Btselem / 5 May 2024

I am a surgeon and I worked in the Indonesian hospital in Beit Lahiya. I lost my father in the war, my wife Lama, 31, and our oldest daughter Rim. I still have two children, Ahmad, 5, and Razan, 3.

Dr. Khaled Hamudah and his daughter Razan before the war. 

On 7 October 2023, I was at home because it was a weekend and I wasn’t on duty. When the wounded and dead started coming in, I was called to work at the hospital. It was a very tough day, a lot of casualties came in, and it was just the start of a tough period. 

Despite the circumstances, we stayed in the north and I continued to work. Dismembered and burned bodies were brought to the hospital, some of them children. I witnessed really tough sights. Dead bodies piled up in the hospital and wounded people lay everywhere, in the emergency room, the hallways and the intensive care unit. Many were brought to the operating tables.

Soldiers ordered us to undress down to our underwear, and then proceed as such down the street to the military base they had set up in Beit Lahiya

The hospitals were not prepared to treat casualties at that scale. We treated the worst cases and had to neglect others who were injured – which sometimes led to their death. Due to the power cut, we relied on generators to perform surgeries and sometimes, due to the lack of fuel, we also had to rely on solar power. There was also a severe shortage of medicine and food for the patients and for the staff.

In my last week of work at the hospital, the circumstances were really awful. This was before the ceasefire. The Israeli military besieged the hospital for three days and raided it while I was home. I was in contact with doctors who were there and they told me about the raid.

The hospital management succeeded in arranging for patients’ evacuation. Everyone was transferred to southern Gaza and the hospital shut down.

On Sunday, 3 December 2023, I was at home with my family. Our apartment was on the ground floor of a three-story building and there were roughly 50 people in the building, our relatives and acquaintances. At 7:15 I sat down to drink a cup of coffee with my wife and children and our neighbors, sisters Shuruq and Shahd al-Barawi.

Then we heard an explosion. We all quickly went further into the apartment, into one of the rooms. A missile apparently hit our building, but we didn’t realize it. A few seconds later another missile hit the building. I heard a muffled sound and stones, glass and the walls fell upon us. Neighbors came to help us. They rescued us and sat us at the door of the home.

At that stage I still didn’t know exactly who had been killed and injured in the bombing. But Shahd al-Barawi, who was right next to me, was injured by shrapnel to her head and body, so I took her on foot, a distance of about one kilometer, to the Khalifa School in Beit Lahiya. I thought I could call an ambulance from there. When I got there, the Red Crescent told me they couldn’t send an ambulance to the house because our area was classified as a red zone to which they’re not permitted to go. Anyone who entered would be considered a target as far as the Israeli army is concerned. They evacuated me and Shahd in an ambulance to the hospital named after Kamal Adwan, as I was also injured by some shrapnel to my body.

In the hospital, I learned that the two missiles were fired at my parents’ apartment, and while the neighbors attempted to rescue them, a third missile was fired at the building and killed my father, my wife Lama, my daughter Rim and our neighbors Shuruq al-Barawi, Sa’id Hamudah and Husam Abu Rabi’. Later they brought the bodies to the hospital and I went to identify my wife in the morgue. And then a nurse passed by me, dragging a stretcher with my daughter’s body. I was shocked, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I learned that Ahmad and Razan had survived and were okay.

If anyone dared to speak, the soldiers kicked them and struck them with their guns. We were on a frightening journey into the unknown

My mother, Muna Hamudah, 62 years old, was injured and my sister-in-law, Ranim Hamudah, 31 years old, my brother ‘Ata’s wife, and their 12-year-old daughter, Muna, were also injured. Both my mothers’ arms were broken, and Ranim had fractured ankles, wounds, bruises, and burns. I stayed at the Kamal Adwan Hospital, where my shrapnel wound was treated. My mother and the others wounded from the attack were transferred to Al-Awda Hospital in Jabalya. The remaining bodies of the deceased were left under the rubble as they couldn’t be retrieved.

Following treatment, I remained in the Kamal Adwan Hospital as a displaced person while the military forces advanced and reached it. We were besieged in the hospital for seven days. Neither exiting nor entering was possible. The operating rooms weren’t functional and only a few doctors remained who were still working. The delivery rooms stopped operating and the children’s department hardly functioned. This continued until 12 December 2023 and then the tanks arrived at the northern and western gates of the hospital and the soldiers called for everyone to evacuate.

The soldiers ordered everyone to leave with an ID card, and they separated us, doctors and medical staffers, from civilians and I was considered one of the doctors. When we left, the soldiers ordered us to undress down to our underwear, and then proceed as such down the street to the military base they had set up in Beit Lahiya. When we reached the base they photographed us.

There were hundreds of people there. Some people were directed to the right and others to the left. I was directed left. An Israeli officer arrived who spoke good Arabic and demanded to know my ID number and name. He asked me what I did for a living. After I answered him, he ordered me to enter the hole they had dug and bow my head. He told me “You’ll stay with us.”

They cuffed my hands with zip ties and covered my eyes with a piece of cloth. Then they started hitting us, beating us against the sides of the pit and cursing at us. A soldier accused me of being from the Hamas’ elite, the al-Qassem unit. I replied that I was a doctor and he cursed me and said: “May Sinwar come help you.”

They held us in the military base for nearly two hours and then placed us on a truck, which started to drive. We were crammed into that truck for about three hours. I don’t know exactly how many people we were in there, it was cold, and we couldn’t move and it was really hard. I didn’t know where I was and who was next to me. If anyone dared to speak, the soldiers kicked them and struck them with their guns. We were on a frightening journey into the unknown.

