Feeling but not hearing the bombs, displaced without their specialized equipment, mauled by army dogs: this is how Palestinians with physical and cognitive impairments are surviving and dying amid Israel’s onslaught.
On the afternoon of July 23, artillery shells suddenly started raining down from all directions in Bani Suheila, east of Khan Younis. The Al-Najjar family rushed out of their home in panic, desperately trying to flee the indiscriminate bombardment. But once they had escaped from the immediate line of fire, they realized someone was missing.
Iyad, 37, had long suffered from a cognitive impairment and limited mobility. As the family fled their home, his brother Mohammad recalled, “each of us thought someone else had taken Iyad with them. The situation was dire: [first there was] indiscriminate shelling, and then the tanks started to invade the area.” All this time, Iyad remained trapped inside the house.
Unable to return to their besieged home, Iyad’s family waited nearby for around an hour to see if he had somehow been able to follow them, despite being nearly immobile. “We still had hope he would show up,” Mohammad told +972. “But the shelling got closer, and we had to move to a safer place.”
After spending a week in a tent near Nasser Hospital, the family was finally able to return home when Israeli forces withdrew from the area. But when they arrived, they found Iyad’s decomposing body in the garden, riddled with bullet wounds.
Mohammad was shocked to find him there, given how difficult it would have been for Iyad to even leave the living room, where the family had last seen him. “[We were] convinced that he was dragged to the garden and executed there,” Mohammad said.
“Anyone who sees my brother Iyad would realize he had a disability; he posed no threat to anyone,” he added. “Yet he was executed inside his home. The soldiers could have left him alive — he would not have done anything to them.” The Israeli army declined to respond to +972’s enquiries regarding the circumstances of Iyad’s killing.
Since October 7, Palestinians across the Gaza Strip have faced incessant Israeli bombardment, multiple rounds of forced displacement, disease, famine, and countless other challenges. But the suffering experienced by the approximately 130,000 disabled Palestinians in the Strip has been compounded further by their conditions.
According to the United Nations, the Israeli army has ordered the evacuation of over 80 percent of the total area of the Gaza Strip. Being forced to abandon your home at a moment’s notice is a difficult thing for anyone, but those with disabilities have reported immense difficulties in fleeing. And with the vast majority of hospitals, clinics, and medical centers either destroyed or no longer functioning, disabled Palestinians are largely unable to access the medical or rehabilitative services required to manage their conditions.
“Their sense of inability to continue living or cope with the current situation has intensified, heightening feelings of inferiority,” Zarif Al-Ghora, the head of the Disabilities Representative Persons Network, which represents all Gaza-based institutions and groups working with people with disabilities, told +972. “Many have not been able to overcome their circumstances.” And for those who have survived, as well as for the families of those killed, “each one of them has a story to tell about what they have lived through.”
‘We couldn’t save him — from the soldiers or the dog’
While the Al-Najjar family is demanding an international investigation to determine why Iyad was executed and the circumstances of his final days, the Bahar family from the Shuja’iya area, east of Gaza City, know exactly what happened to Mohammad, a 24-year-old with Down syndrome and autism.
When Israel reinvaded Shuja’iya on June 27, the family insisted on staying in their home despite the intense shelling. “We were exhausted from moving over 15 times,” Nabila Bahar, Mohammad’s mother, told +972. “Each time, we struggled to convince Mohammad to leave: he cried a lot, and kept asking about his wheelchair and the house. Therefore, I decided not to leave during the most recent invasion, hoping the army would show us mercy if they knew about his condition.”
As the bombardment intensified around the Bahar family home, they had to hide in different parts of the house. “We often took shelter in the toilets, as it was the safest place when the shooting was intense,” Nabila explained. “Mohammad did not leave his wheelchair, even while we were hiding.”
After a seven-day siege, the army stormed the Bahars’ home. “They were shouting, pointing their rifles at us, and their dogs were barking in our faces,” Nabila recounted. “They ordered us to gather in a room, and while we were moving, they struck us with the butts of their rifles. It was a very difficult situation.”
