GAZA MEDICAL MISSION

Today we went with Heroic Hearts to see some of the amazing work they do in Gaza. They employ local Gazans who take care of foreign doctors like me while we are here but before the war, they also primarily manage local institutions like food pantries, medical clinics and even shelters. Since the beginning of the war, they’ve helped establish tent cities for the displaced… try and set up education for a small group of children whose schools have all been reduced to rubble and run an orphanage (along with the continued clinics and food pantries). They used to have over 50 food pantries pre-invasion… now have just 9… and they are extremely expensive to run AND in the context of the restricted supply of aid… not able to be consistent. As I’ve told you… the current game, it seems, is to let in tens of trucks intermittently instead of the 500+ daily required to restore nutritional stability to the starved population of Gaza. The primary meal, when able to be delivered… is bread or pasta. I get asked often, where should I donate… I can tell you from this experience that Heroic Hearts employs sincere and wonderful Gazans, and the work they do is real. It’s never enough in this context… but it is something… and more than that, it is resistance. The system of money delivery to Gaza is expensive and out of every dollar you send, $0.60 goes to Gazans and the other $0.40 gets eaten up in fees… but 60% of something is better than 100% of nothing and these orgs provide food safely and help consistently (plus the employees they employ can then support their families).

- One such man is Abu Khaled (Abdulnaser). He speaks English about as good as I speak Arabic so we understand each other quite well in the opposite language. He told me today… the moment I met you, I knew I loved you and Wallahi that is reciprocated. He’s married with 5 kids and used to be an accountant before the war. His countenance first appears pretty stern… until he smiles… and then you see the deep wrinkles in all the places you’d expect from someone who smiles all the time. He keeps trying to get me coffee and when he does, he tells me: “We got ripped off… this is mostly cooked with chickpeas.” (FYI all Gazans are absolutely nuts about coffee. You’ll hear it here often. This is the worst part of the war because they stopped all the food, and more importantly, the coffee. They’ll joke: “What kind of evil stops people from drinking coffee?” Abu Khaled, like everyone on this team of HHO employees, is malnourished. He puts his kids first and so any food he gets goes to his wife and kids and he doesn’t seem to consume anything. He just keeps going.

⁠I’m going to take a moment to better explain for the full context of how bad things truly are in Gaza. There is NO sugar to be found. No coffee. There has not been chocolate in 5 months. They haven’t eaten a meaningful amount of fruits in over 8 months. When they get aid, sporadically as it comes, they get rice and flour. Beyond the food stuff, every pair of shoes I see on people are in their last days. There are no new shoes in Gaza for 22 months, no new clothes… they latch onto what they have and move on. All the kids exchange slippers as they grow with other kids so they have some type of footwear. There are no socks. There are no necessities… AND there are NO luxuries. There is no Nutella… no peanut butter (my friend told me he hasn’t tasted peanut butter in 12-14 months). There is NO NEW phones… every phone in Gaza is over two years old… and when you are displaced 3-4 times, your phones have a crack, a useless battery and poor reception. All the charging wires seem to be fried. All the laptops are at the ends of their ropes. The vehicles have been using “dirty gas” and so there are constant issues with vehicles functioning (and very few to begin with). Clean water is a challenge to find. Tap water in Gaza comes from the ground which is salty because of the proximity to the ocean and so typically needs a filtration system to drink: All the filters are out of date, everywhere. There is little to no Tylenol, no cough syrup for sick kids with URIs. There is no consistent supply of chronic medications, so blood pressures and blood glucose levels are out of control. There is no perfume or deodorant coming in. Toothpaste is blocked too. Feminine hygiene products are extremely rare, and even soap is missing. There is NO refrigeration in Gaza except in small amounts in hospitals (none in people’s homes). When it gets dark out, it is dark everywhere except the hospital that has its generator systems. Gaza is not just being starved of food, it’s being starved of life itself.

On a personal note, I absolutely hate to do humanitarian media pieces on the mission trips (this is not just for Gaza, but for every place I’ve ever worked). Most doctors hate doing it but we are requested to do so by the NGOs to show the work on the ground and get some PR for fundraising needs. I appreciate the necessity, but it always feels bad. It feels worse in Gaza. These beautiful children that the world has neglected are so excited to meet us and say thank you. When we’ve done nothing right by them. Every aspect of their childhoods have been stripped away by us, the ones in charge of their wellbeing… and yet in these moments, it feels as though they get exploited again to bring in funds. The feeling does not make it true and HHO really does an amazing job. The kids and families are left to rely on humanitarian organizations instead of just being allowed to live the lives they deserve to live, and to provide for themselves the way they used to just months ago. I fear the day we have to face these beautiful children in front of God and we are asked about our neglect. That we eat and drink and move on with life, while they cry and ache and feel alone.

We visited the orphanage (you’ll see a dancing clown with a lot of children). Every one of those kids has lost either their father or both parents since the start of the war. There were hundreds in the small room. The HHO had a little party for them, and we attended as guests. One of my colleagues and I broke down at one point. I couldn’t help thinking about the injustice of this situation and my own kids. Being born in one land should not confer such level of oppression. Yousef, one of the young volunteers who is like my little bro at this point, squeezed my hand and said: “Stop crying, don’t show the kids they are sad. Give them a moment of enjoyment. He was absolutely right. My feelings do not matter here. I hugged him and told him so, then tried to dance and play with the kids for a bit. They laughed and smiled and were curious… like every kid in the world. They came up to me to shake my hand or give me a high five. Dr. Farhan lifted one child on his shoulders. She looked like she had the time of her life for a few moments. The Gazan staff at the orphanage actually had huge smiles and happy tears in their eyes seeing us be silly. The world needs to simply be of service to these kids. The event ended with all the surviving widows and orphans receiving hygiene kits (soaps, detergent and toothpaste, etc.). I later asked how much an event like this costs in the current environment of scarcity including the gifts and food: $5,000.

Abu Khaled, my brother from an area called Shuja’iyya. He tells me as he holds my arm: “Brother, you don’t feel like a guest to me, you feel like one of us. Officially, you are from Shuja’iyya like me. It’s destroyed now, but when we rebuild, I cannot wait to invite you to eat Musakhan”.

Patiently waiting for her turn in the food line. Today, the pantry had enough macaroni to feed the small crowd at the distribution site. What will she say of us when she meets God about how we neglected her?

This was in the makeshift school. These kids wrote small notes and colored pictures to show us. There are no words to describe the amount of potential in that room. May all of them be the oath to the freedom of their people.

Dr. Israa (a local primary care doctor working at the clinic) speaking with our very own Dr. Farhan. She sees three hundred patients a day by herself and treats everything from chronic hypertension, to antenatal care to pediatric rashes. She puts us all to shame and her intelligence is apparent the moment you hear her voice, MashAllah.

I visited the beach with my new family for a few minutes. Gaza could be paradise… which would match its inhabitants… people of paradise. Pictured here are two fishermen… risking their lives to get food for their family. Israel has consistently killed and detained ANYONE fishing as a matter of policy because, apparently, even the sea is theirs.

