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CHRIS HEDGES
APR 03, 2024
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Amr Abdallah
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On the morning Amr Abdallah was killed, he woke before dawn to say his Ramadan
prayers with his father, mother, two younger brothers and aunt, in an open :eld in
southern Gaza.
“It is You we worship and You we ask for help,” they prayed. “Guide us to the straight
path — the path of those upon whom You have bestowed favor, not of those who have
evoked Your anger or of those who are astray.”
It was dark. They made their way back to their tents. Their old life was gone — their
village, Al-Qarara, their house — built with the money Amr’s father saved during the
30 years he worked in the Persian Gulf — their orchards, their school, the local
mosque and the town’s cultural museum with artifacts dating from 4,000 B.C.
Amr, who was 17, would have graduated from high school this year. The schools were
closed in November. He would have gone to college, perhaps to be an engineer like his
father, who was a prominent community leader. Amr was a giUed student. Now he
lived in a tent in a designated “safe area” that, as he and his family already knew, was
not safe. It was shelled sporadically by the Israelis.
It was cold and rainy. The family huddled together to keep warm. Hunger wrapped
itself around them like a coil.
“When you say ‘Amr’ it’s like you’re talking about the moon,” his uncle, Abdulbaset
Abdallah, who lives in New Jersey, tells me. “He was the special one, handsome,
brilliant, and kind.”
Amr in Gaza
The Israeli attacks began in northern Gaza. Then they spread south. On the morning
of Friday, Dec. 1, Israeli drones dropped lea[ets over Amr’s village.
“To the inhabitants of al-Qarara, Khirbet al-Khuza’a, Absan and Bani Soheila,” the
lea[ets read. “You must evacuate immediately and go to shelters in the Rafah area.
The city of Khan Yunis is a dangerous combat zone. You have been warned. Signed by
the Israeli Defense Army.”
Families in Gaza live together. Whole generations. This is why dozens of family
members are killed in a single air strike. Amr grew up surrounded by uncles, aunts and
cousins.
One of Amr’s uncles was adamant. He would stay behind while the family would go to
the “safe area.” His son was a physician at Nasser Hospital. Amr’s cousin leU the
hospital to plead with his father to leave. Moments aUer he and his father [ed, their
street was bombed.
Amr and his family moved in with relatives in Khan Yunis. A few days later more
lea[ets were dropped. Everyone was told to go to Rafah.
Amr’s family, now joined by relatives from Khan Yunis, [ed to Rafah.
Rafah was a nightmare. Desperate Palestinians were living in the open air and on
streets. There was little food or water. The family slept in their car. It was cold and
rainy. They did not have blankets. They looked desperately for a tent. There were no
tents. They found an old sheet of plastic, which they attached to the back of the car to
make a protected area. There were no bathrooms. People relieved themselves on the
side of the road. The stench was overpowering.
Amr’s father, who has diabetes and high blood pressure, fell sick. The family took him
to the European Hospital near Khan Yunis. The doctor told him he was ill because he
was not eating enough.
“We can’t handle your case,” the doctor told him. “There are more critical cases.”
“He had a beautiful house,” Abdallah says of his older brother. “Now he is homeless.
He knew everyone in his hometown. Now he lives on the street with crowds of
strangers. No one has enough to eat. There is no clean water. There are no proper
facilities or bathrooms.”
Amr’s family set up two makeshiU tents with palm tree leaves and sheets of plastic.
Israeli drones circled overhead night and day.
On the day before he was killed, Amr managed to get a phone connection —
telecommunications are oUen cut — to speak to his sister in Canada.
The Egyptian :rm Hala, which means “Welcome” in Arabic, provided travel permits
for Gazans to enter Egypt for $350, before the Israeli assault. Since the genocide
began, the :rm has raised the price to $5,000 for an adult and $2,500 for a child. It has
sometimes charged as much as $10,000 for a travel permit.
Hala has oices in Cairo and Rafah. Once the money is paid — Hala only accepts U.S.
dollars — the name of the applicant is submitted to Egyptian authorities. It can take
weeks to get a permit. It would cost around $25,000 to get Amr’s family out of Gaza,
double that if they included his widowed aunt and three cousins. This was not a sum
Amr’s relatives abroad could raise quickly. They set up a GoFundMe page. They are
still trying to collect enough money.
Once Palestinians get to Egypt, the permits expire within a month. Most of the
Palestinian refugees in Egypt survive on money sent to them from abroad.
Amr awoke in the dark. It was the :rst Friday of Ramadan. He joined his family in the
morning prayer. The Fajr. It was 5 a.m.
Muslims fast in the day during the month of Ramadan. They eat and drink once the
sun goes down and shortly before dawn. But food was now in very short supply. A little
olive oil. The spice za’atar. It was not much.
They went back to their tents aUer prayers. Amr was in the tent with his aunt and
three cousins. A shell exploded near the tent. Shrapnel tore apart his aunt’s leg and
critically injured his cousins. Amr frantically tried to help them. A second shell
exploded. Shrapnel ripped through Amr’s stomach and exited from his back.
Amr stood up. He walked out of the tent. He collapsed. Older cousins ran towards him.
They had enough gas in their car — fuel is in very short supply — to drive Amr to
Nasser Hospital, three miles away.
“Yes,” he moaned.
“Yes,” he whispered.
They liUed him from the car. They carried him into the overcrowded corridors of the
hospital. They set him down.
He was dead.
Amr in death
They carried Amr’s body back to the car. They drove to the family’s encampment.
Amr’s uncle shows me a video of Amr’s mother keening over his corpse.
“My son, my son, my beloved son,” she laments in the video, her leU hand tenderly
stroking his face. “I don’t know what I will do without you.”
Amr’s Burial
Later that night the Israelis shelled again. Several Palestinians were wounded and
killed.
The empty tent, occupied the day before by Amr’s family, was obliterated.
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25 Comments
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I almost have no more tears to shed. But once again they came rolling down my cheeks. The
tragedy, the tragedy of each individual amongst the tens of thousands murdered. More often
than not now there are tears of rage. Rage against the Israelis and an even greater rage against
the United States, whose explicit granting of impunity to Israel - not to mention billions of
Dollars of weapons - allows Israel to continue with this ongoing genocide.
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When a story of one person’s suffering is shared it makes the crisis so much more understood
by outsiders. Understood in the heart and soul. I’m moved to tears. I won’t forget this child.
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