Until the most recent war on Gaza, I had never met Hamza, my aunt’s grandson. In fact, I barely knew his name. It wasn’t until the occupation forces declared Gaza City a military zone following October 7, that I was able to spend time with him as his mother’s home became our only refuge.
Hamza Othman was a cheerful, lively 13-year-old who embraced life with joy. He had two brothers and a younger sister. During the four months we spent together in Rafah I quickly saw that he was a remarkable boy.
My aunt loved him deeply and worried about him all the time. He was always there to help her with the shopping, and accompanied her on all outings. Every morning, he would visit her house just to say good morning and sit with her for a while.
I received the heart-breaking news of his killing twenty months into this brutal genocide and famine waged against the people of Gaza. Whilst loss and destruction was all around us all the time, the nature of his death left me in a state of shock.
Hamza had gone to an aid distribution point with his uncle and was shot in the head by Israeli forces. He didn’t die immediately, and initially remained in critical condition.
Can you imagine the level of mercilessness inflicted by Israel? A little boy, who shouldn’t even be burdened with the weight of having to help feed his starving family, is assassinated simply for going to gather food.
When Hamza’s grandmother heard the news, she ran through the streets, under the scorching sun, grief-stricken, overwhelmed, and terrified. When she reached him in his lifeless state, she suffered a partial stroke.
From that point, she never left his side. For a while, it seemed like there was some hope that he would recover. He was fighting with all his strength to survive, for her and for his family. He spent less than a week receiving treatment at a hospital in the southern Gaza Strip.
One day, his grandmother sat beside him, holding his hand, and said softly: “If you can hear me, squeeze my hand”. And he did. It gave everyone faith. I truly believed he would survive.
Tragically just two days later, he died from his injuries.
All I could think about from the moment I was told the tragic news, was the cruelty of how he was taken away. He did not deserve to die. My heart immediately filled with a deep hatred for this unjust world.
And then his family, I thought. How will Hamza’s grandmother endure life without him? Her world will feel completely empty. Only in Gaza can people die from hunger, bombs and bullets, and even during the desperate act of trying to escape starvation, all at the same time.
For those left behind, there is the quiet death of grief, of heartbreak, of unbearable oppression.
I cannot allow myself to forget him. To let Israel rid the world of his memory. So I think about how Hamza was a symbol of childhood innocence, kindness, and warmth. Every morning before school, he would prepare breakfast for his younger brothers.
He also shared a dream with his brother Mohammed, to one day study side by side in university and become famous doctors who would practice together.
He had the potential to grow into someone truly remarkable, who would have given so much to his community.
But his beautiful dreams were never meant to exist in the shadow of such a brutal and merciless war. And Mohammed is without his dearest friend and beloved brother as he continues fighting for survival.
The world cannot pretend that it doesn’t know Gaza has been enduring a devastating famine since March due to Israel’s blockade. More sinister than this, aid distribution points have become death traps for Palestinians. Like Hamza, people are going to seek help, to feed themselves and their loved ones, and instead literally die hungry.
They’re not aid distribution points; they are points of humiliation and killing.
Thirteen-year old Hamza did everything he could to help his family against a backdrop of bullets and airstrikes. With all the power that people and their leaders have outside the nightmare that Israel has forced upon Palestinians in Gaza, why are more people not speaking up? Why are they not pressuring Israel to let urgent aid in? Why are they not stopping the killing?
Aya Al-Hattab is a writer and translator in Gaza.
Follow Aya on Twitter/X: @AyaHattab22
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