Update by Dr. Ahmad Yousaf

On a personal note… my exit day has been pushed to the 12th of August. This gives me 2.5 weeks total in Gaza. I could tell you this makes me sad, but in my heart of hearts, I already fear the day I depart from this place and these people. Their situation will likely not have changed and may be significantly worse with the insanity of Netanyahu now confirming what we’ve known ALL ALONG AND SCREAMING AT THE VERY TOP OF OUR DAMN LUNGS: Israel will attempt to completely occupy and displace the inhabitants of Gaza. They will try to do the same in the West Bank shortly thereafter.

These people…are the best people on earth. Their belief and resilience are so prolific it would change the world if they weren’t caged like animals. Their men are full of love and compassion and uphold the type of service to their families and communities we write about in books. Their women are stronger than most men I’ve ever met outside this place, brilliant, dignified and kind.

How can I leave them in this state? How can we all leave them like this? I feel desperate typing this because I am. I cannot believe it. My brain cannot fathom that we have, as Americans, supported, condoned and funded this… through multiple administrations, parties, houses of congress and beyond. It does not feel possible that what my eyes see every day has historically been supported and lauded by majority of America, for far too long. I know the narrative has shifted. I know the truth is revealing itself. I know people are waking up to what we have wrought, but if there is no action, there will be nobody left to save.

Content Warning: The following images and videos contain graphic medical content. They are being shared to show the horrific realities of suffering on the ground in Gaza. Viewer discretion is advised.

I woke up this morning to chaos outside the window. Another few dead, more mourning families. More anger. More screaming at the world and into the heavens. More prayers, and then calm. Then I watch them carry another body (maybe 2 this time) on their shoulders to the graveyard. I’ve been here just a little while and the sheer volume of dead is hard to process. I think it’s also important to remember that every one of these deaths changes the lives of their families forever. One student told me: “They think we are just numbers, but we are people.” This trip, in contrast to the last, is defined by the current targets of the IDF… young men and boys. The world has looked at this conflict and has always assumed that if you are male and young, that your life means nothing, that your death is inevitable… or even worse - deserved. I’ve seen 14-year-olds here take on the responsibility of entire families… carrying the burden of feeding them, getting them water and keeping their women safe (mothers, sisters, aunts, cousins and grandmothers). I’ve seen 20-year olds’ stress about how they will move a disabled elder (from prior attack) from one tent to another when an evacuation order is sounded…and the answer is simple: they will find a way to carry them. The entire world is on the back of the shabab (young men/boys) of Gaza. I used to wonder how, in history, we learn about historical figures in their young teenage years leading nations and the masses. I always thought it impossible, until I met the boys of Gaza… and it makes complete sense. Luring this group to the food distribution sites to specifically pick them off or maim them is no accident. The IDF, for 76 years has always played the long game… and destroying a generation of potential resistance and social stability is par for the course. What they fail to realize is the ones left behind only gain more resolve to exist, to preserve, and to resist.

One of the water tankers came next to the hospital and there was a mad dash of people from everywhere to get some clean drinking water. Remember that all it would take to prevent this chaos is simply Israel turning on the water (which they have controlled the entire time and since the beginning of the occupation). One conversation with our president, or our ambassador… could change all the people you see having simple access to drinking water. Unfortunately, the little news I see shows me that we, at least our government, is doing the exact opposite. Doubling down on complicity. The evidence of the crimes against humanity are so apparent here it would make you sick. I swear… I wish I could bring them face to face with the misery in the ER… to smell the blood of children, to hear the moaning of the hungry, wounded and dying, to feel the pain of a mother watching her children die for simply trying to feed her… to experience the panic of hearing your whole world lie on the cold ER floor breathing their last. Maybe then they’d stop shaking hands with the devil who did this.

⁠Yousef, age 31 and my sidekick from Heroic Hearts, used to be a chef. He had a restaurant in the north… and then the war started and, of course, the IDF destroyed everything. He has two beautiful children, Yaffa (aka Fufu) and Yara (aka YouYou). He told me that EVERY single one of his restaurant staff members have been killed since the start of the war. We scrolled through his phone, and he showed me his old store… full of beautiful, smiling faces as they cooked for their people, some pictures even after the war started when there was still some food to cook… and he’d whisper: “God have mercy on them.” Meaning they were gone forever. Because of him, a part of me comes from Jabaliya, where he is from. We walked in the streets to the middle of Gaza to look at the markets where sugar gets sold at $200 per kilogram because there is none… and most of the tables remain empty… “No one can afford this… not even those that had good money before the war.” Yousef is not a man of many words, and he keeps his eyes down, deeply thinking most of the time… unless he’s speaking about his daughters or about the days he used to cook in his restaurant. Then, he lights up: “I was the only one cooking pizza like the Italians. I went and learned in Europe how to do it, and Gazans used to love the food I made…” He hits his vape and then his eyes return down to the ground… “Satada3oon alyawm hatha, inshAllah.” This day will return, by the will of God.

Yousef, my man from Jabaliya, got me this. The world knows nothing of the quality of the generosity of the Gazan people. Multiple times in this trip, Yousef will look faint, and I’ll catch him. He’s lost 17-18 kg since the beginning of the war… he’s got no reserves.

Water tanker outside the window

Met a man who has no idea how much he is loved around the world today. Literally walking to the beach area and saw a few men sitting together and he was amongst them. “Shu ya zalama?” were his famous words. The entire Muslim world heard those words. He had just learned that one of his sons died and he was speaking to another relative who was crying and he said, “What is this? Don’t cry, young man! We are all already amongst the shaheed!” He reminds his young relative that this life is nothing, that his own son is now with God, happy and in bliss. There are some who talk… we all saw, in the most raw moment of emotion and loss, that this man walks the walk of true faith. Everything about him is beautiful.

The people of Gaza just live. There is nothing safe about this family living in this spot, but it’s here or the street and they have made their choice.

I previously mentioned “Abu Khaled” from Shu’jaiya. I had one-on-one time with him today and had a chance to really hear what he has been through. We were sitting around each other in the dark as the hospital power went out and we had some downtime. One man amongst us mentioned “the worst day of his life” being the day he found his own brother in the rubble… limbless, faceless… and mentioned how hard it was to get him out to bury him by hand.

Abu Khaled… had a smile on his face… but this was not a smile of happiness… it was intense pain. He nodded… he said a prayer for the young man and his brother who had passed and said… “I have a story for the worse time in my life.” (Paraphrased from Arabic and broken English) “My elderly mother was injured when her house was bombed. I ran to her and found her injured. She was frail, already in her 70’s and now severely injured with blood everywhere so I picked her up in my arms and carried for almost two kilometers to the place we were staying. I stepped foot into the house we were staying in and by the time I walked from the door to the bed to put her down, she was gone. I never felt more pain in me than this moment. Since then (he puts his hands out like he’s carrying someone in his arms), anytime I carry anything… it feels like I’m carrying her and my body cannot hold her. I feel her in my arms now.