Throughout the drive the truck, stopped suddenly several times, and each time that happened we all fell and rolled on top of one other. At some point it stopped and stayed in place for about two hours. We froze from the cold and didn’t know where we were being taken and at some point we started shouting. The soldiers took us down to the asphalt lot. I think we were already out of the [Gaza] Strip because we didn’t hear any explosions.

One of the soldiers asked me what I did for a living, and when I told him I was a surgeon in the Indonesian Hospital, he attacked me and kicked me really hard

In the lot, they forced us to kneel in a prostration position, with our hands still cuffed and our eyes covered. We stayed like that for about two hours, and if a detainee dared move, even a bit, he was beaten. One of the soldiers asked me what I did for a living, and when I told him I was a surgeon in the Indonesian Hospital, he attacked me and kicked me really hard.

Then they took us to a place where there were officers in civilian clothes. There they took off my blindfold and wrote down my personal details: name, ID, etc. Then they placed us in a tin room and kept us there for 24 hours with nearly no food or water: I was given one slice of bread and drank water once. We were allowed to go to the bathroom twice.

Then they placed us on a truck once more and took us to a prison facility, only when I was released did I learn that the place was called Sde Teiman and that it was in the Negev. I was imprisoned there for 21 days, until I was released on 2 January 2024.

When we arrived at the prison facility, they placed us in a room at the entrance where they sorted us. They took our personal details again and we underwent a medical examination. Then they let us wear gray prison uniforms. They wrote down the detainee number and one of them drew a circle on my back with an X in it. I don’t know what that sign meant.

The prison facility was a large, rectangular warehouse that only had walls on three sides. It was divided into cells with about 100 people in each cell.

When I arrived at the correctional facility, they held me kneeling on my knees over the course of three days. I lost track of time. I didn’t know what day and time it was. After three days, I was assigned the role of shawish – who interprets between prisoners and guards – because I know English and have no security background. There’s nothing on me.

I slept very little. We kept waking up because the soldiers banged on the fences and tin walls. For breakfast we received pita with jam and a piece of cheese.

One day I was punished after trying to speak with other detainees. They placed me against the wall and tied my hands up with metal handcuffs. They left me standing like that for half an hour or an hour, without moving

One day I was punished after trying to speak with other detainees. They placed me against the wall and tied my hands up with metal handcuffs. They left me standing like that for half an hour or an hour

One day, at around noon, the soldiers brought Dr. ‘Adnan al-Barsh, a doctor from a-Shifaa Hospital, and other doctors. The soldiers called me so that I would receive them and give them blankets. These are my colleagues and I knew them well. They were in a pitiable mental and physical state and signs of abuse were evident.

I turned to Dr. ‘Adnan, who was blindfolded, and said to him: “It’s me, Dr. Khaled, don’t worry.” He told me that he was in severe pain following the beatings he endured from soldiers. He told me that he was arrested at Al-Awda Hospital, and asked me where we were. I told him we were in a detention facility and that we didn’t know where. He repeated once more: “We were surrounded and arrested at Al-Awda Hospital.”

Dr. ‘Adnan al-Barsh, a doctor from a-Shifaa Hospital arrested in al-Awda Hospital and declared dead in Ofer Prison on 19 April 2024. Photo courtesy of the witness

Dr. ‘Adnan told me that he felt that he had fractures in his body, around his chest. I served him food and he slept. The following day he called me and told me he knew my father. He told me that my mother was in Al-Awda Hospital. He said that they had conducted surgery on her to splint the broken bones in both arms.

Until then I had not received any information about my family, especially not about my mother. Out of excitement and joy that he reassured me about her, I hugged Dr. ‘Adnan. I got him a paracetamol because he was really suffering. He complained about the pain over the course of two days, but did not receive any medical treatment in the detention facility beyond paracetamol. Then they transferred Dr. ‘Adnan and some of the other doctors to another place – I don’t know where.

I was released on 2 January 2024. They brought me to the Karem Abu Salem Crossing (Kerem Shalom) with other detainees, where they took off our handcuffs and blindfolds. We walked roughly three kilometers until reaching the Rafah Crossing, where a UN vehicle awaited us.

From there I went to my relatives’ tent, who had moved to the a-Shabura Refugee Camp, and I stayed with them for about three months. Throughout this period I was able to arrange for my mother and sister-in-law to be referred for treatment in Egypt. They arrived on foot via a-Rashid Street, although it was very dangerous, and brought my niece, my children, Razan and Ahmad, with them. My sister-in-law, my mother and my niece left for Egypt on 5 March 2024 and on 28 March 2024 I also managed to leave for Egypt with my children. My mother and sister-in-law are still receiving medical treatment here.

My family members who were killed remained under the rubble for nearly 20 days, after which they were brought north to be buried by neighbors and relatives.

* Testimony given to B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 5 May 2024

Khaled Hamudah’s family members who were killed inthe bombing of the family home:

1. Dr. Ahmed Hamudah, 68, gynecology and obstetrics specialist, his father
2. Fawzi ‘Ata Hamudah, 72, paternal uncle
3. Lama Hamudah, 31, his wife
4. Rim Hamudah, 6, his daughter
5. ‘Ata Ahmad Hamudah, 37, his nephew
6. Ahmad ‘Ata Hamudah, 8, his nephew’s son
7. Mariyyeh ‘Ata Hamudah, 4, his nephew’s daughter
8. Malak ‘Ata Hamuda, eight months old, his nephew’s daughter
9. Dr. Muhammad Hamudah, 28, general practitioner at the Indonesian Hospital, his brother
10. ‘Ata Ousamah Hamudah, 40, his maternal cousin
11. Sa’id Mahmoud Hamudah, 16

Two of the family’s neighbors were also killed in the bombing:

12. Husam Abu Rabi’, 16, his neighbor
13. Shuruq Jasser al-Barawi, 16, his neighbor