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<h1 class="gmail-reader-title">The Unbearable Pain of Leaving Gaza</h1>
<div class="gmail-credits gmail-reader-credits">Abubaker Abed</div>
<div class="gmail-meta-data">
<div class="gmail-reader-estimated-time">May 12, 2025</div>
</div>
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<hr>
<div class="gmail-content">
<div class="gmail-moz-reader-content gmail-reader-show-element"><div id="gmail-readability-page-1" class="gmail-page"><div dir="auto"><div><a target="_blank" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F12f3734b-1966-42a6-9480-fa801b457e5b_5712x4284.jpeg" rel=""><div><span><img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_5760,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F12f3734b-1966-42a6-9480-fa801b457e5b_5712x4284.jpeg" alt="" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img" width="473" height="355" style="margin-right: 25px;"></span></div></a>Abubaker Abed on the streets of Dublin, Ireland. April 20, 2025. (Photo courtesy of Abubaker Abed)</div><p>The
night before I traveled it was bleak and cold. I didn\u2019t sleep.
Explosions and bombs lit up the dark sky. Apache helicopters hovered low
nearby and opened continuous fire. My mother was asleep beside me,
staying as close as possible after I begrudgingly decided to leave Gaza
for the first time in my life. Before coming to a decision, I had long
and painful discussions with her and other family members and friends.</p><p>It
was an impossible choice, the most difficult one I have ever had to
make\u2014to leave home at the height of the genocide. It was April 15th. I
was to travel the next morning.</p><p>I was totally against leaving
until my mother told me, \u201cIf you stay, you\u2019ll harm your family because
they will bomb you with us and your brothers will be hurt. You should
leave.\u201d I never imagined hearing such words from my mother. I was
devastated and broke down into tears. The thought that I would pose a
danger to my family filled me with the deepest sorrow, pain, and no
small degree of remorse. It was the most difficult moment of my life.</p><p>I
had been forced to make this decision, and it felt completely wrong. My
heart raced and throbbed with pain. The night slipped into a kind of
void. I kept track of every hour, every minute, every second. I was
aware these might be my final moments in Gaza, ever. As the morning
light first began to lift the darkness, and the dawn call to prayer rang
out, two enormous explosions echoed across the room. It was as though
everything froze. My mind could not comprehend what was going on.</p><p>I
took a shower and packed. This was not difficult, because we were only
allowed to take one small bag containing little more than a single
change of clothes, a toothbrush, a mobile phone, and a charging cable.
Those were the conditions set by Israel. I then performed my morning
Fajr prayers. I had never left Gaza before, and it felt unsettling,
surreal. I was behaving mechanically, almost like a robot.</p><p>My
mother\u2019s eyes welled with tears and she began to weep. I told her I
wouldn't get on the bus if she kept crying. \u201cI am leaving upon your
demand,\u201d I said. Choking with anguish, I whispered in her ear, "Please
let it be a great moment, not a sad one, and believe that we will meet
soon, inshallah."</p><div><a target="_blank" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F5bb80aee-e9ec-4b24-9567-8e4b6bd10af1_4032x3024.jpeg" rel=""><div><span><img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F5bb80aee-e9ec-4b24-9567-8e4b6bd10af1_4032x3024.jpeg" width="473" height="355" alt="" title="" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img" style="margin-right: 25px;"></span></div></a>Abubaker writing a story in his home. January 23, 2025. (Photo courtesy of Abubaker Abed)</div><p>Before
I departed, I took a photo in each room and kissed the walls. I stared
at my bedroom and promised to come back as soon as possible. I went to
the cement room upstairs: the room from which I had been reporting day
in and day out through 557 days of genocide\u2014from where I flew, with
broken wings, beyond the walls of a concentration camp to the outside
world.</p><p>After taking pictures with my entire family, we drove
downtown with my father, two brothers, and my doctor friend, to catch
the bus. Abdulruhman, another friend, was also there to greet me. We
stood and spoke and laughed together. Abdulruhman's eyes were tired and
itchy, as he offered me his black scarf. As I embraced and bid each of
them farewell, the emotions were overwhelming. \u201cI\u2019ll be back here one
day very soon,\u201d were my last words to them.</p><div><a target="_blank" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fac10d767-e1f5-44a9-8b1c-f67c29c2814c_4032x3024.jpeg" rel=""><div><span><img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fac10d767-e1f5-44a9-8b1c-f67c29c2814c_4032x3024.jpeg" width="473" height="355" alt="" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img" style="margin-right: 25px;"></span></div></a>From