The worst part is that my sister was injured in a rocket attack on her home days later. I brought her to my home to take care of her massive injuries and at this time, there were no hospitals to care for her. She died after three weeks of agony. Anytime I helped move her or helped her to the bathroom she would scream in pain and say it felt like she had shards of glass in her back. She died this way, and the day she died… I could not cry because her two young daughters and son were with me and I needed to care for them and show them strength.” He looked at me, with his deeply sunken but still kind eyes. He looked down at his phone and tapped the screen to show the background… his mother… “I never even had a chance to mourn her because there was always something next.” We spent the next hour talking about his 1.5 years living in a tent… the winter with rain pouring through the tent… the time the tent he was living in was bombed by rockets… the way he told his then 5 year old son that if he heard a bomb blast, instead of being scared… he would make him clap with a big smile as a way to make the fear go away. He showed me pictures of his little baby Sham, and how she had only ever known life in tents until just a few months ago when they finally found a room to rent that he could afford for now.

I sat shoulder to shoulder with him on the floor… scrolling through his life… making jokes about the absurdity of his situation. He did not cry… I did, but Alhamdulilah it was too dark for him to notice. Abu Khaled needs a vacation… and coffee that isn’t made of chickpeas… and food for his children… and a chance to sit at his mothers’ grave. He needs a safe place to live. He needs to care for his orphaned nephew and nieces. He deserves a life. He deserves to live. He deserves more than all of us.

Good news today - likely secondary to international pressure - many food trucks were allowed in the north for consecutive days.

Because of this, two immediate things changed: Firstly, the price of food dropped dramatically (still very expensive compared to pre-war, BUT I heard many patients, families and friends explain to me they might be able to comfortably buy things they could not for their families).

Secondly, there were far less patients from the food distribution sites. If there is food getting in, there are less young boys/men having to trek to the food distribution sites directly and significantly less risk of being fired upon by the IDF soldiers that lure them out there with minimal aid distribution.

THIS IS WHAT INTERNATIONAL PRESSURE CAN DO. It’s this simple. The next step is to keep the flow of aid consistent, to stop the bombardment and to allow international journalists in NOW.

Shrapnel and Shards of Glass

When I left Gaza last year, I left my heart therein, When I returned this time, I could not find it anywhere, But as I searched, I learned it had broken into many pieces, For I found a part of it with each person from whom I asked of it.

I found it in familiar hands, worn and tired, And within arms that had not yet embraced me until now, How did you get this? I asked, The same answer from every soul: it was always here, forever with me.

Take care of this piece, ya Abu Khaled, it will only be happy in Shuja’iyya with you. And this shard, oh Abu Yara, it is better rested in the soils of Jabaliya. Ya Abu Omar, shroud this one and dig it deep in the rubble of Gaza city with you, For I, Abu Ibraheem, will forever have the best bit of me buried with it.

Remember, as Israel/Netanyahu now have had the Knesset approve plans to “take over” all of Gaza, that this was the plan from the very beginning for anyone even remotely aware of what/who Israel is.

It seems now, in the panic of the truth slipping out, they would like a chance to alter the crime scene before anyone else sees what has been done.

Do not let them. Do not allow them to cover up these crimes, and to erase what they’ve done here. Do not ignore what I, and every other physician on the ground has screamed out on behalf of the Gazan people.

- I’ll be moving south tomorrow, so this morning has been full of goodbyes to those in the north. The mood is heavy, because if Israel acts on the re-invasion of the north and re-displacement of everyone, the people are exhausted and know they have no meaningful place to go. They’d rather stay in the tents and hollow buildings up here than be moved again. The air is thick with anxiety, just as they got a little bit of food these two days. It comes with devastating news. The people share that they feel like they are being psychologically tormented. You can hear the spy planes flying above me as I type this, and the occasional food drop plane… and then finally explosions in the distance. Hope, fear and destruction… intertwined. I stand on the side street with children as they look up to identify the nearest roaring sign. One nurse tells me, “We would not need planes to drop food if they simply let the trucks drive in. The planes drop food in the ocean and some of us die drowning. Sometimes they drop on the tents and kill people… why is aid killing people?”

- ⁠One of my favorite students, Deema, who I have spoken about earlier, came to find me to say goodbye. She demanded she walk me to a small shop that had souvenirs made in Gaza and she insisted on buying me a gift to take home. We walked there together, the way an uncle and his niece would. We argued over it, and for the most part, I won. However, she ended up buying me a prayer rug. “Pray for us.” Every time my face touches this, I will. As we walked back to the hospital down the block, we spoke about her plans to try and get her out to the U.K. She had already been accepted to an Oxford educational program but cannot go because she’s trapped. “I know, Dr. Ahmad, that you will tell our stories, but can you please just mention that even though they’ve tried to drain our energy, this generation in their early 20’s will not stop. Our motivation will keep driving us to finish. We just need help to fight the people preventing us from doing those things.” I asked her for a picture, and she said, “I’m happy you like taking pictures.” I laughed. The truth is, I hate taking pictures in my personal life. But here, in a world where every force has tried to silence, smother and block out the Gazan people, I hope these pictures bring the light in their eyes to you. She expresses: “Is it okay if I call you if I get sad? Everyone here is too saturated with their own sadness to understand or to listen.”

4 years old and the sole survivor of his family. He rolled up with his uncle and went to town on this lollipop I had. He literally would not say a word as his little mouth gripped every last flake of crystal sugar from the stick. May God protect him from any more harm and make his family (may God have mercy on them) proud one day.

• Listen to Dr. Ahmad Yousaf’s interview on Morning Ireland, the flagship current affairs show on RTÉ Radio 1, Ireland’s national broadcaster.

https://www.rte.ie/radio/radio1/clips/22536109/

16. And indeed, We have created man, and We know what his self-whispers to him. And We are nearer to him than his jugular vein.

17. (Remember) that the two receivers (recording angels) receive (each human being), one sitting on the right and one on the left.

18. Not a word does he (or she) utter but there is a watcher by him ready (to record it).

19. And the stupor of death will come in truth: “This is what you have been avoiding!”

20. And the Trumpet will be blown — that will be the Day of the threat.

21. And every person will come forth along with a Sa’iq and a Shahid.

22. (It will be said to the sinners): “Indeed you were heedless of this. Now We have removed from you, your covering, and sharp is your sight this Day!”}

23. And his companion (angel) will say: “Here is (his record) ready with me!”

24. (Allah will say to the angels) “Both of you throw into Hell every stubborn disbeliever”

25. “Hinderer of good, transgressor, doubter,”

Life will go on. It will continue. Time will pass. Gaza will persist. Gazans will move forward, inshAllah. These things all feel certain, despite the uncertainty. We walked as a group with our team through the streets of Gaza towards the organization’s main office. Despite the absence of light and electricity, despite the streets being lit with some poor solar cells, despite the rubble and dust spilling over into permanent tent homes, despite the overwhelming sense of dread of another large-scale displacement south… children still play. Men still sit around and drink tea (almost exclusively without sugar because it is too expensive), and postulate about what happens next. Women can still be heard doting over or disciplining their kids as they prepare for bed. There are some murmurs that with the terrible news about Israeli forces coming back for a full-scale invasion, that there might be a delivery of chicken into the markets over the next 72 hours. Maybe some cigarettes and coffee will be available too.

