inside the village that grew out of that experience.

The shortage of prosthetic limbs and medical equipment continues to limit the children's ability to fully rebuild their lives, but Al-Bait Village is trying to give them somewhere to continue with their education, receive support and experience parts of childhood that the war has taken away from them.

Hassan Herzallah is a Palestinian writer and translator from Gaza. He holds a bachelor's degree in English Translation and writes about Middle East affairs, life under siege, displacement, and the daily realities of Palestinians in Gaza. His work has been published by international media outlets and translated into more than nine languages. He also works as an Arabic-to-English translator