left, Abubaker Abed, his older brother Mahmoud, his oldest brother
Mohammmed, and his father, in front of their house in Deir al-Balah,
Gaza Strip on the morning of Abubaker\u2019s trip. April 16, 2025 (Photo
courtesy of Abubaker Abed)</div><p>Since the onset
of Israel\u2019s genocidal war on Gaza, my life has been flipped upside
down. My educational career was interrupted. In 2023, I was in my final
undergraduate year at university. When the Israeli onslaught escalated, I
stopped reporting on football and evolved into an accidental war
correspondent\u2014to cover the genocide against me and my people.</p><p>With
the exception of two periods\u2014a week-long truce in November 2023, and a
longer ceasefire this past January that lasted nearly sixty days\u2014the
bombs fell perpetually on Gaza. Al-Hassan Mattar, my closest friend, was
killed. My aunt\u2019s entire family was wiped out. About twenty relatives
were killed in twin bombings that targeted my other aunt's family.</p><p>Being
immunocompromised, the genocide exacerbated my long-time suffering. I
contracted a variety of diseases\u2014acute gastroenteritis, bronchitis, and
hepatitis A. At times, I stayed in bed for days. Hardly any food or
medication was allowed into Gaza, making it nearly impossible to find
the resources necessary for my recovery.</p><p>A year ago, a group of
volunteers launched a campaign to evacuate students from Gaza to pursue
their education abroad. In order to apply for a scholarship overseas,
specifically in Europe, they contacted me and enquired about my official
paperwork. I sent them my documents and gave my conditional consent: I
would depart Gaza, if and only if the genocide came to a halt.</p><p>A
few weeks later, I was offered a scholarship to study in Ireland. This
was about a year ago. In the intervening months, I declined to leave
Gaza. With journalists being systematically targeted, the scholarship
organizers were concerned about my safety. They begged me to go, but I
refused. I didn\u2019t feel I could leave my family or my country behind. I
was determined to fight with everything I had. I wanted to give my life
for my country, because I felt my voice could change things. I insisted
on giving it my all until my very last breath. My homeland needed me
more than ever, so I wanted to give it everything. I had several
opportunities to leave Gaza, both before and after Israel\u2019s invasion of
Rafah in May 2024, but my resolve to stay and make sacrifices for my
country neither wavered nor waned.</p><p>At the end of March, I was
diagnosed with acute malnutrition. For a few weeks, it took a heavy toll
on me. Every day was agonizing, beginning with back and knee pain and
ending with terrible fatigue and dehydration. Despite this, I continued
to document the unspeakable trauma and suffering in Gaza, particularly
in my hometown of Deir al-Balah.</p><p>I and a few other Palestinian
students had received scholarships at Irish universities, and the Irish
embassy told us that the trip to leave Gaza would be on April 9, in
coordination with the Israeli military and international health
agencies. I had one week to decide. They had told me a few days prior
that Israel had completed a security review and issued a clearance for
me to leave. This eased my family\u2019s distress and my own, since the
Israelis had publicly smeared me and essentially placed a target on my
back. But, then, the Israelis postponed the departure by another week. I
was relieved, because I didn\u2019t want to make such a difficult choice.</p><p>When
I was told that the departure was confirmed for April 16 and that I
needed to make a firm decision, I was put on the spot. I needed to
reflect. In all my life, I had never felt so anxious. I quickly sought a
solution from the embassy, who understood and appreciated my
predicament. I could say, yes, and then wait until the last minute, they
advised. This only made the process more difficult. I became consumed
by apprehension and confusion, feelings that grew with every passing
minute.</p><p>"Should I stay or leave?" "How could I abandon my homeland
and family?" "This is the first time I will be leaving. How will it
feel?\u201d "Will my family be killed? "Why am I leaving?" "Can I ever return
again?" "Will I embrace my parents again?" "My room, the courtyard, the
trees, my street, and everything around me, will I ever see them
again?"</p><p>These questions haunted my mind incessantly. I couldn\u2019t turn them off.</p><p>I
spent a lot of time discussing all of this with my friends, family, and
editors overseas. I was unsure of what to do. Every morning, I woke up
with even more pain and fragility.</p><p><span>My family and I were
afraid that the Israeli soldiers would detain me at the border. That I
could be disappeared, like so many Palestinians, into an Israeli prison