If Israel opts to follow through with a full-scale military invasion again, thousands will die within days. Many Gazans are permanently disabled, weak, elderly, and fragile. They will never make the displacement to the south because they simply cannot. “This feels like a bad dream we cannot wake up from.” My friend Alaa tells me, “My mother just learned to walk again after her femur fracture, she can barely walk two steps.” What will it take for meaningful action to be taken to stop this madness?

Our last evening in the north with our new family. They got us tea. There was no food to eat here. We sat together and quickly enjoyed this moment. For a few seconds, we forgot where we were. We laughed, as a couple of guys hid their quick hits of the vape from Dr. Shadman who gave us the big brotherly stare of concern. It felt normal for a second or two. Until you look at the background carefully or hear the bombs dropping in the distance in the red zone. Life will go on.

This is the remains of a press truck. All journalists here have been targeted, or worse, many had been killed when they returned to their families. Many have asked me: “Why have our colleagues in the media not said more on our behalf?” What kind of precedent has been set that media is not considered a neutral body and protected in a war zone? Demand they let the media in to observe what the doctors have observed.

16-year-old Jenan, the daughter of one of the heads of the ministry of health, made this bracelet. Her father is a trained pharmacist who has tried to help keep public health alive in Gaza with some level of healthcare delivery, despite everything against the Gazan people. There is barely any medicine, no supplies… barely functioning hospitals (the ones that have not been completely destroyed at least) and a large part of the healthcare community now dead or incapacitated as they were targeted specifically for their titles as healthcare providers. You read that correctly - healthcare providers have been systematically destroyed. Early on, they were murdered in cold blood, detained, tortured and under constant threats to themselves or their families.

Jenan’s dad was no different. He finally returned home after some time away from his family (for their own safety, as his own life was constantly threatened by the IDF for speaking out about the destruction of the hospitals). His two daughters, Jenan and her sister, would adorably argue about who was going to sleep next to their beloved dad as they had missed him and he looked exhausted. Jenan finally won the argument. Shortly afterwords, a rocket struck his bedroom that night, breaking his back and killing Jenan right next to him.

Jenan’s parents shared this story with Dr. Farhan, and they gave him her precious bracelet so people could know her story. She had just finished memorizing the ENTIRE Quran by heart and was the apple of their eye. The guilt they feel… the guilt her sister feels… will always amplify the pain they feel in how much they miss her and miss the woman she could have become.

As we are preparing to move south this morning, a group of new doctors arrived. One from Jordan, one from Yemen, and a few from Indonesia. We’ve learned at least 4-5 docs were blocked at the border. This group of doctors’ experience was the same as ours upon entry - the IDF rules applied strictly about which supplies were absolutely not allowed in: baby formula, vitamins, medications, medical supplies… only one cell phone… one suitcase… and about $100 (300 shekels). One cell phone is nothing for anyone on the inside.

The doctors have chosen the cots they’ll sleep in for the next few weeks. It is a strange feeling… you meet people here in the overlap for an evening… share a cup of coffee or tea… some broken conversations between various languages. They see our hearts heavy leaving, and we see their hearts ready to work. May Allah make them of service to the people of Gaza. So much of the world is represented in this room…

Jamal is a neurosurgical resident and an absolute brain himself. I met him a year ago, and we reunited last night for a few moments. He has lost a tremendous amount of weight and the brightness in his eyes appeared a little dimmer than how I remembered him. Despite that, his baseline is a big smile…

He has written a book, and I am hoping to help him get it published in America when I return. It has already been translated in several languages. The Survivor… documenting medical cases and his own life through this savage invasion and occupation. The Gazan people’s voices will be heard. Military force, infrastructure destruction and brutal occupation will not prevent people like Jamal from shining through to the world.

To see this today and then catch news clips of my governor shaking hands with the man who has perpetrated these war crimes is disheartening. But I am reminded that my true job here is to witness and share what I am seeing, so that our leaders can course-correct and our tax dollars are no longer sent to those responsible for this level of devastation upon the Gazan people.

You cannot come to Gaza and ignore the politics. You cannot see this level of inhumanity and not question, and condemn, its source. Israel, the IDF, and Netanyahu will have to account for all of this one day.

Also, an update on food access: As per multiple people on the ground here, more aid has been let in again today, including medications from the UN that had been blocked for months. I walked around the north with our group and there were signs that there was a little more food available. Sugar was definitely found as people were selling small sweets they could not possibly make just a week ago when sugar was extremely rare.

The ones selling and buying make up the most well off in this context, and the vast majority of people still are only subsisting on the bare minimum. This is what famine looks like… and, God willing, if we have a month or two of consistent aid access daily, we’ll see the turnaround we all wish to see. To share the absolute absurd level of hospitality these amazing people show us… this is the kind of thing we hear: “Doctor! I found out we may have chicken in the market on Monday for the first time in 8 months!! If it’s true, I will cook you something!”

We do not deserve the Gazans.

- Leaving the north knowing what Israel has said it will do in the coming weeks feels like betrayal. There is finally some food… but another round of displacement, death and misery has been promised by the Knesset and the IDF. If anyone here knows any way to reach out to anyone in any position to do something, please connect with me. I’ll sit in front of anyone and everyone — likely with a vast majority of the doctors who have been here.

- ⁠I hugged some people so hard I squeezed the air out of them. When you hug someone in Gaza, you never know if you’ll see them again. They’ll never know. I may be denied entry like so many other doctors who have tried to come back. There may be a rocket launched towards their homes, they may be at risk or targeted because they are aid/healthcare workers, as has been the case here during the entire invasion. Or maybe worse than all of those things, they may not find food when they need it most.

- ⁠The thought of these things makes me literally want to crumble into a ball of sadness, but I am reminded by the very people I am sad for: head up, no sadness, no tears. Remember, Allah is in control and then I’m reminded by this verse:

- ‫وَمَا كَانَ لِنَفۡسٍ أَن تَمُوتَ إِلَّا بِإِذۡنِ ٱللَّهِ كِتَـٰبࣰا مُّؤَجَّلࣰاۗ وَمَن یُرِدۡ ثَوَابَ ٱلدُّنۡیَا نُؤۡتِهِۦ مِنۡهَا وَمَن یُرِدۡ ثَوَابَ ٱلۡـَٔاخِرَةِ نُؤۡتِهِۦ مِنۡهَاۚ وَسَنَجۡزِی ٱلشَّـٰكِرِینَ﴿ ١٤٥ ﴾‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬

• “And it is not [possible] for one to die except by permission of Allāh at a decree determined. And whoever desires the reward of this world - We will give him thereof; and whoever desires the reward of the Hereafter - We will give him thereof. And We will reward the grateful.”

