THE TORMENTED, THE TORTURED AND THE TYRANNY
Since the start of the conflict in Gaza, 31 out of 36 hospitals have been damaged or destroyed. Among the destroyed is the Al-Shifa Hospital, the largest medical complex in Gaza, which remains today completely out of service. Jenna Mansour has struggled to comfort her mother as best she could from inside a cramped refugee tent. When she returned with drinking water in the late afternoon, she found her mother being helped by a woman from a neighboring tent, coughing up blood on the ground. Only this time, it was coming from her nose and her mouth. Jenna used her cell phone to call her sister’s husband. She pleaded with him to take her mother to Jerusalem, He calmly reminded her that it would be impossible to do so, regardless of her mother’s illness entering Salsan turned to her daughter and pleaded for her to put the phone down “I am not afraid to die; I am only afraid of saying goodbye to you.”
The World Health Organization (WHO) reported on December 21 that no hospitals were operational in northern Gaza, leaving injured patients who could not be relocated in a dire situation, effectively “waiting to die.” This stark reality highlighted the urgent humanitarian crisis unfolding in the region.
By February 2024, six hospitals in northern Gaza were partially functioning. Despite this improvement, the medical infrastructure remained severely compromised, and the needs of the injured and ill far exceeded the available resources. Due to the ongoing blockade imposed by Israel, access for Gazans to hospitals in East Jerusalem has been significantly restricted. Palestinian cancer patients and others needing medical treatment have faced difficulties, and some have even been stranded in hospitals there because of the conflict escalation. Doctors do what they can in what is called “street-med.” Patients and doctors are forbidden to enter the hospital because the IDF has made it a military headquarters for hundreds of soldiers who access food, beds and other comforts meant for people who are extremely unwell; people who are dying.
To provide a window into how Gaza’s hospitals became battlegrounds, the media has an in-depth look at the deterioration of the strip’s most prominent and second-biggest medical facilities, Al-Shifa and Al-Quds, until they ceased operations in November. Al-Shifa has resumed limited services.
Israeli authorities claim that Hamas has used both hospitals for military purposes. The IDF published images of a tunnel shaft and the army equipment its forces found inside the Al-Shifa complex. The IDF has never allowed independent sources to verify an armed man outside Al-Quds Hospital. Hamas and hospital officials have denied that the militant group has operated from inside the facilities.
Jenna remembered when the doctor at al-Shifa revealed the examination results, explaining the blood tests and radiology scans. About four hours later, the doctor returned, not looking into their eyes. They all stood uncomfortably before him like convicted felons waiting to be sentenced. The physician said in his professional voice, “Mrs. Hayat, you have a rapidly progressing cancer that has spread, and it has affected your liver.”
His words tore into their hearts, but she tried to remain calm for her mother’s sake. It almost worked. “Cancer?” said Selma as her voice sank with the word. The cup of tea, nestled inside Jenna’s hand, slid from her hand and splashed onto the floor. “But she… she…” Jenna said in a voice that rocked with absolute shock, then she suddenly ceased to speak. The color drained from her cheeks, and the words seemed wedged into her mouth. She was so shaken that she lowered herself to a chair. Jenna’s mother turned over to comfort her as she sat in a chair with a look of disbelief. There was nothing to be said because nothing was going to take away that hole in her heart that was causing so much pain. Her mom came over and sat down beside her and held her close and helplessly held her. Salsan was not just fighting cancer, but also fighting the feeling of guilt of being unable to live to see her family settled after the war finally ended. The doctor predicted that Jenna’s mother had possibly six months at best and that, near the end, she would have to be hospitalized. There, she could be medicated to help her deal with the intense pain she would surely experience. Her mother vowed, right then and there, that she would never allow it. If God willed her to leave this life, then it would not be from a concrete-walled intensive care unit surrounded by strangers of equal suffering. She planned to die at home, in her bed, surrounded by the people and things she loved.
