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After Fleeing War in Gaza, an Entire Palestinian Family Dies in Türkiye Earthquake

Smoke rises from a building in Antakya, southern Türkiye, Wednesday, Feb. 8, 2023. (AP)
Smoke rises from a building in Antakya, southern Türkiye, Wednesday, Feb. 8, 2023. (AP)
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After Fleeing War in Gaza, an Entire Palestinian Family Dies in Türkiye Earthquake

Smoke rises from a building in Antakya, southern Türkiye, Wednesday, Feb. 8, 2023. (AP)
Smoke rises from a building in Antakya, southern Türkiye, Wednesday, Feb. 8, 2023. (AP)

Twelve years ago, Abdel-Karim Abu Jalhoum fled war and poverty in the Palestinian territory of Gaza for safety in Türkiye.

On Monday, the massive earthquake that devastated parts of Türkiye and Syria killed him and his entire family.

The Palestinian foreign ministry said Abu Jalhoum, his wife Fatima, and their four children, were among 70 Palestinians who had been found dead. The overall death toll in the quake has shot beyond 11,000.

"My brother went to Türkiye to seek a better life away from wars and blockades here in Gaza," Abu Jalhoum's brother, Ramzy, 43, told Reuters as relatives and neighbors trickled into the family's house in the town of Beit Lahiya in northern Gaza Strip on Wednesday to pay respects.

"We lost the family. An entire family was wiped off the civil registration record," he said.

Abu Jalhoum had worked as a taxi driver in Gaza but struggled to support a growing family and left in 2010 for Türkiye. There, he worked in a wood factory in Antakya, and Fatima and their children joined him once he was established.

In Antakya, life was promising for the 50-year-old father, 33-year-old Fatima and their children, Noura, 16, Bara, 11, Kenzi, 9 and Mohammad, their 3-year-old who was born in Türkiye. Six months ago, they had moved to a new apartment, according to the family.

In the hours after the tremors, the extended family desperately tried to make contact, calling everyone who could offer any information. On Tuesday, they recognized the family in a photo showing them buried under the rubble, lifeless.

In the picture, Abu Jalhoum is seen embracing his children, seemingly trying to protect them with his own body as their home collapsed on them.

There are no exact figures as to how many Palestinians live in Türkiye, but many, especially from Gaza, have in recent years moved to Türkiye, fleeing a densely populated territory that has witnessed frequent wars that have left the economy in ruins.

The United Nations relief agency UNRWA estimates around 438,000 Palestinian refugees live in Syria.

The Palestinian Authority, which has a limited rule in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, said it had sent a rescue mission to the impacted areas.

At the family house in Beit Lahiya, Abu Jalhoum's mother, Wedad, prayed their bodies could be returned home for burial.

"I haven't seen my son, nor his children for 12 years," the weeping mother said, dressed in black and surrounded by neighbors.

"I want my children, I want to see them and bid them farewell."

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Features

Rare Precedents for Lebanon-Israel Talks

US Secretary of State Marco Rubio (C), alongside US State Department Counselor Michael Needham (2L) and US Ambassador to Lebanon Michel Issa (2R), speaks during a meeting with Lebanon's Ambassador to the US Nada Hamadeh Moawad (out of frame) and Israeli Ambassador to the US Yechiel Leiter (out of frame) at the State Department in Washington, DC, on April 14, 2026. (AFP)
US Secretary of State Marco Rubio (C), alongside US State Department Counselor Michael Needham (2L) and US Ambassador to Lebanon Michel Issa (2R), speaks during a meeting with Lebanon's Ambassador to the US Nada Hamadeh Moawad (out of frame) and Israeli Ambassador to the US Yechiel Leiter (out of frame) at the State Department in Washington, DC, on April 14, 2026. (AFP)
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Rare Precedents for Lebanon-Israel Talks

US Secretary of State Marco Rubio (C), alongside US State Department Counselor Michael Needham (2L) and US Ambassador to Lebanon Michel Issa (2R), speaks during a meeting with Lebanon's Ambassador to the US Nada Hamadeh Moawad (out of frame) and Israeli Ambassador to the US Yechiel Leiter (out of frame) at the State Department in Washington, DC, on April 14, 2026. (AFP)
US Secretary of State Marco Rubio (C), alongside US State Department Counselor Michael Needham (2L) and US Ambassador to Lebanon Michel Issa (2R), speaks during a meeting with Lebanon's Ambassador to the US Nada Hamadeh Moawad (out of frame) and Israeli Ambassador to the US Yechiel Leiter (out of frame) at the State Department in Washington, DC, on April 14, 2026. (AFP)

There are few precedents for the direct talks between Lebanese and Israeli officials that began in Washington on Tuesday.