• ⁠After getting back to Aqsa and settling in, I had a chance to reunite with some of my ICU nurse friends. One of them I asked: “How are you doing, my sister?” With the biggest smile on her face: “Alhamdulilah, still breathing… Alhamdulilah.”

• ⁠I reconnected with Amro today too, my nurse buddy from last year. He sat down to talk about what had been going on. He sighed deeply after we finished greeting each other. He looked broken this evening. He did this thing I’ve seen a lot here do on this trip… he stared ahead at the wall and froze there… almost holding his breath thinking about something heavy. In his trance, he rocked a bit back and forth. I touched his arm, and he snapped out of it and looked at me and smiled… “I missed you,” he said, “It’s just been so much harder.” We talked about his family, his living situation, his lack of consistent salary, his lost weight. He then asked me: “Can I ask you a small favor?” I replied: “I would do anything for you.” He continued: “Can you try to get me out of here when the war is over? Help me get into an academic nursing program, a place I can work… anything?” A lump began to grow in my chest. I would do anything to get him out of here. He is smart, kind and loves nursing more than anyone else I know. He cares about patients and teaching, and he knows when to be tough and when to soften up. He should not have a chance just because I know him. He should have a chance because he deserves it on his own accord. I felt the lump climb in my throat… All I could say was: “InshaAllah, when the war is over, I’ll try everything I can.” Amro was too smart not to sense the worry I had about what was actually possible. He replied: “Don’t worry, I know you will try, and I will always love you for that no matter what happens.”

- I do not have any pics for this post because I could not get myself to take a picture with Amro. Seeing him so depressed, knowing I was powerless to change his situation, knowing I’d be leaving in three days and just go back to living while he’s here alone. I don’t have words for that feeling.

I’ve drifted away from telling many patient stories for a few reasons. Every person in each of these stories is a victim. The patient that has been traumatized by shrapnel, explosives or bullets. The mothers left crying for their children, their fathers left feeling the guilt and shame of not being able to protect them. Their siblings who forever lose someone that shaped their identity, and their children who will be forced to live a life without them. The medical staff suffers as they are tasked with often shepherding them through the last stages of death and dying. The larger community that watches these patients go from the rubble or the dirt in front of the food stations, to the hospital and then finally to the morgue.

Neighborhoods are left caring for mourning widows and helpless orphans, adopting them into larger broken families with similar stories. I feel like if I take another picture of a broken bodied child, it does nothing less than diminish their dignity. I’ve shared them here occasionally because I battle that reality with the alternative: Masses of people hear the numbers of dead but forget that these are real human beings.

Taqwa is 20 years old and was 17 weeks pregnant when a rocket targeted her house. The attack killed her young husband, caused an intracranial hemorrhage, destroyed her right arm and killed multiple family members. She is in her second trimester, and the baby still has a heartbeat, though they have been very concerned about injury to the baby because of poor growth. Taqwa is awake but nonverbal. She called me over with her hand when she saw me and had a smile on her face. I tried for a minute to understand what she was trying to tell me as she kept making a sign where she rubbed her lower lip. I thought perhaps she was thirsty. The nurse came from behind me and said… “No, she is trying to tell you that you have some toothpaste in your beard and should clean it.” We all laughed, including Taqwa who got a kick out of the whole interaction. Hey, I’ll take a laugh at my expense here any day.

I saw Amro today in the ICU and he was in a better state of mind. He wanted to take a pic with me. :)

This is Mutasim. Despite the deep sadness he feels for his brother, he smiles like this every time he sees me, and he usually makes jokes about how Real Madrid is better than Liverpool because he knows I’m a fan.

I sat with Mutasim last night for a few minutes. He is 16 years old and is one of those kids who is smart and has a quick quip for everything. He tries to practice his English with me which he says he learned from video games and while watching soccer with English broadcasters. I ask him how his family is doing since his brother was killed a month ago. “My mother, she keeps going, but I know she is sad every day. And me…” The smirk goes away, and the little boy who loves his older brother appears on his face. “I miss him too much.” He takes a minute to regain composure. The ability to do so amongst people here— to go from complete darkness to restoration of the light in their face, to restoring composure… it is an unfortunate skill required by the Gazan, no matter the age. He continues: “My brother used to be the one who would check on me since our father was gone. He’d give me money and make sure we were all okay and would take care of our mother. Now our mother takes care of his surviving kids, as both my brother and his wife were murdered in a rocket strike in their home.”

- It is worth mentioning from a clinical and public health perspective — there has been a significant rise in clinical presentations of Guillain-Barré syndrome (GBS)-like illness. It’s unclear exactly what the cause is, but there are three new cases in the ICU at Aqsa today. Normally, these cases involve ascending paralysis after a viral infection (classically the flu), but these cases present very atypically. Unfortunately, patients inevitably become ventilator dependent. There are some floating theories: Is this the consequence of Poliomyelitis in a population that’s been deprived of vaccinations? Is this a consequence of chemical/biowarfare? Or is this just a sign of the global immune state of starved people? It is impossible to confirm in this context without any tests available to verify.

Dr. Ahmad Yousaf’s interview with Al Jazeera English:

Inside the ICU, there are no moments of calm. The trauma specialist works nonstop, shifting between patients with massive internal injuries, crushed limbs, third-degree burns, and shrapnel wounds from airstrikes.

Dr. Ahmad Yousaf, alongside other physicians, healthcare workers, and aid teams, is bearing witness to a man-made humanitarian crisis in Gaza — where deliberate starvation is being used as a weapon against an already suffering population.

I just learned moments ago they just killed Anas Al-Sharif and many of his colleagues. They were journalists I have met here who risked their lives every day to be the voices of Gaza when nobody would listen. A war on journalism and the truth. This bombing was directly outside the hospital I was at the last two weeks (Al Shifa hospital) and I am now in Aqsa. If you had any doubt to this point, today is the day you have no excuse. We are talking about evil in its truest form.

Mai is a 35-year-old clinical pharmacist in the ICU. There are times when you sit with someone and realize you may be sitting with someone so special; you can only pray that your short meeting with them allows for an association with them in a place far better. I learned so much about life, religion, humanity, perspective, being a parent, being a spouse and every quality I wish I had, from one person in a two hour conversation. It is impossible to convey in writing, but I will try my best to at least tell you her story (paraphrased) so that you may know, turning the world upside down to protect her (and her remaining family) would be worth it.

As many nephrologists have been killed or escaped early in the war, Mai essentially functions as the nephrologist APN in the dialysis center. She also works overnight as the lead pharmacist (based in the ER) and dispenses medications AND materials for the whole hospital, when materials are scattered and medication rooms are half empty disasters. As she literally served me and Dr. Shadman tea, she told us the story of her sister Maisoon (not exactly her twin, but she called her one), while being interrupted about once a minute for dispensing of a med or supply. She would bounce between conversation, her desire to host us in her tiny new closet/pharmacy, and the needs of the doctors/nurses like she was walking a tightrope… and she never lost her balance. “Maisoon was my life. The day she died, with her husband Ahmed and their 3 children, I realized I would never be truly happy again. She was my light; my best friend and she loved my kids more than she loved herself.” She showed us pictures of her late beautiful sister, her kind-faced husband and her little children. Despite the obvious sadness, her eyes were alive with the love she still had for them.