On the short drive home, her mother calmly began to plan her remaining days. Despite the devastation of her prognosis, she exhibited a serene strength that Jenna found both admirable and heartbreaking. Her mother had never anticipated a war, and now she faced an entirely different battle, one that she would face with dignity and resolve. An aunt had already been targeted, and eight cousins were laid to rest. Eight lifeless bodies were shrouded in white cloth. Together, the parts and pieces of dead bodies were laid to rest in the grave. This was nothing abnormal now, stacking bodies one after the other, and patients inside Al-Shifa and Nasser Hospital were not exempt from the dangers of extremely violent events. Bodies were simply tossed away and treated like a stockpile of worthless materials. The Israeli Civil Defense did not even try to deny the carnage. Mass graves were acknowledged by the Gaza Civil Defense, with hundreds left to rot in the basements of these facilities.
The scale of devastation and loss was beyond comprehension. Where were the investigations? Why were families unable to claim bodies they reasonably believed to be their family members? Why were independent human rights organizations banned from conducting investigations and interviewing potential witnesses? The absence of answers and accountability only intensified the grief and frustration of those left behind.
These discoveries naturally raised significant concerns and sparked calls for inquiries into the circumstances of these horrid burials. The lack of transparency and the apparent disregard for human dignity were appalling. Families, already shattered by loss, were denied the basic human right to mourn and bury their dead with dignity. The inability to perform proper burial rites added a layer of torment to an already unbearable situation.
In the international arena, the news of mass graves and unclaimed bodies in hospital basements reverberated with shock and condemnation. Human rights organizations, world leaders, and concerned citizens called for urgent investigations and interventions. They demanded that independent bodies be allowed to enter and document the atrocities, to interview witnesses, and to hold those responsible accountable. Yet, despite these outcries, little changed on the ground. The grim reality remained: bodies continued to pile up, and the living were left in a state of perpetual fear and mourning.
For Jenna and her family, the constant threat of violence and the memories of their lost relatives haunted their every moment. The knowledge that their loved ones’ bodies might be lying in some forgotten basement, unacknowledged and unclaimed, was a source of unending anguish. This pervasive sense of injustice and helplessness weighed heavily on them, compounding their grief and fueling a desperate need for truth and closure amidst the chaos.
The systemic neglect and brutality experienced by so many of the Arabs created a profound sense of alienation and despair. The Israeli army is not protecting soldiers, but in fact they are protecting crime.
It seemed as if the world had turned its back on their suffering, as if the standard rules of humanity had been suspended in this place. Jenna’s husband was taken in the last days of October 2023 and incarcerated after the army did a sweep of young Palestinian males and placed into detention for no reason.
Now Jenna had another burden to bear. She did not share her mother’s determination to face her end on her terms, at home and surrounded by loved ones. She was dreaming, and it was a fantasy and her brave defiance, sounded more like a hallucination that chose to ignore the overwhelming dehumanization.
Jenna did not comment, but tried to cling to her mother’s strength and resolve as they navigated these final months. They began to plan for a dignified end, preparing for the inevitable with as much grace and love as they could muster. Yet, the specter of mass graves and the unanswered questions about their relatives’ fates loomed large, casting a shadow over their efforts to find peace.
Amid this turmoil, Jenna’s plea to the doctor echoed the desperation of countless others who had sought help but found none. “Can’t you do something to help her?” she asked, her voice breaking with the weight of her sorrow. The doctor’s response, a cold and clinical “There is nothing left to do but accept your mother’s condition,” felt like a final, cruel twist of fate. How could she accept that her mother, who had given so much and endured such suffering, was now being told to simply accept her impending death without recourse or hope?
This stark reality forced Jenna to confront the world’s brutal indifference. Her mother was not Jewish and was not an Israeli citizen, and despite being born there and living her entire life in this land, she was denied the medical benefits that others received. This added layer of injustice was almost too much to bear. It underscored the pervasive inequality and discrimination that had defined their existence.
