Gaza Medical Student’s Dreams of Becoming Doctor Tested by War 

Aseel Abu Haddaf, a Palestinian medical student who fled her house in Khan Younis with her family due to Israeli strikes amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinian group Hamas, looks on at a tent camp where they shelter, in Rafah in the southern Gaza Strip January 28, 2024. (Reuters)
Aseel Abu Haddaf, a Palestinian medical student who fled her house in Khan Younis with her family due to Israeli strikes amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinian group Hamas, looks on at a tent camp where they shelter, in Rafah in the southern Gaza Strip January 28, 2024. (Reuters)
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Gaza Medical Student’s Dreams of Becoming Doctor Tested by War 

Aseel Abu Haddaf, a Palestinian medical student who fled her house in Khan Younis with her family due to Israeli strikes amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinian group Hamas, looks on at a tent camp where they shelter, in Rafah in the southern Gaza Strip January 28, 2024. (Reuters)
Aseel Abu Haddaf, a Palestinian medical student who fled her house in Khan Younis with her family due to Israeli strikes amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinian group Hamas, looks on at a tent camp where they shelter, in Rafah in the southern Gaza Strip January 28, 2024. (Reuters)

Palestinian medical student Aseel Abu Haddaf was due to graduate medical school in Gaza this year but instead she is living in a tent as her home and her university lie in rubble from Israeli air strikes, wondering if she will ever become a doctor.

Israel's war in Gaza, triggered by a Hamas attack on Oct. 7 that killed more than 1,200 people, has uprooted every vestige of normal life in the tiny, crowded enclave and killed about 25,000 Palestinians according to local health authorities.

For students like Abu Haddaf the future is even more uncertain than for most, not knowing if their hard years of study will now count for anything or if what remains of the university still has any record of their academic progress.

"Medicine has been my ambition ever since I was young. As a child I always used to see myself as a doctor because of the situation we live in Gaza," Abu Haddaf said, adding that the devastation of the war had made her yet more determined to achieve that goal.

She had been in the final year of her six-year course at al-Azhar University in the southern part of Gaza City, ready to graduate later this year and start work as an intern to become a fully-fledged doctor. She hoped eventually to become a surgeon.

Gaza City has been largely cut off from the rest of the enclave for weeks after Israeli forces encircled it during their first major offensive into the enclave, but massive destruction has been evident from video, photographs and satellite pictures.

Abu Haddaf has no idea what has become of her lecturers, other university staff or fellow students. "There is no connection. I know nothing about them, if they are alive or dead," she said of classmates.

"I hope we can go back to our studies even if it is in tents and to have access to the educational staff to teach us and help fulfil our dreams to become doctors," she said.

Volunteer

The Abu Haddaf family had lived in Khan Younis, the biggest city in southern Gaza. Israeli strikes have pounded the entire strip since the start of the war but have greatly intensified in Khan Younis as ground forces invaded it this year.

Their home was destroyed and like about 85% of Gaza residents the family is now homeless. Like most others they are now in Rafah, hard against the Egyptian border and seen as relatively safer from Israel's bombardment.

Abu Haddaf spends much of her day cleaning the family tent, washing clothes, cooking the little food they can find and getting through the many hard chores required when living without a house or electricity.

But she also volunteers for medical duties as far as she can with local authorities to get practical experience in doctoring, but she regards it as a poor substitute for her university training.

Gaza needs all the medics it can get, with tens of thousands of people injured by Israel's bombardment, the enclave facing famine according to UN projections and much of the population at growing risk from disease.

Whether medical students like Abu Haddaf will ever complete their training is yet another of the war's unanswered questions. Meanwhile, like everybody else in Gaza, her biggest focus is simply survival.

"Here in the camp we live through tough days. All that consumes us is how to find food and drink," she said.



Graves on Top of Graves… Undertakers in Gaza Are Exhausted

Palestinian gravedigger Saadi Hassan Barakeh say he has been burying the dead for 28 years, but has never been so busy amid the Gaza war. MAHMUD HAMS / AFP
Palestinian gravedigger Saadi Hassan Barakeh say he has been burying the dead for 28 years, but has never been so busy amid the Gaza war. MAHMUD HAMS / AFP
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Graves on Top of Graves… Undertakers in Gaza Are Exhausted

Palestinian gravedigger Saadi Hassan Barakeh say he has been burying the dead for 28 years, but has never been so busy amid the Gaza war. MAHMUD HAMS / AFP
Palestinian gravedigger Saadi Hassan Barakeh say he has been burying the dead for 28 years, but has never been so busy amid the Gaza war. MAHMUD HAMS / AFP

More than 10 months into the Gaza war, so many bodies are arriving at Al-Soueid cemetery in Gaza’s Deir el-Balah that gravediggers are forced to build graves on top of other graves.

Undertakers are working like bricklayers in the cemetery, piling cinder blocks into tight rectangles, side by side, for freshly dug graves.

Leading his team of gravediggers, Saadi Hassan Barakeh, 63, now handles Al-Soueid cemetery, with its 5.5 hectares of graves. Previously, he also oversaw burials at the nearby Ansar cemetery, which covers 3.5 hectares. But now “the Ansar cemetery is completely full,” he told AFP.

The two cemeteries are located in the city of Deir el-Balah in the center of the Gaza Strip that has been bombarded by Israel for more than ten months after Hamas launched the unprecedented October 7 attack in Israel.

“Before the war, we had one or two funerals per week, maximum five,” Barakeh says, wearing a white prayer cap that matches his long beard.

“Now, there are weeks when I bury 200 to 300 people. It's unbelievable.”

Yet even with one cemetery instead of two, Barakeh said he works “every day, from six in the morning to six in the evening.”

Piles of Martyrs

Barakeh, leading his team of gravediggers, says “The cemetery is so full that we now dig graves on top of other graves, we've piled the dead in levels.”

Barakeh has been burying the dead for 28 years. In “all the wars in Gaza,” he says he has “never seen crimes like this.”

Barakeh bears daily witness to the tragedies. Hoe in hand, he gives encouragement to his 12 workers as they prepare and close dozens of graves every day.

At night, however, some images are hard to forget.

“I can't sleep after seeing so many mangled children's bodies and dead women,” he told AFP, adding: “I buried 47 women from the Tabatibi family, including 16 who were pregnant. What crime have these women committed?”

The October 7 Hamas attack which triggered the war resulted in the deaths of 1,198 people, mostly civilians, according to an AFP tally of Israeli official figures.

Israel’s retaliatory military offensive has killed at least 40,005 people in Gaza, according to the Hamas-run health ministry.

“I buried a lot of women and children, and only two or three guys from Hamas,” says Barakeh.

‘Why the children?’

If Israelis “have a problem with (Yahya) Sinwar and with (Ismail) Haniyeh, why do they harm children?” he adds angrily.

Barakeh is convinced that the Israelis want to eliminate the entire Palestinian people.

Graves with white headstones fill nearly all the available space, while men dig new holes in the few vacant areas.

The team forms a human chain to carry the cinder blocks, whose price has soared since Gaza’s factories closed due to a lack of fuel and raw materials.

“One shekel ($0.27) before the war, 10 or 12 today,” he lamented.

Besides gravediggers and the workers carrying cinder blocks, hardly anyone comes to funerals anymore, Barakeh says.

“Before the war, there were sometimes 1,000 people at one funeral; today there are days when we bury 100 people and there aren’t even 20 to lay them to rest.”

High above his head, the constant hum of an Israeli surveillance drone serves as a reminder of the aerial threat creating a steady stream of bodies.