She shared: “Two days before she died, I had a dream that she was buying a white dress. I became very worried about her husband because I thought this would mean something was going to happen to him. When I found out they all died together, I was devastated but at least they are together in heaven now. We ask for this, the people of Gaza… that ‘Oh Allah, if you take us, take us altogether so we don’t have to suffer alone in this world.’” She described learning that Maisoon bled out in the ER, and that the bodies of her nephews and niece were incinerated and unrecoverable. She learned that her beloved brother-in-law, Ahmed was under the rubble… and she said in this moment, “I felt a sharp fire in my chest like my heart broke into millions of pieces and I could not put it back together until now.” Mai would stop after these moments of heavy conversation and say Alhamdulilah. In this pause, she would write something on her hand and then rub it away. I never asked her what she was writing but I suspect it was a prayer.

I would see her, in these brief moments of pause, contemplating, and her eyes would soften, and she would smile as if she remembered something that made her happy. She said, “I feel like the dream I had was God telling me Maisoon took my place, that I was supposed to go and Maisoon asked God to take her and her family instead and protect mine here. Months after her shaheed, I was living in the Nusserat camps where the IDF rained bombs down like raindrops. There was fire everywhere and I could not find my four children. When I left the tent, there was a huge fire, and my feet were burning like I was in Hell itself. I was clutching on to my 2-month-old, Sara… and I found my 6-year-old screaming out to me (disoriented) that she could not find her shoes, and her face covered in blood and soot. I grabbed her too and ran as fast as I could towards the street. One of my brother-in-law’s friends found us in the chaos and carried Abdullah (my 4-year-old son who had suffered a head injury), but I could not find my oldest until we found her in the ambulance unconscious. All four kids survived, some with more serious injuries than others.

Wallahi, I felt like Allah protected me because my sister Maisoon asked Him to. I know this, I feel her in these moments having prayed for us.” I asked her… how does she remain strong in these moments. “I am not strong; I am always scared. Not for myself, but for my kids, for my family. I don’t have anything. They have destroyed my house, taken my sister and my other family members from me. I just need to know that my kids can be safe.” She deserves safety. She deserves everything.

“God gave me an amana (trust) with my work to help patients and their families. I think now, the only reason I am here is to serve these people. This is what gives me the small moments of meaning and happiness. When the patients feel relieved or say thank you, or say a prayer for me, I know this protects us all too.”

Dr. Shadman and I were left speechless by everything this woman told us. Between dispensing medicines, she would make jokes about the fact that being a pharmacist has made her a very good cook, and she wanted to make us Maklouba (the Palestinian national dish if there ever was one) when the war is over but there was no meat so it would have to be vegetarian. Unless they finally let some in. By the end of our sit down, I was completely spent. I wish I could tell you that this story ends happily, but that ending does not feel close. I know that Mai, may God grant her safety and security, has already won on a timeline longer than we can perceive (this from her own perspective as well), but what these people have gone through is so unimaginable, that my very poor vision of reality leaves me unable to appreciate how they maintain this level of faith in the face of this ongoing genocide.

Mai says something, with a wry smile multiple times during our conversation with a hint of dark humor the almost didn’t wish it was the case: “Alhamdulilah, we are still alive.” We told her, “Listen Mai, you can’t die for a while because this hospital and these patients need you, and we need you safe so that we can visit you with our families for the Maklouba you promised us.” She laughed and seemed to love the idea of that. She continued to dispense some pain meds through the window to the nurse and said, “Inshallah, I cannot wait for this.”

I sat here, with Dr Shadman, and we both cried about this woman, her husband, her kids and her sister Maisoon (may Allah have mercy on her) and her lost family members.

The people of Gaza, Mai and her kids deserve safety, and the fact that we cannot convince the world or provide it ourselves is the most shameful feeling I have ever felt in my life.

Anas Al-Sharif: Anas Sharif knew he had a target on his back. Israel had sent him messages that if he kept reporting the truth on the news in Gaza, he would be targeted. He wrote his last will and testament, knowing it was coming but kept going. He is the essence of the Gazan struggle. His post below:

“This is my will and my final message. If these words reach you, know that Israel has succeeded in killing me and silencing my voice. First, peace be upon you and Allah’s mercy and blessings.

Allah knows I gave every effort and all my strength to be a support and a voice for my people, ever since I opened my eyes to life in the alleys and streets of the Jabalia refugee camp. My hope was that Allah would extend my life so I could return with my family and loved ones to our original town of occupied Asqalan (Al-Majdal). But Allah’s will came first, and His decree is final.

I have lived through pain in all its details, tasted suffering and loss many times, yet I never once hesitated to convey the truth as it is, without distortion or falsification—so that Allah may bear witness against those who stayed silent, those who accepted our killing, those who choked our breath, and whose hearts were unmoved by the scattered remains of our children and women, doing nothing to stop the massacre that our people have faced for more than a year and a half.

I entrust you with Palestine—the jewel in the crown of the Muslim world, the heartbeat of every free person in this world. I entrust you with its people, with its wronged and innocent children who never had the time to dream or live in safety and peace. Their pure bodies were crushed under thousands of tons of Israeli bombs and missiles, torn apart and scattered across the walls.

I urge you not to let chains silence you, nor borders restrain you. Be bridges toward the liberation of the land and its people, until the sun of dignity and freedom rises over our stolen homeland. I entrust you to take care of my family. I entrust you with my beloved daughter Sham, the light of my eyes, whom I never got the chance to watch grow up as I had dreamed.

I entrust you with my dear son Salah, whom I had wished to support and accompany through life until he grew strong enough to carry my burden and continue the mission.

I entrust you with my beloved mother, whose blessed prayers brought me to where I am, whose supplications were my fortress and whose light guided my path. I pray that Allah grants her strength and rewards her on my behalf with the best of rewards.

I also entrust you with my lifelong companion, my beloved wife, Umm Salah (Bayan), from whom the war separated me for many long days and months. Yet she remained faithful to our bond, steadfast as the trunk of an olive tree that does not bend—patient, trusting in Allah, and carrying the responsibility in my absence with all her strength and faith.

I urge you to stand by them, to be their support after Allah Almighty. If I die, I die steadfast upon my principles. I testify before Allah that I am content with His decree, certain of meeting Him, and assured that what is with Allah is better and everlasting.

O Allah, accept me among the martyrs, forgive my past and future sins, and make my blood a light that illuminates the path of freedom for my people and my family. Forgive me if I have fallen short, and pray for me with mercy, for I kept my promise and never changed or betrayed it.

Do not forget Gaza… And do not forget me in your sincere prayers for forgiveness and acceptance.

