“Wael was martyred before our eyes”: Israel’s ethnic cleansing of Khan Yunis
On the night of January 23, 2024, Khan Yunis closed its last chapter in our memories. The sky echoed with the deadly orders of drones: "Evacuate immediately, or all those remaining in the Al-Amal neighborhood—and in all of Khan Younis—will be eliminated." We carried what couldn’t be carried. Our bags were filled not with clothes or food, but with fear, anxiety, and the false hope of return.
My late father told us the displacement would last only two days, so we left everything behind—even our souls remained there. But time showed no mercy, and the days passed without return.
A full month went by before we heard that the occupation forces had withdrawn from our neighborhood, and people began returning to check on their homes—or what was left of them. We decided to go. At dawn on Tuesday, February 27, 2024, we set out on foot, walking for hours through streets that were barely recognizable owing to the devastation.
When we reached Al-Dahra—the once-vibrant commercial hub of Khan Yunis—I stood in disbelief. I didn’t recognize my city. I asked my father, “Where is the Dahra roundabout?” He replied, “You’re standing on it.”
Nothing remained. What we saw was total destruction, buildings collapsed, streets torn apart and bodies scattered everywhere.
The Destruction of Khan Yunis, February, 27 2024. Photo Credit: Ghaydaa Kamal Alabadsaa.
We continued toward our home. I was documenting everything on my phone, fearful that a single bullet from the sky could strike us. My sister Sama shouted, “There are bodies of young men ahead—don’t step on them!” I closed my eyes, and she took my hand to guide me through the death that surrounded us.
We never made it home. We were warned that clashes would erupt in fifteen minutes, so we turned back empty-handed. With us was a kind young man, Wael Safi, 29 years old, whose wife was pregnant with their first child. He said, “Wait for me, I’ll come with you.” We didn’t know the Angel of Death was among us.
On our way back, someone shouted: “A tank is here! Run!”
If only I could describe that moment. I wished a camera had captured the pounding of my heart as the tank chased us. We ran madly, searching for shelter, and hid in a partially destroyed house. I sat on a broken staircase with my father, Sama, and Wael.
My heart was paralyzed with fear. The sound of armored vehicles grew louder. I cried bitterly and reached for my phone to call my mother—to say goodbye, to ask her to forgive me. I knew this was the end. We would be martyred, and no one would find our bodies.
“Oh Lord, Most Merciful, just as You saved Jonah from the belly of the whale, save us from here!” I kept repeating this prayer as the tank’s gunfire threatened every living thing.
After half an hour, silence fell. Wael said he would go out to check if the soldiers had withdrawn. He stepped outside… and moments later, a single treacherous bullet took his life.
Wael was martyred before our eyes.
Palestinians in Khan Yunis carry the body of Wael Safi, who was murdered by the Israeli military on February 27, 2024. Photo Credit: Ghaydaa Kamal Alabadsaa
I couldn’t scream. I froze. Sama covered my mouth with her hand to stop me from making a sound. I couldn’t bear the scene. I wanted to collapse beside him—but I couldn’t. Wael… you promised we’d leave together. Why did you leave us behind?
After the army withdrew, I broke down in tears. I couldn’t hold it in. My heart was on fire. While I cried for Wael — I imagined that it could have been my father or my sister.
We returned to the refugee camps, where my family waited with anxious hearts. When I saw my mother calling to me from afar, I jumped off the cart and ran to her. I hugged her tightly, cried into her arms, kissed her forehead, and thanked God for saving us.
But Wael…Wael didn’t make it.