- 1949, Fragile armistice -

The first Arab-Israeli war began on May 15, 1948, the day after the declaration of the establishment of the State of Israel.

Five countries -- Egypt, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon and Iraq -- had rejected a UN plan adopted in November 1947 to partition Palestine into Jewish and Arab states and went to war against the new state.

In 1949, Israel and neighboring countries signed armistice agreements, but they collapsed with the start of the 1967 Arab-Israeli War.

- 1983, Unimplemented agreement -

Israel invaded Lebanon on June 6, 1982, in an operation it dubbed "Peace for Galilee" that was initially aimed at expelling Palestinian fighters, but which resulted in a nearly 18-year Israeli occupation.

On May 17, 1983, Lebanon and Israel signed an agreement on the withdrawal of Israeli forces from Lebanon after four-and-a-half months of direct talks with US participation.

The deal was scrapped less than a year later, in March 1984, under pressure from Syria and its allies in Lebanon.

- 1991-93, Washington talks -

A series of bilateral negotiations between Israel and Syria, Lebanon, and a joint Jordanian-Palestinian delegation was launched in late 1991, following the Madrid conference on Middle East peace.

Ten rounds of bilateral talks were held in Washington over 20 months until 1993, but failed to produce results.

- 2022, Maritime border deal -

After years of US mediation, Lebanon and Israel reached an agreement on October 27, 2022, which demarcated their maritime border and set the terms for sharing offshore gas resources in the eastern Mediterranean.

There was no direct contact between the two sides, with the deal formalized through separate exchanges of letters with the United States.

- 2024, Fragile ceasefire -

A November 2024 ceasefire sought to end more than a year of fresh hostilities between Israel and Hezbollah, but Israeli forces kept up strikes in Lebanon, saying they aimed to prevent Hezbollah from rebuilding its capabilities.

In December 2025, civilian officials for the first time joined Lebanese and Israeli military representatives in ceasefire-monitoring meetings in southern Lebanon, led by the US and also involving France and the United Nations peacekeeping force.

The talks marked the first direct discussions between the two sides in decades.

Features

What Does a ‘Blockade of the Blockade’ in the Strait of Hormuz Mean?

Ships and a boat in the Strait of Hormuz on April 12, 2026 (Reuters)
Ships and a boat in the Strait of Hormuz on April 12, 2026 (Reuters)
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What Does a ‘Blockade of the Blockade’ in the Strait of Hormuz Mean?

Ships and a boat in the Strait of Hormuz on April 12, 2026 (Reuters)
Ships and a boat in the Strait of Hormuz on April 12, 2026 (Reuters)

When Iran moved to close the Strait of Hormuz, it did not physically seal the waterway — for example, by fully mining it. Instead, it barred ships and oil tankers belonging to Gulf littoral states, as well as vessels from countries it considers adversaries, chiefly the United States and Israel, from transiting the strait.

At the same time, Tehran allowed its own tankers to pass, maintaining exports of about 1.5 million barrels per day to global markets.

In effect, Iran imposed a selective blockade on the Strait of Hormuz, closing it to much of the world while keeping it open for its own trade.

By contrast, US President Donald Trump’s proposal to impose a naval blockade on the strait and all Iranian ports would amount to a “blockade of the blockade.” Such a move would deny Iran access to the waterway altogether, halting both its oil and non-oil exports and dealing a severe blow to its economy.

Iran’s Gains and Losses

Oil prices surged after traffic through the strait was disrupted, rising from about $75–$80 a barrel before the February conflict to roughly $120–$126 at peak wartime levels.

With exports of around 1.5 million barrels per day, Iran is estimated to have earned an additional $60 million a day from higher prices. However, because about 90 percent of its crude is sold to China at discounted rates, the net additional gain is likely closer to $45 million a day.

These figures reflect incremental revenue. At an assumed average price of $100 a barrel, Iran’s total oil income would reach roughly $150 million a day, or about $4.5 billion a month, revenues that would be cut off under a full naval blockade.

Such a “blockade of the blockade” would likely push oil prices even higher. But its impact would extend beyond Iran. China, which buys the bulk of Iranian crude, would be among the most affected.

According to Pakistani diplomatic sources, Beijing played a key role in persuading Tehran at the last minute to accept a two-week truce announced on April 7 by Donald Trump. Some analysts believe that if China’s energy supplies are threatened, it could again press Iran to make concessions in talks with Washington aimed at ending the conflict.

