In Gaza, Doctors Are Hunted. I Know Because I Was One of Them

He never implores for help. Israel burned his car, bombed his tent, and destroyed everything he built. So I am speaking for him.

Preamble

Some people in Gaza carry their suffering quietly. They refuse to plead for help or complain about what has been done to them, even when the world has taken everything from them. Dr. Hossam Hamad is one of those people. He is a 60 year old medical laboratory specialist from Beit Hanoun who spent his entire life serving his community. He diagnosed patients, supported families, and helped people heal. He never centered his own hardship.

Even now, after Israel destroyed his laboratory, flattened his home, burned his car, and bombed the tent his family was sheltering in, he still speaks with calm dignity. He does not plead. He does not complain. He mentions his needs only when they involve his daughters’ future.

So the responsibility falls on others to speak for him. What happened to him is not random. It is part of a pattern. Medical personnel in Gaza are targeted along with their families. Their homes are destroyed. Their cars are burned. Their shelters are bombed. Their lives are dismantled piece by piece. Because he will not plead for himself, his story must be told for him.

Main Article (first person, from Dr. Hossam)

My name is Dr. Hossam Hamad. I am 60 years old. For my entire life, I worked as a medical laboratory specialist in Beit Hanoun. I owned a laboratory that served my community. I spent my youth and my strength helping patients, diagnosing illnesses, and supporting families. I was proud of my work. I was proud to be someone people could rely on.

Today, I live in a tent that has already been flooded by winter rain.

Israel destroyed my laboratory. They destroyed my home. They burned my car. They bombed the tent my family fled to. Everything I built over a lifetime is gone. I went from a capable person to someone who has nothing. I never imagined I would reach this point.

Seven of us are living in this tent. It is ripped open from the bombing. When the winter storms came, the water poured straight in. The ground turned to mud beneath us. Our blankets were soaked. The cold was so sharp it felt like it was cutting through our bones. We spent nights awake because the water kept rising around us. We tried to lift our belongings off the ground, but there is nowhere dry to put anything.

Winter is now fading, but the damage is done. The tent is still torn. The cold has weakened our bodies. The dampness has made us sick. We survived the worst months, but we are not safe. We are not stable. We are not living. We are only enduring.

I have five daughters. Two are graduates, 26 and 24. They cannot find work because Gaza has no economy left. Two are in university. One needs 700 dollars per semester. The other needs 1,000. My youngest is 14 and needs 100 dollars a month for school supplies. I want them to continue their education. It is the only thing I can still give them.

I do not plead for help. I do not complain about my situation. I simply state the truth of our life now. The only time I speak of need is when I speak of my daughters. Their education is their future. It is their protection. It is the one thing that cannot be taken from them.

Here is what we need to survive:

• 1,700 dollars every four months for university fees.

• 100 dollars per month for my youngest daughter’s school supplies.

• 800 dollars per month for food for seven people.

• 200 dollars per month to repair or replace the tent that was bombed and flooded.

• 150 dollars per month for basic necessities.

Support for my two unemployed graduate daughters.

This is what it takes to keep my family alive. This is what it takes to keep my daughters in school. This is what it takes to survive after everything has been taken from us.

I spent my life helping others. Now I am speaking quietly, with dignity, for the sake of my daughters.

“This is our kitchen inside the tent. This is our clothes hanging on a wire because we don't have cupboards, these holes in our tent, and our bedding. We are making breakfast.”

Closing

If you want to help Dr. Hossam and his family recover from the winter flooding, continue his daughters’ education, and rebuild even a small part of the life Israel destroyed, you can donate here:

https://chuffed.org/project/doctorhossam

If you want to reach out to him directly, offer solidarity, or simply let him know he is not alone, you can contact him on Twitter:

@KafarnaAhl73154

Every form of support matters. Donations, resharing, commenting, boosting the post, leaving a note. Engagement is not a small thing. It is how stories travel. It is how help reaches the people who need it.

And it is important to understand why he keeps returning to his daughters’ education. For Palestinians, education is not optional. It is survival. It is the one thing no army can bomb out of a person. Palestinians have one of the highest academic attainment rates relative to GDP in the world because learning has always been a form of resistance, dignity, and continuity. When everything else is taken, education is what remains.

Medical personnel in Gaza gave their lives to keep others alive. They were hunted for helping people. The least we can do is show up for them now.

Let us not leave a 60 year old doctor who spent his life healing others to survive in a torn, flooded tent.

One year into retirement, he was reminded by his colleagues that dedication never retires.