Anas Jamal Al-Sharif
06.04.2025”

A post from Journalist Anas Al-Sharif minutes before he was murdered on X:

To Whom It May Concern,
The occupation is now openly threatening a full-scale invasion of Gaza.
For 22 months, the city has been bleeding under relentless bombardment from land, sea, and air.
Tens of thousands have been killed, and hundreds of thousands wounded.

If this madness does not end, Gaza will be reduced to ruins, its people’s voices silenced, their faces erased — and history will remember you as silent witnesses to a genocide you chose not to stop.

Please share this message and tag everyone who has the power to help end this massacre. Silence is complicity.

On the topic of journalist being targeted, I visited Nasr hospital this morning and was told the story of Hassan Aslih, a journalist who was targeted at the entrance of this hospital. Initially they did not get the job done, but Hassan had lost multiple fingers of both of his hands and was admitted to the hospital for a planned surgery. The night before his surgery, a precision rocket struck his room, another exacted assassination against the journalists. The men and women that were/are the voice of the Gazan people. The IDF immediately paints these people as terrorists. I did not know Hassan, but if he was anything like Anas, his show of resistance revealed the truth. He knew his life was at risk, but he put the preservation of the truth over the value of his own life.

This was the window through which the IDF assassinated him… another child patient was in that room, and the director of pediatrics tells me: That child was going to be discharged that day, but he was murdered with Hassan.

Dr. Ahmed at Nasr Hospital is the director of the pediatric department. He told us how the IDF evacuated and destroyed large portions of Nasr hospital. “We never imagined how we could rebuild. Everything was destroyed. The IDF drew things in the walls, vulgar things sometimes. When we came back in, we rebuilt portions of the hospital and covered up these ugly things on the wall… and just kept going. God made a way for us.” He says this with bullet holes behind him in the window, and with a hospital infrastructure which just hangs on by a thread. The most vulnerable patient populations here have b been neglected the most by the world.

My last night in Gaza

- Israel has stepped up its bombing in Deir Balah. In this last evening, they’ve been striking the green zone multiple times. One of the strikes killed multiple small children who were playing soccer in the street. Dr. Aslam showed me video from the ER, and it is as gruesome and terrible as you can imagine. I’ve contemplated sharing it here but will hold off for now as not to dishonor the dead with something you’ve been able to see for two years simply by paying attention to the internet. Many of the people here say: They are doing this because people are not going to GHF and the IDF needs to meet its quota for eliminating an amount of the population daily. Because aid has been getting in, people have not been willing to risk their lives as they can find enough sustenance in the market and from distributed aid. It is a sick cycle of violence that I would not believe if I did not literally see it happen with my own eyes.

- ⁠If you still do not believe what I’m saying about children coming into the ER this evening in pieces, I’ll send you the video evidence of the war crimes committed by the IDF if MORE evidence is still required to believe what all this is.

- ⁠I said goodbye to some of the people I literally love most in this world today. I may have said this already, but it weighs heavily on me. I squeezed these people harder than I ever have anyone else because they may die tomorrow, or in a week or a month or before I ever get to see them again. We’ve heard bombs drop on civilian infrastructure the entire day today. Close enough to us to shake the building…enough percussion to make us startle and duck our heads reflexively. And to drive the point home, that’s only the foreigners. The Gazans are so used to it; they barely pause as they are speaking or simply add a “hasbunaAllah.” Nermeen, my translator at Nasr today told me: “Don’t worry, if you hear it, it means you are still alive.”

- ⁠The people of Gaza live between life and death like they are the rope in a game of tug of war. Some days they are closer to death than life, and it is this reality that has shaped them into who they are.

- ⁠I sat with my “life teacher,” Dr. Jihad Juwaidi. If I could learn at his feet for the rest of my life I know I would still not have time to gather all of the knowledge and wisdom of this man. He is a rather odd man who wears a baseball cap all the time on top of his long gray stringy hair which he ties into a small ponytail. He speaks like the words need to be filtered through a myriad of trials before being allowed to escape his mouth and be worthy of sound. Simultaneously, he has Gazan charm and hospitality. And if he likes you (and he’s quite picky), he treats you like a son who needs to be respected and honored and fed and caffeinated (or nicotinated if that’s your jam). I asked him about how the weeks/months were during the starvation phase of the IDF strategy before some food was available and he said, with a sarcastic smile, “Listen, if you are Muslim and Gazan, you look for the good in every situation. When we could not find food, I realized I did not have the caloric reserves to get frustrated or angry. I never raised my voice once. Which is something I do when my belly is full…” Later… speaking about how the Gazan people have adapted, he continued: “Drones are part of our lives now. The hum is such a staple of existence for us that if they suddenly stopped using them, we would not be able to sleep. It is ESSENTIAL SOUND POLLUTION FOR US.”

I asked Dr. Jihad: “What do you think is going on with the ceasefire talks?” He replied: “The people of Gaza are stuck. No one listened to us before October 7th, and they sure as hell have not listened to us since. What is interesting to me is that I believe that Israel is even more stuck. They are so scared about their reputation, that they’ve permanently destroyed their reputation. And if they proceed now with our annihilation, they will lose everything. And if they back off now, their people will think they lost as well. It’s like they climbed a tree… got too high, and now they have no idea how to safely jump down.”

Leaving Aqsa now. To OCHA guesthouse for UN transport to Kareem Abu Salem crossing. May get some reception while driving through occupied West Bank iA.

At the guesthouse now and getting messages from so many of the beautiful Gazans.

Here is one from a man that will carry a portion of my heart until I see him again:

It was only a few days that brought us together amid the busyness of work and the circumstances we both faced, but I swear by Allah that they were among the most beautiful moments for me. It was a lovely opportunity to gain a respectful and kind friend like you.

I truly wished the circumstances were better so I could host you properly — please forgive me. I ask Allah Almighty to reunite us again in better times, so I can take back a piece of my heart that you took with you. Wishing you a calm, comfortable, and safe journey. And send my regards to your honorable family, especially Musa and Ibrahim.

While I wait in this unnecessarily long exit process, I thought I’d share some of the people who have accompanied me on this trip. Dr. Farhan, our ameer, and the person who invited me to come while at hajj. I owe him significant gratitude, and he will not like it, but inshAllah he is likely to busy making Dhikr or praying to read this anyway. This was his 6th entry into Gaza. The people of Gaza know him and love him and he loves them. His Arabic (not his first language) is impeccable and to pray behind him is an honor. He also turns into a child if he sees a stray cat and has a cute squeaky voice that immediately makes them aware he’s one of the good guys.

He found ways of helping patients and their families in amazing ways and I will always look up to him (despite us being the same age) because he is the kind of role model the average American Muslim needs… an unabashed believer who speaks the truth, acts accordingly and balances that with a career in medicine and a family. May Allah keep him sincere and in His service.