Mohammad still refused to leave his wheelchair. “He did not understand the soldiers’ orders,” Nabila said. “He was terrified and kept saying ‘I’m scared,’ over and over.” All of a sudden, the soldiers released one of the dogs on Mohammad. “Enough, my dear,” he pleaded with the dog as it locked its jaw onto him. But, Nabila said, “the dog showed no mercy and left severe wounds on Mohammad’s arm and shoulder.”
The soldiers wouldn’t let anyone come to Mohammad aid, forcing him into a separate room. According to Nabila, they promised that he would be safe and that a doctor would be brought to attend to his wounds. Then the rest of the family was ordered to leave at gunpoint, leaving Mohammad behind with the soldiers.
A week passed — what felt like seven years to Nabila, who could not sleep or eat. “I was completely responsible for Mohammad: he did not know how to eat, drink, or change his clothes,” she said. “All week, I cried and wondered what happened to my son. His siblings went out every day to the furthest point they could reach before the besieged area, hoping to be able to return to our house.”
Eventually, upon hearing that the army had withdrawn, the family rushed home. “My eldest son, Jibril, found Mohammad’s body on the ground in the same room where the soldiers had dragged him, surrounded by blood,” Nabila said. “They had used a piece of cloth to bandage his severe wounds, but they did not attempt to treat the bites properly. They let him bleed to death alone in the house.”
In a statement to +972 regarding the incident, a spokesperson for the Israeli army did not deny this account of events, but claimed that “inside one of the buildings, the canine detected terrorists and bit an individual.”
After that, according to the spokesperson’s statement, the troops on the scene, who had provided “initial medical treatment” to Mohammad, came under fire from Hamas and abandoned the house in order to get treatment for wounded soldiers. “At this point,” the statement said, “the individual likely remained alone in the building.”
According to Maha Hussaini, strategy director at Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor, “the Israeli army has systematically used dogs to assault, attack, and mistreat Palestinian civilians,” especially in areas such as Shuja’iya, where the army ordered residents to flee. “Dogs were used to search these areas and attack residents as a form of punishment and revenge for not complying with the orders.”
What troubles Hussaini most is that the army has deliberately released attack dogs against the most vulnerable groups of Palestinians. “We documented cases of women and people with disabilities who were subjected to multiple [dog] attacks inside their homes,” she told +972. “Eyewitnesses and victims reported that Israeli soldiers stood idly by during the attacks, and in some cases, even laughed and mocked [the Palestinians].”
For Nabila, all that remains now is the horrifying memory of the attack, and the image of her dead son. “I will never forget this scene. I saw the dog attacking Mohammad, tearing at his arm and shoulder. We could not save him, neither from [the soldiers] nor from the dog.”
‘My disability prevented me from getting out of the rubble’
Nour Ershy Jouda was born with a leg deformity — a result of her mother inhaling tear gas fired by the Israeli army while pregnant during the Second Intifada, leaving Nour confined to a wheelchair. Despite this impairment, Nour carved out a path for herself and, through her videos on Facebook and TikTok, she has sought to destigmatize disability to her hundreds of thousands of followers.
All of that was threatened on Oct. 22 last year, when her uncle’s house in the central Gaza city of Deir al-Balah, adjacent to her own home, was targeted by an Israeli missile. Nour’s home was damaged, and more than 45 of her relatives were killed.
“I was in my room, which overlooks my uncle’s house, preparing to go live on TikTok,” Nour recounted. “I was planning to talk about what was happening in the Gaza Strip — the massacres and the ongoing situation — what else? Then the explosion hit, and piles of rubble came crashing down on me.”
Nour remained under the rubble for three hours until Civil Defense workers and her family managed to rescue her. She remembers that while she was trapped, “I felt pain in my shoulder and legs. I was screaming, and then suddenly, I became drowsy. My disability prevented me from getting myself out, even though I usually move with ease and can handle all the household tasks. At that moment, I was weak.”
Nour came out alive, but many disabled Gazans who have faced similar attacks — especially those with mental disabilities — have not been so lucky. Mahmoud Basal, a spokesperson for the Civil Defense in Gaza, told +972 that “the most difficult cases we encounter during rescue operations are when people are unaware of what is happening around them. We try to communicate with them, but they may not understand what we are saying.”
