Palestinian Woman Says She Was Mistreated after Israel Detained Her in Gaza

Palestinian women leave the area of an Israeli air strike in Deir Al Balah town, southern Gaza Strip, 09 February 2024. (EPA)
Palestinian women leave the area of an Israeli air strike in Deir Al Balah town, southern Gaza Strip, 09 February 2024. (EPA)
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Palestinian Woman Says She Was Mistreated after Israel Detained Her in Gaza

Palestinian women leave the area of an Israeli air strike in Deir Al Balah town, southern Gaza Strip, 09 February 2024. (EPA)
Palestinian women leave the area of an Israeli air strike in Deir Al Balah town, southern Gaza Strip, 09 February 2024. (EPA)

Israeli soldiers seized Tamam al-Aswad after their tanks crashed through the walls of a Gaza City school where she was sheltering in December, later imprisoning her for weeks in Israel where she says she was insulted and mistreated.

Aswad says she was freed on Thursday at the Kerem Shalom crossing point from Israel into Gaza and has been unable to contact her family after last seeing them at the moment of her arrest.

Israel's military did not immediately respond to a Reuters request for comment on Aswad's detention and allegations of mistreatment. It has previously said it detains Palestinians in accordance with international law and its protocols are to treat prisoners with dignity.

"Two tanks entered the school. I was watching from a hole in the wall and I saw them entering homes and blowing them up. I heard women's voices from inside those homes. It was terrifying," she said.

Aswad is one of many Palestinians that Israel has detained during its four-month-old assault on Gaza, an offensive that has led to massive devastation across much of the tiny, crowded enclave, pushing most of its inhabitants from their homes.

Palestinian health authorities say nearly 28,000 people have been killed in the war.

Israel says it wants to crush the militant group Hamas which rampaged across the border on Oct. 7, killing 1,200 people and taking more than 250 hostages according to Israeli tallies.

Israel has won control of much of northern and central Gaza, areas it told civilians to leave early in the conflict and says it has killed about 10,000 of the group's fighters, though Hamas disputes that.

When Israeli forces entered the Omar Ibn al-Aas school in Gaza City's Sheikh Radwan district where Aswad was sheltering on Dec. 14, they lined up the men and ordered them to strip before taking the women to the side, she said.

They assembled captives at the al-Taqwa mosque nearby. "They were interrogating me, asking 'which faction do you belong to?'" she said. Aswad said she told them she was only a housewife and had not harmed anybody.

"They told me: 'You are a threat to Israel's security. You will be detained for five years'," she said. She was then handcuffed and blindfolded and put on a bus with other detainees, she said.

Abuse

During the drive, the soldiers insulted her and other detainees, she said. She was told to keep her head bent over and despite this being very uncomfortable, they hit her on the head, arm or neck if she tried to lift her head. The same was done to others on the bus, she said.

The first place where they were held for several days "was bitterly cold", Aswad said. She was then blindfolded again, handcuffed and shackled, and transferred to Damon Prison in Haifa, she said.

Israel has not said how many people it has detained during its military operations in Gaza. Rights groups have estimated that the number is in the thousands.

"It was forbidden to raise your head even if your neck or back hurt. It was forbidden to say anything even if you were in pain," she said.

In detention, she said soldiers ordered her over to a wall where there was an Israeli flag. "The soldier said to me 'kiss the flag, kiss the flag'," she said. When she refused, he banged her head into the wall and then hit her on the back, she said.

Reuters was unable to independently confirm any of the allegations.

Eventually a soldier told the detainees "all the women of Gaza will return to their homes", she said. Her return was "an indescribable joy", but it is incomplete. She is now in Rafah in the south and believes her husband and children are still in Gaza City, where much of the worst fighting has happened.

"God willing, we will reach each other," she said.



Childhood Cancer Patients in Lebanon Must Battle Disease while Under Fire

Mohammad Mousawi, 8, a displaced boy from the southern suburb of Beirut who suffers from leukaemia, steps out the entrance of the Children's Cancer Center of Lebanon, in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Nov. 15, 2024. (AP Photo/Hussein Malla)
Mohammad Mousawi, 8, a displaced boy from the southern suburb of Beirut who suffers from leukaemia, steps out the entrance of the Children's Cancer Center of Lebanon, in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Nov. 15, 2024. (AP Photo/Hussein Malla)
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Childhood Cancer Patients in Lebanon Must Battle Disease while Under Fire

Mohammad Mousawi, 8, a displaced boy from the southern suburb of Beirut who suffers from leukaemia, steps out the entrance of the Children's Cancer Center of Lebanon, in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Nov. 15, 2024. (AP Photo/Hussein Malla)
Mohammad Mousawi, 8, a displaced boy from the southern suburb of Beirut who suffers from leukaemia, steps out the entrance of the Children's Cancer Center of Lebanon, in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Nov. 15, 2024. (AP Photo/Hussein Malla)

Carol Zeghayer gripped her IV as she hurried down the brightly lit hallway of Beirut’s children’s cancer center. The 9-year-old's face brightened when she spotted her playmates from the oncology ward.

Diagnosed with cancer just months before the conflict between Hezbollah and Israel erupted in October 2023, Carol relies on weekly trips to the center in the Lebanese capital for treatment.