Rerouting Shipping Traffic

Iran’s restrictions did more than limit access; they reshaped how ships moved through the strait.

Rather than formally altering internationally recognized shipping lanes, Iran imposed operational controls that effectively redirected maritime traffic. Vessels permitted to transit were steered toward routes closer to Iran’s coastline, particularly between Qeshm and Larak islands, instead of the traditional channels running between Abu Musa and the Greater and Lesser Tunb islands.

This shift created a de facto controlled corridor near Iranian shores without any formal declaration of new navigation routes.

In many cases, passage became contingent on prior coordination with Iranian authorities, permits, or even transit fees, marking a sharp departure from the previously unrestricted flow of traffic.

Iran has allowed “friendly” or neutral vessels to pass under certain conditions, while blocking those it deems hostile. It has also deployed drones, naval mines and fast attack craft to monitor and, when necessary, intercept ships that fail to comply.

The risks have forced many shipping companies to reroute vessels around the Cape of Good Hope or adopt longer, more secure paths, including routes closer to Iranian-controlled waters.

Before the conflict, roughly 130 to 150 ships transited the Strait of Hormuz each day. During the crisis, that number dropped sharply to about five vessels, or fewer, a day.

Features

Baby Born in Tent on a Beirut Roadside Struggles to Survive, Her Family Displaced by War

Haifa Kenjo, who fled Israeli airstrikes on the southern suburbs of Beirut, holds her 15-day-old daughter Shiman inside the tent she uses as a shelter and where she gave birth to her in Beirut, Sunday, April 12, 2026. (AP Photo/Emilio Morenatti)
Haifa Kenjo, who fled Israeli airstrikes on the southern suburbs of Beirut, holds her 15-day-old daughter Shiman inside the tent she uses as a shelter and where she gave birth to her in Beirut, Sunday, April 12, 2026. (AP Photo/Emilio Morenatti)
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Baby Born in Tent on a Beirut Roadside Struggles to Survive, Her Family Displaced by War

Haifa Kenjo, who fled Israeli airstrikes on the southern suburbs of Beirut, holds her 15-day-old daughter Shiman inside the tent she uses as a shelter and where she gave birth to her in Beirut, Sunday, April 12, 2026. (AP Photo/Emilio Morenatti)
Haifa Kenjo, who fled Israeli airstrikes on the southern suburbs of Beirut, holds her 15-day-old daughter Shiman inside the tent she uses as a shelter and where she gave birth to her in Beirut, Sunday, April 12, 2026. (AP Photo/Emilio Morenatti)

All that newborn Shiman knows of the world is a flimsy tent along Beirut’s waterfront — the stench of mildewed blankets, stings of swarming insects and screams of Israeli warplanes striking the Lebanese capital.

As of Monday, she was 16 days old after being born here in the mud, said her mother, Haifa Kenjo.

Kenjo, 34, was nine months pregnant when Israeli attacks on Beirut’s southern suburbs of Dahiyeh sent her, her husband and their 2-year-old son, Khalid, running for their lives in sandals and pajamas. They had no time to bring anything as explosions shook the house, they said — not clothes, not cash.

They took refuge in a donated tent near downtown Beirut and secured the tarp with rocks as the wind threatened to rip it from the ground.

Of the more than 1 million people uprooted in Lebanon by this latest war between Israel and the Iran-backed Hezbollah, 13,500 are pregnant and more than 1,500 are expected to deliver in the next month, the United Nations’ sexual and reproductive health agency said this week, warning that many struggle to access adequate maternal care.

When life had been normal, Kenjo pictured giving birth at Beirut's main public hospital, where she delivered Khalid. She is originally from Syria, and although she has spent almost half her life in the Lebanese capital and married a Lebanese man, she must pay to access the country’s public hospitals, where Lebanese mothers can give birth for free.

When her water broke and she went into labor on March 28, she called an ambulance and her husband scraped together the $40 admission fee. But the $500 they needed to deliver Shiman at the hospital was buried in the ruins of their home, razed the week before in an Israeli airstrike.

They returned to the tent, called a midwife and prayed.

Umm Ali, the midwife, said she did her best, but the tent was filthy. The rain seeped inside. They washed tiny Shiman with bottled water.

Kenjo had no milk in her breasts to give her child. Infant formula costs more than her husband makes in a day installing water tanks.

She knows her baby is hungry. Volunteers passing out food in the displacement camp gave her just enough formula for the next few days.

Shiman doesn’t cry like a normal infant. She coughs. Her skin is cold and clammy, pockmarked with insect bites.

“She is so precious,” Kenjo said, stroking her baby girl. “But for her we have nothing. We have less than zero.”