He affirmed that many cognitively impaired Gazans have died during rescue operations simply because “they did not know how to act during a bombing, or how to follow Civil Defense instructions. Similarly, others have lost their lives because they were unable to move or free themselves from the rubble due to physical impairments or paralysis.”
In the strike on her uncle’s home, Nour suffered fractures in her legs and right shoulder — making her feel, for the first time, truly helpless. She had lost her aunt and uncle, some of the most supportive people in her life. Her room, specially equipped to accommodate her physical condition and where she filmed her videos, was gone, along with her wheelchair and the kitchen where she discovered her love for cooking and baking — the very passion that sparked her initial fame.
Today, Nour is staying at her sister’s house, which is not equipped for her condition, trying to adapt and resume creating videos. But all she can think about now is how she’ll be able to flee in case they are targeted again or ordered to evacuate the house.
“Every night, I make plans [in case we need] to escape,” she said. “But will they work? I don’t know, it all depends on the nature of the attack. I know my family will not leave me behind, but I still think about it a lot.”
‘We don’t hear the shelling, we only feel it’
When Israeli forces bomb residential areas in Gaza, they often claim to provide civilians advance warning in accordance with international humanitarian law. However, if they even come, such warnings often leave little time for most Palestinians to flee — particularly those with mental or physical disabilities. “Whether the warnings come through phone calls, paper leaflets dropped from planes, or even drones, these messages do not effectively reach people with disabilities, unless they have someone to help them,” Al-Ghora said.
This disregard for disabled Palestinians extends to the Israeli army’s evacuation orders. “Disability [has] prevented many from being able to move to the southern part of the Gaza Strip,” Al-Ghora noted. “Those with special needs often cannot travel without assistance and specialized equipment, especially in the context of war, with destroyed infrastructure, rough roads, and over long distances — challenges that are difficult even for those without disabilities.”
Shadi Barakat, a 28-year-old from Gaza City who was displaced to Al-Mawasi, suffers from a hearing impairment. “In critical moments, [deaf Gazans] find ourselves trapped, unable to understand what is happening in the area, which puts us under psychological pressure,” he told +972, using sign language.
“We constantly watch what is happening, but we do not hear the source of the shelling; we only feel it,” he went on. “Therefore, we follow those around us, fleeing when they flee, which creates a chaotic situation that is hard to comprehend. This increases our suffering and deepens our sense of isolation and fear.”
This harsh reality stands in stark contrast to the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, which calls for the taking of “all necessary measures to ensure the protection and safety of persons with disabilities in situations of risk, including situations of armed conflict.”
Indeed, not only has Israel failed to protect the most vulnerable among Palestinian civilians, but it has destroyed many facilities that provided essential rehabilitation and medical services. According to Gaza’s Al Mezan Center for Human Rights, these include the Sheikh Hamad Hospital for Rehabilitation and Prosthetics, El Wafa Hospital for Medical Rehabilitation and Specialized Surgery, the Assistive Devices Center of the Medical Relief Society, the headquarters of the Palestinian General Union of People with Disabilities, and the City of Hope for Capacity Building run by the Red Crescent Society.
As Al-Ghora pointed out, the destruction of healthcare infrastructure prevents those with preexisting conditions from accessing treatment, but also has led to an entirely new population of disabled Palestinians in Gaza. “It is estimated that over 10,000 people among the wounded have sustained new disabilities,” he told +972. “Most of them would not have become permanently disabled if a functional healthcare system had been available to treat their injuries.”
A smile of hope
Without proper treatment, most disabled Gazans — like all residents of the Strip — have been left to try to survive in overcrowded shelters or tent camps, lacking the most basic elements of a dignified life. But in July 2024, several Palestinians took the initiative to establish Basmat Amal (“Smile of Hope”), a special camp in Deir al-Balah that accommodates people with various forms of physical disability and provides essential services adapted to their needs.
“The camp hosts people with all kinds of disabilities,” Hamza Al-Falit, one of the organizers, told +972. “The idea came from several individuals and is overseen by three local organizations: the Palestinian Agricultural Development Association, Palestine Red Crescent Society, and the Atfaluna Society for Deaf Children.