But what used to be a 90-minute drive, now takes up to three hours on a mountainous road to skirt the heavy bombardment in south Lebanon, but still not without danger from Israeli airstrikes. The family is just one among many across Lebanon now grappling with the hardships of both illness and war.

“She’s just a child. When they strike, she asks me, ‘Mama, was that far?’” said her mother, Sindus Hamra, The AP reported.

The family lives in Hasbaya, a province in southeastern Lebanon where the rumble of Israeli airstrikes has become part of daily life. Just 15 minutes away from their home, in the front-line town of Khiam, Israeli troops and Hezbollah fighters clash amidst relentless bombardments.

On the morning of a recent trip to Beirut for her treatment, the family heard a rocket roar and its deafening impact as they left their home. Israeli airstrikes have also hit vehicles along the Damascus-Beirut highway, which Carol and her mother have to cross.

The bombardment hasn’t let up even as hopes grew in recent days that a ceasefire might soon be agreed.

More than war, Hamra fears that Carol will miss chemotherapy.

“Her situation is very tricky — her cancer can spread to her head,” Hamra said, her eyes filling with tears. Her daughter, diagnosed first with cancer of the lymph nodes and later leukemia, has completed a third of her treatment, with many months still ahead.

While Carol's family remains in their home, many in Lebanon have been displaced by an intensified Israeli bombardment that began in late September. Tens of thousands fled their homes in southern and eastern Lebanon, as well as Beirut’s southern suburbs — among them were families with children battling cancer.

The Children’s Cancer Center of Lebanon quickly identified each patient’s location to ensure treatments remained uninterrupted, sometimes facilitating them at hospitals closer to the families' new locations, said Zeina El Chami, the center’s fundraising and events executive.

During the first days of the escalation, the center admitted some patients for emergency care and kept them there as it was unsafe to send them home, said Dolly Noun, a pediatric hematologist and oncologist.

“They had no place to go,” she added. "We’ve had patients getting admitted for panic attacks. It has not been easy.”

The war has not only deepened the struggles of young patients.

“Many physicians have had to relocate,” Noun said. “I know physicians, who work here, who haven’t seen their parents in like six weeks because the roads are very dangerous.”

Since 2019, Lebanon has been battered by cascading crises — economic collapse, the devastating Beirut port explosion in 2020, and now a relentless war — leaving institutions like the cancer center struggling to secure the funds needed to save lives.

“Cancer waits for no one,” Chami said. The crises have affected the center’s ability to hold fundraising events in recent years, leaving it in urgent need of donations, she added.

The facility is currently treating more than 400 patients aged from few days to 18 years old, Chami said. It treats around 60% of children with cancer in Lebanon.

For Carol, the war is sometimes a topic of conversation with her friends at the cancer center. Her mother hears her recount hearing the booms and how the house shook.

For others, the moments with their friends in the center's playroom provide a brief escape from the grim reality outside.

Eight-year-old Mohammad Mousawi darts around the playroom, giggling as he hides objects and books for his playmate to find. Too absorbed by the game, he barely answers questions, before the nurse calls him for his weekly chemotherapy treatment.

His family lived in Ghobeiry, a neighborhood in Beirut’s southern suburbs. Their house was marked for destruction in an Israeli evacuation warning weeks ago, his mother said.

“But till now, they haven’t struck it,” said his mother, Suzan Mousawi. “They have hit (buildings) around it — two behind it and two in front of it.”

The family has relocated three times. They first moved to the mountains, but the bitter cold weakened Mohammad’s already fragile immune system.

Now they’ve settled in Ain el-Rummaneh, not far from their home in the southern Beirut suburbs known as Dahiyeh, which has come under significant bombardment. As the Israeli military widened the radius of its bombardment, some buildings hit were less than 500 meters (yards) from their current home.

The Mousawis have lived their entire lives in Dahiyeh, Suzan Mousawi said, until the war uprooted them. Her parents’ home was bombed. “All our memories are gone,” she said.

Mohammad has 15 weeks of treatment left, and his family is praying it will be successful. But the war has stolen some of their dreams.

“When Mohammad fell ill, we bought a house,” she said. “It wasn’t big, but it was something. I bought him an electric scooter and set up a pool, telling myself we’d take him there once he finishes treatment.”

She fears the house, bought with every penny she had saved, could be lost at any moment.

For some families, this kind of conflict is not new. Asinat Al Lahham, a 9-year-old patient of the cancer center, is a refugee whose family fled Syria.

“We escaped one war to another,” Asinat’s mother, Fatima, added.

As her father, Aouni, drove home from her chemotherapy treatment weeks ago, an airstrike happened. He cranked up the music in the car, trying to drown out the deafening sound of the attack.

Asinat sat in the back seat, clutching her favorite toy. “I wanted to distract her, to make her hear less of it,” he said.

In the medical ward on a recent day, Asinat sat in a chair hooked to an IV drip, negotiating with her doctor. “Just two or three small pinches,” she pleaded, asking for flavoring for her instant noodles that she is not supposed to have.

“I don’t feel safe ... nowhere is safe ... not Lebanon, not Syria, not Palestine,” Asinat said. “The sonic booms are scary, but the noodles make it better,” she added with a mischievous grin.

The family has no choice but to stay in Lebanon. Returning to Syria, where their home is gone, would mean giving up Asinat’s treatment.

“We can’t leave here,” her mother said. “This war, her illness ... it’s like there’s no escape.”