or worse. Israel had bombed international convoys numerous times during
the genocide, so I was also terrified that they would strike our bus. I
was genuinely terrified of everything and every option. Up until the
morning of April 16, I continued to pray </span><em>istikhara</em><span>\u2014a specific prayer in Islam to seek guidance from Allah on important decisions\u2014and implored God to guide me.</span></p><p>On
a sunny, blurred, and windy morning on April 15, I was finally guided
to a decision, and I informed my family. I spent every single minute
with them after that. We posed for more pictures together, ate our okra
lunch together, which my mother prepared because she knew I love that
the most.</p><p>I packed up my belongings. Even though the instructions
on what I was allowed to bring did not include them, I decided to bring
the pens and notebooks I used when I was learning English during my
childhood. I wanted to keep them with me as a reminder of my story, if I
made it.</p><p>The next morning, I presented my ID to the bus driver
and boarded the bus. As we were leaving Gaza, I was eager to commit
every view to memory. As directed by the Israeli army, we made two stops
along the way. At each stop, the driver was waiting for a call from the
Israelis to either continue on our journey, or to make our way back.</p><p>On
our way, I stared at the utter devastation of every building,
especially along Salah al-Din road. I tried to film everything so I
could carry some of the pain with me.</p><p>The roads were so torn up
and damaged that the driver couldn't even clear the street of anything
until he had the Israelis' permission to pass. After initially stopping
us, they lifted the metal barrier for us. I glanced to the left and
right. There were Israeli soldiers everywhere\u2014some wearing sunglasses,
others with automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. Nearby, I could
see some of them raiding and shooting at homes.</p><p>I was seeing
Israeli soldiers for the first time. It made my blood boil and my
thoughts explode to see these killers\u2014those who had bombed and destroyed
my homeland\u2014up close and directly in front of my eyes. I had the
impulse to jump off the bus and confront them. There were tanks
stationed on either side of the road. Ahead of us, an Apache helicopter
was flying at a low altitude.</p><div><a target="_blank" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fbe12398c-87c4-4e0e-9cb9-4a0f77393fde_3664x2062.jpeg" rel=""><div><span><img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fbe12398c-87c4-4e0e-9cb9-4a0f77393fde_3664x2062.jpeg" width="473" height="266" alt="" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img" style="margin-right: 25px;"></span></div></a>Abubaker Abed on the Palestinian side of the Karam Abu-Salem crossing in Gaza. April 16, 2025 (Photo courtesy of Abubaker Abed)</div><p>As
we passed, Rafah's residential buildings were still being obliterated.
When we got to the Palestinian side of the Karm Abu Salem Crossing, we
saw that a lot of aid\u2014especially water bottles\u2014had been discarded and
food left to rot. It was excruciating to witness. Every time the bus
moved forward and I saw more, my blood would again boil.</p><p>We got
off the bus. After around three hours of standing and waiting, we had a
brief identity check. The Palestinian staff at the crossing were kind
and generous with us. After that, we passed to the Israeli side where an
Israeli soldier watched my every move. I was genuinely scared. I was
ordered to put all my belongings in a large bin and hand it over.</p><p>After
standing before a camera and body scanner, the bin was eventually
handed back to me. A Palestinian worker told me they had confiscated my
phone charger, flask, and some clothing, and he promised to try to get
them back for me. I chose to keep moving and approached the next
security check.</p><p>Sitting in uniform around a table with a laptop
and an M16 slung across his shoulder, an Israeli officer was checking
IDs and personal papers. We were told to wait in an area that had
Israeli flags emblazoned on the walls and ceiling.</p><p>With a pounding
heart, I approached the officer and handed him my ID. He held it up in
line with my face and stared at both momentarily. After entering my
information on the laptop and making a call, he gazed at my face once
more. He then asked me to wait while he put a red wristband on me with a
number on it: 352753. Since my group had departed, I asked him if I
could join them. "No," he responded. When I asked again, he told me to
sit on a chair and wait.</p><div><a target="_blank" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F732bc042-645a-4d91-aa47-640b49c61672_4032x3024.jpeg" rel=""><div><span><img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F732bc042-645a-4d91-aa47-640b49c61672_4032x3024.jpeg" width="473" height="355" alt="" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img" style="margin-right: 25px;"></span></div></a>Abubaker