“The camp strives to provide the necessities for displaced people with disabilities, as well as measures to ensure their comfort, amid the destruction of most hospitals, clinics, and medical centers,” Al-Falit continued. “While repeated displacement causes exhaustion among all Palestinians, it is especially challenging for people with disabilities due to their limited mobility, in addition to the catastrophic psychological impact of their continuous forced relocation.”
So far, around one hundred Palestinian families have taken refuge at Basmat Amal, living in tents on a small area of land measuring around seven dunams (about 1.7 acres). Teachers who themselves have disabilities run educational programs and provide psychological support for the children staying there.
Samia Abu Namous, a 54-year-old mother from Khuza’a, east of Khan Younis, is currently staying at the camp with her three sons who all suffer from physical and hearing disabilities: Abdullah, 23, Nader, 21, and Usama, 18. Their needs are being taken care of, and all three are learning carpentry.
After being repeatedly displaced and seeking shelter in different camps, Samia was relieved to finally find somewhere appropriate where her sons could be looked after. “Each displacement camp was difficult, and even the schools were not suitable for people with disabilities and did not provide services that took into account their conditions,” she explained.
“Basmat Amal provided us with a tent, mattresses, and blankets, and they repaired the assistive equipment that was damaged during our displacement,” Samia continued. “They provide food, clean water, medicine, and physical and psychological care, and there are toilets that suit my son’s disabilities. But it’s still not like home.”
‘He disappeared, and we haven’t found any clues’
Indeed, amid the brutality of Israel’s genocidal war, initiatives like Basmat Amal can temporarily alleviate the suffering and discomfort of Palestinians with disabilities. But for many, especially those who have been repeatedly displaced across Gaza, nothing can substitute for the comfort and security of living in one’s own home.
Before October 7, 62-year-old Maher Kaheel lived with his sister Maysoun, next to his brothers and their families in Gaza City. He suffered from various health and psychological issues that required regular monitoring and medication, but found joy in tending to his cat and garden.
At the beginning of the war, Maher was forced to flee northern Gaza along with his brothers, seeking refuge with their sister, Maha, in Rafah. “My brothers were displaced with their wives and children to my home in Tel al-Sultan, west of the city, and they brought Maher with them,” Maha told +972. “They are responsible for him along with my sister Maysoun, who had already left Gaza to continue her work as a journalist from Egypt.”
In Rafah, Maher did not leave the house. Everyone was careful to ensure the door was locked, as he repeatedly expressed his desire to return to his home in Gaza City. “The doors helped us to keep my brother safe, and life was easier in my house in Rafah with water and electricity available,” Maha explained.
But just prior to Israel’s invasion of Rafah, the family fled Maha’s home at the end of April before Israel’s tanks could reach it, moving into the home of a relative in the Al-Mawasi area, west of Khan Younis. Due to limited space, Maha noted, “a tent was set up for my brothers and their sons to sleep in, including Maher. They divided the responsibility of caring for him among themselves, while I took responsibility for his food and medications since I am a doctor.”
On May 4, Maha woke up early to prepare Maher’s breakfast and medication. But he was not in the tent. “I became like a mad person, running around the tent, its surroundings, and in every direction, calling out for him with food in one hand and medicine in the other. He disappeared, and we could not find him.”
Maha’s heart aches with anguish, and her entire family is grieving his disappearance. “He is like a child: he wanted to return to our home and neighborhood in Gaza City. He repeatedly asked me to take him back.” Maha would comfort him, promising that “the time to return home was near, once the shelling ends.”
Maher’s family did not leave a stone unturned in their quest to find him: they asked for him at every hospital and police station, enquired with the Red Crescent, and tried every possible way to inform the community about him. “All day long, we search among the living and the dead, asking in every neighborhood and in every house still standing,” Maha said. “But so far, we have not found any clues as to his whereabouts.”
The situation is especially tough for Maha’s sister Maysoun, who remains in Egypt and is grieving the loss of a brother who shared her home. “My sister’s heart aches for my brother,” Maha explained. “She calls 100 times a day, asking if there is any news about him.”
Even if they knew that her brother had been killed, Maha added, it would be easier than continuing to live through the uncertainty. “I just hope that this war will end, we will find my brother, and this nightmare we have been living will be over.”
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