Inside Israel's Dar al-Arqam school massacre: Survivors speak of loss, pain, and the ongoing search for loved ones

Earlier this month, Israel bombed the Dar al-Arqam school in the north-eastern Tuffah district of Gaza City, which was housing displaced people. At least 30 people were killed, including 19 children, and over 100 others were injured.

Speaking to The New Arab, 30-year-old survivor Mohammed Shukri said he was sheltering in the school with his seven-month-pregnant wife, Walaa, and their two children.

Just going about his day, Mohammed explained that he was playing tennis with nine friends in the schoolyard, a daily routine at 4:00 pm to lift their spirits amidst the difficult conditions caused by the ongoing genocide in Gaza.

Recalling the moments before the attack, Mohammed said the yard was filled with children chanting for their favourite teams. Other families in the corridor were preparing lunch for their hungry loved ones.

“My wife Walaa and our daughters, Mariam and Reem, were cheering for me and my team. I waved at them and blew kisses after every goal I scored. They waved back at me, too," Mohammed tells The New Arab. 

“I waved at them and blew kisses seconds before three missiles struck the upper floors of the school, directly above my family.”

When the missiles hit, Mohammed said the chants and laughter turned into screams and cries, and the school was filled with dust.

Mohammed said that when the dust finally cleared, he found himself in a scene of devastation: a pool of blood, scattered limbs, and headless bodies — some of which belonged to his friends, who had been playing with him moments before. Others survived, but many were critically injured or had lost limbs.

“I just wanted to give her a farewell kiss on her forehead and bury her, but those kisses — the ones I’ll never forget — were, in the end, farewell kisses"

In shock, Mohammed rushed upstairs to the second-floor classroom where he had last seen his wife, Walaa. There, he found her lifeless, pulled from under the rubble.

Frozen, he stood in disbelief for a moment before Reem appeared from the debris, crying and asking, “Where are Mum and Mariam, Dad?”

“I was speechless. I could only hug her,” Mohammed said. “I then rushed to the Baptist Hospital, as Reem's leg was bleeding.”

He continued, "On the way there, I shielded her eyes from the sight of the bodies and limbs scattered across the streets."

Once Reem was safely at the hospital, Mohammed returned to the school to search for Mariam, only to find it bombed again and reduced to a pile of rubble.

“Nothing of the school was left,” he said. “Only burnt trees, destroyed vehicles, and a minaret from the school mosque were scattered across the site. All that remained was a heap of rubble," he said. 

“I searched for Mariam among the rubble for several days, but I couldn’t find her. She is still missing,” he added, tears falling from his eyes.

“I just wanted to give her a farewell kiss on her forehead and bury her, but those kisses — the ones I’ll never forget — were, in the end, farewell kisses.”

'Bodies and limbs flying up in the sky'

Malek Hassouna, another resident of Gaza, also shared his experience of the attack on Al-Arqam school. He was desperately searching for his eight-month-old nephew, Sanad, who had been in the school when the bombing occurred.

According to Malek, Sanad had been sitting near his parents and four siblings when the attack struck.

Upon hearing the news that the school had been targeted, Malek, who lives just 30 metres from the school, rushed to the scene.

When he arrived, Malek was relieved to find his sister Maha, her husband Mohammad, and some of their children in the yard, injured but alive.

However, amidst the chaos and agony, Malek and his friends searched the rubble for Sanad, but he was nowhere to be found.

The others were taken to Baptist Hospital for treatment and, though their injuries were moderate, were later discharged and allowed to return to Malek’s home.

Malek’s heart sank when he learned that Maha’s eight-year-old daughter, Beesan, had suffered severe injuries and was still in the intensive care unit after undergoing multiple surgeries for fractures to her skull and leg.

As the attacks intensified, Malek added that he and his friends sought shelter in a house 50 metres away from the school.

“The school was hit again so heavily that it shook the earth beneath us,” Malek recalled. “We thought it might swallow us whole.”

When the bombing stopped, Malek and his friends returned to the destroyed school, digging through the rubble with an axe and a jackhammer, trying to find Sanad again. He handed a photo of his nephew to the civil defence teams and asked them to search for a child in blue pyjamas.

Meanwhile, Malek's brothers searched nearby streets, surrounding areas, and rooftops, where, in Malek's words, they had seen "bodies and limbs flying up in the sky during the attack."

Despite their efforts, by nightfall, they still hadn’t found Sanad and had to break the news to Maha, who could only say: “My child is alive, not dead. I’m sure he’s crying from hunger, cold, and fear, alone in the dark.”

The next day, after hours of searching, Malek and his brothers heard a faint cry. They followed the sound and began digging again, this time with their bare hands. After more than an hour of digging, they finally reached Sanad.

“I hugged my brothers and knelt on the ground, thanking God that my nephew was still alive,” Malek said, adding, “We pulled him out and rushed him to his mother, who couldn’t stop hugging and kissing him, shedding tears of joy.”

Malek noted that his nephew had bruises on his back and face.

'Pulled lifeless from under the rubble'

Meanwhile, across the street from the school, Eman AlBanna, 32, was facing a similar nightmare.

She found herself lying in an empty field, 15 metres from the school, with her husband, Ahmed, lying motionless beside her. As night fell, she reached out to him, but he did not respond.

At first, Eman couldn’t remember what had happened or why she was in that place. It wasn’t until her memory started to return that the truth of the bombing began to sink in.

“I was having lunch with my husband and my five children in the school when, suddenly, a missile hit,” Eman recalled.

“Then two more struck a few seconds later. I remember flying outside the school with my children, and I was conscious until I hit the ground.”

After being admitted to the hospital and regaining consciousness, Eman shared that she had asked her mother about her children, but when she heard the truth, she broke down crying, and a nurse had to give her a sedative.

Unable to eat, drink, or speak to anyone, Eman said she spent her time crying over the fate of her children, as two of her daughters, Raghad and Islam, were critically injured. Raghad had a skull fracture, and Islam had third-degree burns covering much of her body.

“They are still being treated in the hospital, and I don’t know when their health will improve. I fear losing them too, like my other three children,” Eman shared.

She went on to clarify, “My only son, 10-year-old Mohammad, was pulled lifeless from under the rubble, while my two other daughters, Aseel and Jawan, are still missing."

Eman continued, "I don’t know if they’re still under the rubble or if they were lost when the blast threw us.

"I just want to say goodbye to them and bury them in a grave. It’s a basic right for any normal human being when dying."

Khuloud Rabah Sulaiman is a Gaza-based writer for WeAreNotNumbers.org