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<a class="gmail-domain gmail-reader-domain" href="https://www.palestinechronicle.com/inside-gazas-hospitals-nurse-ghada-and-israels-war-on-medical-workers/">palestinechronicle.com</a>
<div class="gmail-domain-border"></div><h1 class="gmail-reader-title">Inside Gaza\u2019s Hospitals: Nurse Ghada and Israel\u2019s War on Medical Workers</h1>June 3, 2025</div>
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<img src="https://www.palestinechronicle.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/GazaWar_Day353_WAFA.png" alt="" title="GazaWar_Day353_WAFA" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img" width="394" height="264" style="margin-right: 25px;">
Israel continues to carry out massacres against Palestinian civilians in Gaza.(Photo: via WAFA)
<p><strong>By <a href="https://www.palestinechronicle.com/writers/noor-abu-mariam" title="Display all articles for Noor Abu Mariam">Noor Abu Mariam</a></strong></p>
<blockquote>
<h3>I hesitate to call Ghada a hero\u2014because she rejects that label herself. \u201cWe are human,\u201d she told me. \u201cAnd it\u2019s our duty.\u201d</h3>
</blockquote>
<p>In Gaza, the war doesn\u2019t only unfold on the frontlines or in the
skies. It seeps into hospital corridors, overwhelms emergency rooms, and
takes aim at those trying to save lives.</p>
<p>Among the many stories of unimaginable suffering and quiet heroism is
that of Nurse Ghada\u2014a woman who survived four sieges at Al-Awda
Hospital in the Tal Al-Zaatar area and continues to carry the weight of
those days.</p>
<p>Ghada remembers it all clearly. During one of the sieges, she and
eight colleagues were holed up in the operating room, struggling to
secure even the most basic food supplies.</p>
<p>\u201cAt that time, we could still reach a small supermarket near the
hospital to get basic food supplies. I was with eight colleagues in the
operating room, struggling to secure just the essentials we needed to
survive. We knew we were on the brink of starvation,\u201d she told the
Palestine Chronicle.</p>
<p>Then came November 18. Ghada was inside the operating room with
several doctors when they realized they were surrounded. They locked the
doors, hoping to shield themselves. Within minutes, Israeli forces
began pounding aggressively, flashing laser lights into their section of
the hospital.</p>
<p>All male staff were ordered out, forced to strip, searched, and
interrogated. What followed was chaos. According to accounts gathered
later by hospital staff, Israeli soldiers opened fire without
distinction. Some men suffered light injuries, others collapsed from
heavy bleeding.</p>
<p>\u201cThey opened fire without mercy. Some sustained minor injuries;
others bled heavily and lost consciousness. No one was spared. Those who
were still breathing were executed on the spot,\u201d Ghada told us, adding:</p>
<p>\u201cSeveral of the wounded were forced onto the cannon of a military
tank, which began to rotate. Some fell beneath its wheels. Others died
from sheer terror. It was, as one survivor later described, an act of
pure brutality.\u201d</p>
<p>A few were still alive\u2014but anyone showing signs of life was executed
on the spot. Some survivors were thrown onto the cannon of a military
tank, which then began to rotate. Several fell beneath its wheels.
Others died from sheer terror.</p>
<p>Medical workers\u2014already drained, already broken\u2014became victims of the very violence they were trying to heal.</p>
<p>Among the memories that haunt Ghada most is that of her colleague,
Nurse Ola. The news reached the hospital during one of the sieges: Ola\u2019s
entire family had been killed. Her screams echoed through the ward as
she cried out for her children. There was no time to grieve. The wounded
kept arriving, and she had to keep working.</p>
<p>Then the bodies started coming in\u2014first Ola\u2019s husband, then her
daughter Lama, then her son Mohammad. Ola collapsed. Only one of her
children was missing\u201413-year-old Amr.</p>
<p>They found him hours later, sitting silently in a corner of the
hospital, too shocked to speak. He had survived the massacre, but not
the trauma.</p>
<p>The next day, another house near where he had been sheltering was
bombed. Peace never returned to Amr\u2019s days or his nights. \u201cMy brother
Mohammad was still breathing under the rubble\u2026 he was alive\u2026 I can\u2019t
believe he\u2019s gone,\u201d he keeps telling his mother.</p>
<p>Ghada often finds herself reliving those days, still in disbelief
that she survived. She tries to suppress the memories, to push down the
flood of emotions\u2014but the psychological wounds linger. Her faith is her
anchor. It\u2019s what gives her the strength to believe that, one day,
healing might be possible.</p>
<p>On May 18, at exactly 3:00 p.m., she was on her way to work\u2014just as
she had done so many times before\u2014when a quadcopter targeted her team
near the hospital. She survived the strike. But something inside her
shifted. She hasn\u2019t been able to return to her duties since. What
remains now is a weight she carries every day: a heavy guilt for
surviving, for being able to move freely, while others cannot.</p>
<p>Her colleagues are still inside Al-Awda Hospital. They have no access
to food. Their situation grows more desperate with each passing day. I
sat with her often as she cried\u2014tears of fear, of powerlessness, of
anguish for those she left behind. The sense of injustice burns deep:
that she, by sheer chance, got out, while others are still trapped in a
place that was once a center of healing, now turned into a prison.</p>
<p></p>
<p>Still, she keeps in touch with them daily. She prays for them
constantly. She clings to the hope that those horrific days will not
return\u2014that somehow, this time, the worst is behind them.</p>
<p>And yet, people like Ghada rarely make the news. Their names don\u2019t
circulate in headlines or trending hashtags. But their resistance is
real. It happens not with weapons, but with compassion. With endurance.
With the quiet act of showing up every day to care for the wounded, the
grieving, the dying.</p>
<p>I hesitate to call Ghada a hero\u2014because she rejects that label herself. \u201cWe are human,\u201d she told me. \u201cAnd it\u2019s our duty.\u201d</p>
<p>Still, we must remember her. We must remember all those like her. We
must not let their suffering be silenced. We must not let it be
forgotten.</p>
<p><em>(The Palestine Chronicle)</em></p>
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<p><img src="https://www.palestinechronicle.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Noor_AbuMariam.png" width="180" height="180" class="gmail-moz-reader-block-img"></p>
<p><span><em>\u2013 Noor Abu Mariam is a 20-year-old Business Administration student at the Al-</em><em>Azhar
University in Gaza, specializing in English. As Gazan, she is currently
focused on using writing as a powerful tool to share<br>
her story with the world, aiming to shed light on the experiences and
resilience of her community. She contributed this article to the
Palestine Chronicle.</em></span></p></div>
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