Abed on the Irish embassy bus after passing through the Karam Abu Salem
crossing. April 16, 2025. (Photo by Abubaker Abed)</div><p>I
stared at him\u2014and the surrounding Israeli flags\u2014with a mixture of pain
and fury. After about twenty minutes, he let me through. I then
proceeded to an area where a number of buses flying various European
flags, including the Irish embassy bus, were waiting for us outside the
border. Two Israeli officers in a police car escorted our bus all the
way to the King Hussein Bridge, where we were inspected again, first by
Israeli officials then Jordanian ones after crossing into Jordan.</p><p>The
first thing I saw outside of Gaza was the rest of occupied
Palestine\u2014something I had never dreamed of seeing in my life. We drove
past signs to Jerusalem, the Dead Sea, Yaffa, Haifa, and Jericho. I
sorrowfully watched my homeland pass in front of me\u2014unable to
visit\u2014while I witnessed settlers taking their pleasure from our land. It
pained my heart deeply. The most breathtaking sights I have ever seen
in my life were the salty, historic buildings and hills surrounding the
Dead Sea, the vast green stretches of palm trees, and the gorgeous
yellow dates. My life\u2019s dream was to be able to travel across all of
Palestine.</p><p>But I only got a brief glimpse of it, before we crossed
the border into Jordan. From there, we headed to Amman where we would
spend the night in a hotel and leave the following evening from Queen
Alia Airport to fly to Dublin with a layover in Istanbul.</p><div><a target="_blank" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F2f8bd2ff-9cb5-4791-9498-bfad16b8bd78_5712x4284.jpeg" rel=""><div><span><img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F2f8bd2ff-9cb5-4791-9498-bfad16b8bd78_5712x4284.jpeg" width="473" height="355" alt="" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img" style="margin-right: 25px;"></span></div></a>Abubaker Abed in Queen Alia Airport in Amman, Jordan. April 17, 2025 (Photo courtesy of Abubaker Abed)</div><p>The
first meal I had in Jordan was a shawarma. Tears welled up in my eyes
as I unwrapped it: I was amazed that I had so much food. Every taste
brought back memories of my family and the days before the genocide. I
couldn\u2019t enjoy the food at all. I needed to eat to restore my health,
but I had no appetite. It hurt me physically to eat such a rich meal
after being starved for so long. I had awful stomach pain. The most
heartbreaking thing I saw after I left Gaza was people going about their
daily lives and eating, while my family and my people back home were
starving.</p><p>For the first time in nearly 560 days, I also received
the care and prescription drugs I had sorely needed for months. They
were two very basic medications: a multivitamin and an antibiotic.
Nothing more.</p><p>At the airport the following evening, we headed to
the gate to board the flight. Planes are a source of fear to me\u2014the only
ones I had ever seen before were warplanes. I was seated by the window
next to a very kind and pleasant Palestinian-American woman who was
traveling from Amman to the US. I stared at the wing of the plane and
turned to ask her whether the large turbines attached to the bottom of
the wing were missiles. \u201cNo, that\u2019s the engine,\u201d she replied.</p><p>She
had flown many times before and taught me all I needed to know about the
experience. Once in the air, I looked out the window and took in the
earth below with wonder; it helped me for a moment to forget my
homesickness and anguish.</p><p>We arrived in Dublin on the morning of
April 18 after a full day of travel. As the plane descended, I noticed
that everything was covered in trees and fields of green. Despite the
rain, it was beautiful to fly in the clouds.</p><p>We landed, went
through passport control, and picked up our purple suitcases. I walked
into the arrivals hall and saw my friends, my college program director,
and two of my editors. I hugged Jeremy Scahill, my colleague from Drop
Site, and greeted Anealla Safdar, my editor at Al Jazeera English. I
stayed with them all day and into the night.</p><div><a target="_blank" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fc0167b1b-5fb8-4888-9cc3-f5f7b58863f2_4032x3024.jpeg" rel=""><div><span><img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fc0167b1b-5fb8-4888-9cc3-f5f7b58863f2_4032x3024.jpeg" width="473" height="355" alt="" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img" style="margin-right: 25px;"></span></div></a>Abubaker Abed and journalist Jeremy Scahill on the streets of Dublin. April 20, 2025. (Photo courtesy of Abubaker Abed)</div><p>We
went to the hospital for a medical checkup. I was given a small bottle
of water. I took a sip, and I was amazed at how pure it was. I felt
tears in my eyes and told my editors and the people around me that I was
in shock. I will never forget the contaminated water I drank in Gaza.