Dr. Shadman, a vascular surgeon in Dallas, has been my true older brother this entire trip. He has scolded me for taking risks, he constantly makes sure I have my things and ensures that I’m hydrated and praying on time. He has also refused to eat the vast majority of time while here. He’ll joke that this is because his son’s wedding is next week and he needs to fit in his clothes. The truth is, his heart did not let him. He was aggressive about not eating lol. The idea of taking one bite away from any of the Gazans was so abhorrent to him, he did not have an appetite. I’ve been his sidekick during deep conversations with many of our Gazan colleagues and he tells me every time: “Thank God you were there because I would be on the floor in the fetal position crying if I had to say anything in response to the immense hardship of these people.” He performed many life saving and life modifying surgeries MashAllah, and often when I woke up, his bed was already empty, and he was off to get to the next case.

He also hates pictures, so I’ll share two so that he gets really upset 😉. He is among the top ten most introverted guys I’ve ever met so taking these pics with the team members was a big deal 😂 May Allah protect him and continue to use his hands to heal the people of Gaza and beyond.

Dr. Masood, ER physician. He did not come with our group, but we adopted him quickly into the team because of who he is. He was the workhorse. Day shift/night shift… it didn’t matter. If he heard an MCI had occurred, he got dressed and ran down to the ER every time MashAllah. His kindness and insistence on helping is what defines my understanding of him. He was also simultaneously studying for a high-level certification for religious studies between patients and would walk around the tents around the hospital so he could find and provide food to people. May God preserve these qualities in him and protect him.

At Kareem Abu Salem (Kerem shalom crossing now). Waiting for security process for them to look at our bags. I have a bunch of small trinkets and gifts from friends in Gaza and I’m praying they don’t confiscate these things.

Done! On our way through occupied Palestine towards Amman Jordan. We will pass south of Jerusalem. Some of the Gazans told us - when we are finally free, we will go to Jerusalem and cook the largest Maklouba dish ever made. If you don’t know what Maklouba is, you don’t know enough Palestinians :) (in Gaza it’s pronounce MAGLOOBA) :)

They questioned Dr. Farhan because he had a bunch of the gifts that were given to him. They said: “You are not allowed to take gifts.” He said, “People gave me gifts.” She said: “It’s a lot of gifts.” The truth is, Dr. Farhan has a lot of friends, and they all love him enough to get him stuff. He shrugged. It’s not his fault he’s popular. 🤣

She waved him through and said: “Don’t do this next time.” May Allah grant us all a next time in a situation that sees a free Gaza, the cessation of death and destruction and the era of rebuilding.

Dr. Uzer is a trauma surgeon from Dallas. He was stationed at Nasr hospital. He was immediately “one of us.” He quickly recognized that his role was going to be crucial but different than his normal job. He was going to just be relief and a shoulder to lean on for his fellow surgeons. He often stayed in the OR ten hours at a time doing back-to-back cases: “I saw enough penetrating trauma for a lifetime in two weeks.” He also had this smile on his face almost all the time you see him. May God reward him for his compassion and his surgical skills he studied decades to perfect.

Dr. Masood has been intermittently studying for an online religious certification and continues to be studious even on the exit bus. 🙃 Gaza brings together some truly extraordinary people.

Two short stories (ETA to Amman is about an hour).

- Dr. Farhan visited a tent mosque that had been constructed and used for prayer and Quran recitation during this trip. He was invited because of his own credentials in the field of recitation to listen to some of the amazing students. He told me there was a 14-year-old girl who had memorized the entire Quran and recited with perfection during the event. He then asked the teenagers (mostly girls): “What motivates you to come to the mosque when you know all of the other ones have been destroyed?” This same 14-year-old girl raised her hand and said: “In Gaza, death is always around the corner. We may as well be reading the Quran and praying when it meets us.”

- ⁠I sat in my last night with some of my ICU friends from last year and had food with them. They had some cheese and a few vegetables with their rice and bread, and they were super excited to make something for me as a farewell, as they didn’t have ingredients before the last couple of days. One nurse, the cook said: “Listen, the only vegetable we’ve eaten for the last 6 months consistently is eggplant. During this time, we have relied on eggplant like an old friend. We’ve mashed it, we’ve fried it, we’ve baked it. We’ve made it taste like other foods and mixed it in our rice and even made eggplant sandwiches. Eggplant has been more reliable to us than the entire world during this war… and at times, our only ally!” He said this and everyone burst into laughter at his vegetable ode. He then looked at me seriously, “When you come back and we have ingredients, you will honor us by allowing us the normalcy of cooking you the real food we all wish to eat together… spices and chicken and meat… things we have not seen for a while.” He then made me promise I would let him do so and I took his hand and said God willing I would find him when this was over.

Arrived in Amman after a 13-hour ordeal of mostly just waiting. But Alhamdulilah I am here now. Jumped on the first of hopefully many interviews to try and communicate what’s happening on the ground in Gaza. Please share as you see fit:

My plan for this chat and all its content: will consolidate to a website for easy access to entries, pictures and videos inshAllah. Will share website in the next day or two.

I stayed in Amman last night. Connected with a few friends I would not otherwise have, except that our hearts are tied together by a love of Gaza and its people.

We passed by streets full of fruits and vegetables… shawarma. There was electricity in every home. No rubble… no tents full of the displaced… no buzzing drones circling above… no explosions in the distance… no gun shots in the distances… no dead children, no mourning mothers wailing at the site of the funeral prayers… no bleeding out on cold hospital floors… no tears falling from the faces of fathers left powerless to protect their own.

There is nothing “normal” about Gaza. It is not a war zone, it is a cage for killing. It is imposed hunger… blood and injustice.

Gaza is the issue of our time. It is the defining “furqan” (litmus test) of our generation. We will all be asked, in this life and the next… what we did when we saw this televised massacre live on our phones. If we were afraid of standing up for them because we worried for our representation, feared for our livelihood… when we were scared of discomfort… as their children died in their arms and the bodies were covered in dirt by bulldozers.

It is a living hell… full of the people of paradise.

The people of Gaza honored me simply with their presence. They soothed me when I cried for them (“La tahzan lana… gul Alhamdulilah ala kulli hal “don’t be sad for us, say Alhamdulilah in every situation). They humored me by allowing me to be associated with them in this brief moment. They permitted me access to their kindness, generosity and compassion. They fed me with their hands from food that was their right. They dignified me by mentioning me as their family (“hua ghazawi… khaalis” - He’s Gazan, through and through). They gifted me from the rubble from which they have climbed out of… they have broken me into pieces and glued me back together with their love. I write about them because I cannot speak easily about them without losing myself. They forgive me for my neglect and heedlessness of their states. They show gratitude for the simplest things. they taught me about dignity and 3iza… they schooled me on manners and reliance on God… They made me laugh when they had no business doing so. They have provided me purpose… from now until I die.

They are chosen… not because of what they are made of… but because of what they represent in their action… in their resilience… in their resistance.

Breathing another day… is resistance.
Surviving another dawn… is resistance.
Saying Alhamdulilah Da’imun is resistance.
Finding footing on broken earth is resistance.
Replanting the olive trees torn from their roots… knowing it will be a decade before they produce fruit again… is resistance.
Walking through the smoke of the weapons meant to kill them… is resistance.

To be Gazan is resistance.