Yousef’s Story…When Pain Becomes Everyday Life
“It wasn’t just one moment of loss for Yousef’s family… but a series of never-ending losses.”
Foreword
Manufacturing Dissent hasn’t published anything from Abood A in a while. His old account was suspended, and we’ve been waiting to see if we could connect a payment option to his new one so anyone who wanted to support him as a paid subscriber could do it properly. We still haven’t had any luck. I didn’t want to keep holding back the stories he’s been sending. His writing is one of the few ways people can see Gaza through the eyes of someone living it, and it matters for how we humanize Palestinians under siege.
For now, if you’d like to support Abood directly, you can do so at the link below.
In an ordinary moment while sitting with my friend Yousef, I found myself facing a story heavier than any casual conversation. Yousef has been my friend since childhood. We studied together in school and university, growing up with simple dreams of a stable life—but the war changed everything.
Before the war began, Yousef’s father worked as a financial officer at UNRWA, a hardworking man everyone in the family relied on. He was the backbone, the foundation of the household. But the occupation left nothing as it was.
At the beginning of the war, Yousef’s home was hit by a reconnaissance missile, which caused severe injuries to his father’s back. He was immediately taken to the hospital. After examination, the diagnosis was devastating: complete paralysis. It wasn’t just a medical condition—it was a shock that struck the entire family. Their lives turned into fear and disbelief, as if the ground beneath them had collapsed.
The tragedy did not end there. Yousef’s father was dismissed from his job at UNRWA despite his critical condition, and was only given his remaining savings. As months passed, the suffering did not ease—it only grew heavier.
One day, Yousef’s younger brother, a 15-year-old boy, decided to go alone toward the area near where they lived, where occupation forces were stationed, to check on their home: was it still standing or had it been destroyed? He rode his bicycle with the innocence of a child in a place that allowed no innocence. No one saw him, but danger was present. That short journey ended in another tragedy—the family lost their youngest child, deepening their wounds even further.
Yousef found himself facing repeated loss: a father who became paralyzed, a young brother who was gone, and a family struggling to hold itself together amid continuous collapse. He tried to become the remaining support, to carry what was left of his family on his shoulders, but each day broke him a little more inside.
After some time trying to adjust to this pain, the final blow came. His father later passed away—not only from illness, but, as Yousef says, from the weight of sorrow and oppression that crushed his body and soul. The man who once held the family together was gone, in a moment that felt like the end of all stability.
And yet, when I speak to Yousef, I am struck by his strange resilience. He tells me quietly, with a mixture of pain and acceptance:
“Don’t be sad for me… I am not sad. I am happy they are finally at peace. They are no longer living this exhausting life.”
His words do not make the story easier, but they reveal something deeper: the human ability to find meaning even within the harshest forms of loss.
And so Yousef’s story remains not just a tale of pain, but a testimony of a family that endured war’s endless losses—and is still trying to continue despite everything.
So unfair. I pray to Allah everyday 🙏