Just days before I left, I was digging wells near my home to look for
water. I drank this bottled water with remorse, but it made me feel
better. I felt as though I had been transported from hell to heaven. In
the days that followed, we ate a range of dishes that I never would have
imagined.</p><p>For nearly 560 days, already turned upside-down, my
life had also been turned inside-out. I survived multiple Israeli
attacks during my reporting. I reported things that were unspeakable to
witness. Despite all the anguish and trauma, I continued. I wrote dozens
of stories of suffering and tragedy. I wrote about the destruction of
sports in Gaza, my passion. I wrote about the murder of my dearest
friend Al-Hassan Mattar and about the immolation of Sha'ban Al-Dalou as
he slept in a medical tent outside a hospital.</p><p>Reporting a
genocide of your own people involves much more than just journalism. It
means combining your suffering with that of others. I spent hours
charging my damaged equipment in order to write. I trekked kilometers to
get an internet connection to file a story, or sent my copy as WhatsApp
messages during the horrors of the night. Each day was a new trauma.</p><div><a target="_blank" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fbec27428-2cd3-4425-a698-903df244ec0a_1290x721.jpeg" rel=""><div><span><img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fbec27428-2cd3-4425-a698-903df244ec0a_1290x721.jpeg" width="473" height="264" alt="" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img" style="margin-right: 25px;"></span></div></a>Abubaker
Abed doing his final live report at Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Deir
al-Balah, Gaza Strip. April 14, 2025. (Photo courtesy of Abubaker Abed)</div><p>I
was 20 when I began reporting on the genocide. Now, I am 22. My hope is
to be free\u2014to be like any 22-year-old around the world. I was a
football reporter who had to evolve into a war correspondent, and I kept
speaking the truth at the top of my lungs and sharing our tragedies
with a world that has let us down for the last eighteen months.</p><p>My
journey has been difficult. I was born in a womb of suffering, raised
in a walled-in refugee camp, and I faced countless struggles and
challenges. I grew up with war. I spent many nights in the dark with no
light except for a candle whose wax would melt and sting my hands as I
wrote.</p><p>Gaza was always a place of suffering\u2014the genocide thrust us
to a lower rung of hell than the one we had always lived in. From the
time the siege was imposed, the nightmare never ceased. It only got
worse.</p><p>I love the English language and I wanted to address the
whole world, so I kept reporting until I became the person who is filing
the story you\u2019re reading now from abroad and who cried many times to
write it. Over the years, I was offered a variety of scholarships around
the world, mainly in the U.S., but I was denied by the siege and
occupation. Our only reliefs were the sea, the stadiums, and a few
restaurants. Israel never wanted us to feel joy in Gaza but, somehow, we
found the will to defy this. Gaza is a concentrated kill zone where
some two million people are trapped, yet our people are resilient. This
is also why I refuse to abandon my smile. It is my quiet act of
rebellion.</p><p>I adore my country and wish I could have remained there
forever. I never wanted to hurt my family. My body let me down. My
family and I shared the belief that Israel was pursuing me and that my
death was imminent. If it weren't for my mother's extremely hurtful
remarks, I wouldn't have left. Maybe that\u2019s why she said it\u2014to make me
go. My family, especially my parents, are more important to me than my
personal safety.</p><p>The sorrow in my heart after seeing my occupied
Palestine is unmatched. I don\u2019t want to live in this terror. I want to
break the borders down and live as freely as anyone in the world. I will
die for the moment that Palestine is free. Palestine depends on us. Our
land will bloom with our blood. I am here to die for its liberation.
I\u2019ll keep writing, expressing our cause everywhere, and raising
awareness until every inch of Palestine is free.</p><div><a target="_blank" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fb22e231d-af01-437d-9028-c3efc2e00cc3_5712x4284.jpeg" rel=""><div><span><img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fb22e231d-af01-437d-9028-c3efc2e00cc3_5712x4284.jpeg" width="473" height="355" alt="" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img" style="margin-right: 25px;"></span></div></a>Abubaker Abed by the river in central Dublin, Ireland. April 20, 2025. (Photo courtesy of Abubaker Abed)</div><p>I
will never forget the kindness of the Irish embassy, which prioritized
my safety and provided me with all I needed. Ireland feels like home
right now; it\u2019s Palestine in another part of the world.</p><p>Outside of
Gaza, I will fight with all my strength to change the world\u2014to continue
speaking up until the genocide ends. It must end. Now.</p><p><a href="https://www.dropsitenews.com/p/abubaker-abed-journalist-leaving-gaza/comments" rel=""><span>Leave a comment</span></a></p></div></div></div>
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