As Jenna held her mother’s hands and looked into her eyes, she vowed silently to honor her mother’s wishes. She would ensure that her mother could die with the dignity and love she deserved, even if the world around them seemed intent on denying it. This was a final act of love and defiance, a way to reclaim some measure of humanity in a place that had seen so much of it stripped away.
Victims were found at two hospitals and were ‘buried alive’ while others were ‘executed’ by the Israeli military. Mass graves were found in these two hospitals in the Gaza Strip containing 392 bodies, including those of women, children, and the elderly, showed signs of torture and executions, officials in the enclave have said.
What would permit an adult to torment and then kill a child?
Many people in throughout the world are surprised, even to this day, to be told that children are beaten with thin whips within the cellars of hospitals, mosques and any schools left standing, and that they are whipped at times for no greater offense than being Palestinian, for failing to kneel to a soldier or utter words of respect to the very same person who describes them as dogs and pigs. No rules exist about these whippings, and numerous public statements have been made by the military commander in their defense. All of these actions and public statements are in themselves revelatory of the attitudes which still prevail within the system.
Thoughts of the deaths of other mothers in Gaza and questions about minimizing her mother’s pain circled in her mind, but she could not catch one long enough to react to any of them. At least Salsan was not being tortured during her slow death.
Most of the people persecuted in the basement of the hospital were patients, and then they killed the doctors who remained to care for the sick.
Brutal corporal punishment did not begin with people in Gaza and that it is, in fact, an old tradition within the Israeli Defense Forces. I have never found a convincing argument that Jews were punished in concentration camps. The fact that a crime might have been committed with impunity in the past may make it seem more familiar and less gruesome to certain people, but surely, it does not give it any greater legality. And the fact that some boys may have been whipped unjustly one-hundred years ago does not make that injustice more palatable today. Whatever it was once, it is wrong in its present context. What does matter is that today it is being used by Israelis on Palestinians and that it is being used, in too many cases to imagine, with a number of persuasive excuses and with deeply seated ethnic hate.
If you read about a teenager being almost beaten to death before finally shot in the head or a sixty-pound ten-year-old with his fingers broken by a soldier, who gleaming with excitement, you can assume that a some Israeli lieutenant someplace will be able to pass it off as discipline. It is difficult to get these two situations out of her head, The plans of the Israeli government promise an increase in the death rate, larger concentration camps, more conflicts domestically and internationally, extensive data collection, surveillance, and a truly regimented society. This included severe restrictions on Palestinian college students, and psychological barriers.
Jenna was grateful that her mother was not captured and although the tents were primitive, they were together to speak to one another and Jenna would be there to hold her mother when she died.
The dignity of dying in your home would not be an option. One cannot be buried on top of rubble. Everything given felt like it had been taken away.
Salsan was calm, but Jenna, on the other hand, was a storm of emotions. As she drove, her mind raced with memories and fears. She recalled her mother’s laughter, the warmth of her hugs, and the countless moments they had shared. The thought of losing her felt like an unbearable weight pressing down on her chest. She stole glances at her mother, who seemed lost in her thoughts, planning how to make the most of the time she had left. The juxtaposition of her mother’s calm acceptance and her internal chaos was almost too much to bear.
When they arrived home, the house felt different. Every corner, every piece of furniture seemed to take on new significance, as if imbued with the urgency of impending loss. Jenna’s mother began to make lists, assigning tasks to family members, deciding what she wanted to leave behind.
“Can’t you do something to help her?” Jenna pleaded with the doctor earlier, her voice breaking with desperation. He apologized and said, “There is nothing left to do but accept your mother’s condition.”
“Accept? Accept what? Accept that my mother is going to die?” was all she could think. The word “accept” felt like a cruel joke. How could she accept that the woman who had always been her rock, her guide, was slipping away? The finality of it was too much to comprehend. She felt a mix of anger, helplessness, and profound sadness. The world outside continued its relentless march forward, indifferent to her pain. People went about their lives unaware of the silent agony she carried within her. The normalcy felt like a betrayal, a mockery of her grief.
Jenna wanted to scream, to make the world stop and acknowledge the profound loss she was about to endure. But all she could do was hold her mother’s hand, listen to her plans, and try to find some semblance of peace in their precious time together.
The sun shone strongly when they exited the hospital doors, and people were doing everyday activities. Life appeared to be no more than ordinary moments. Time did not pause, nor did the lack of it. A woman climbed onto a bus that stopped at the curb. An old man passed by with flowers in one hand and a gift in the other. A couple of young doctors laughed with each other as they made their way toward the hospital entrance. Horns honked, and pigeons flew across the sky. The world did not stop because Salsan Hayat had been given a death sentence.
Jenna was stunned by the outside world’s normalcy. To her annoyance, it was all commonplace — ordinary people doing ordinary things. With irritation, she thought only of what would become of her mother: Why should anyone be smiling? Why should gifts of flowers be given? She wanted to shout, “Stop! Don’t you know that my mother is dying?”
Until that moment, the thought of cancer had never entered their minds. Their mother was growing older, and naturally, she began to slow down, but she was still very much involved in the daily functions of her children’s lives. Before bombs demolished their house, Salsan still cooked, cleaned and prepared their clothing every day. Jenna thought her mother was probably anemic; vitamins and a little rest would alleviate her physical ailments. But just now, a doctor in a white coat stood in front of Jenna’s family and read what amounted to a death sentence from a medical chart, doing so with professional indifference. He handed her mother a death sentence. Jenna would never forget the look on her mother’s face. She would never forget it as long as she lived.
The doctor predicted that Jenna’s mother had possibly six months at best and that, near the end, she would have to be hospitalized. There, she could be medicated to help her deal with the intense pain she would surely experience. Her mother vowed, right then and there, that she would never allow it. If God willed her to leave this life, then it would not be from a concrete-walled intensive care unit surrounded by strangers of equal suffering. She planned to die at home, in her bed, surrounded by the people and things she loved.
“Can’t you do something to help her?” Jenna pleaded with the doctor. He apologized and said, “There is nothing left to do but accept your mother’s condition.”
“Accept? Accept what? Accept that my mother is going to die?” was all she could think. The word “accept” felt like a cruel joke. How could she accept that the woman who had always been her rock, her guide, was slipping away? The finality of it was too much to comprehend. She felt a mix of anger, helplessness, and profound sadness. The world outside continued its relentless march forward, indifferent to her pain. People went about their lives unaware of the silent agony she carried within her. The normalcy felt like a betrayal, a mockery of her grief.
She moved quickly to her mother, seizing both hands, gripping them tightly with her fingers, and staring at her in disbelief. She looked towards the doctor, her last frantic desperation, trying to catch some sign of hope. But there was no hope, no chance forthcoming. There was no doubt that Salsan was going to die.
Jenna got his message, and in her mind, it echoed painfully: her mother was not Jewish, and she was not an Israeli citizen. She would be getting the medical care offered to a Palestinian. Bone marrow is almost unheard of. Chemotherapy was no longer an option for a poor mother and despite the desperate pleas of her children, who just wanted to save her mother’s life.
Jenna was born in Gaza and most likely will die there, but she was not equal there. She was not born with social or religious benefits. When most Palestinians suffer from a severe condition, they are likely to die from that severe condition. They were not entitled to the medical benefits that Israelis received. The injustice of it all burned within Jenna, adding to her overwhelming feeling that she will soon bury her mother, if the Israelis do not bomb them into little bits of body. She could hardly process these realities. Despite a lifelong connection to a country, they were treated like unwelcome visitors, deprived of the care that might have given her more time and having to remain sane against a backdrop of relentless inhumanity.
Khalilah Sabra, Attorney
