Bushra Awad

I’m married, a mother of eight children and a homemaker. I got married at an early age, and after five years I gave birth to my eldest child, Mahmoud. Mahmoud brought meaning and color to my life, filled it with happiness and hope. He was beautiful and wonderful and so glorious. My life was focused on raising him, while giving him the best possible education, so “something great will come out of him”. 
Unfortunately, our financial situation was tough, and so when Mahmoud grew older, he started working while at school, to help his father improve the family’s financial situation.

Mahmoud Awad

During the first Intifada, Mahmoud was still a young boy. When I saw the children and teenagers killed and the pained mothers grieving their lost boys, I thanked Allah that Mahmoud was still a young child and asked him (prayed) that there would not be another Intifada when Mahmoud grows older.

On January 24, 2008 the Israeli army killed two young men from Beit Omar in the Goush Etzion area. The next morning, the forces entered the village to destroy their houses, and many of the village residents took to the streets to demonstrate and protest the fact. My son Mahmoud was among them. 
The army soldiers launched an attack on the people and caught the young men who threw stones at them. The army used ammunition and tear gas in response. Mahmoud came home with his younger brothers and told me: “Don’t let them come out of the house. There are confrontations and it’s dangerous outside”. I asked him to stay in the house as well and to continue studying – he was already in twelfth grade, and he answered that he’s staying home and that I shouldn’t worry about him. I turned back to my house work, assured that Mahmoud was in his room. I didn’t notice him leave the house.

After a few minutes I heard heavy gunfire. I ran to Mahmoud’s room, but didn’t find him there. I asked his father to go out to look for him and bring him back home.

Bushra Awad

After Mahmoud's death my heart was filled with revenge, sadness, pain and endless sorrow.

At this point I had a very strange and unpleasant feeling. I felt something terrible had happened to Mahmoud. Immediately afterwards I heard the siren of an ambulance. My husband didn’t return home. 
After about fifteen minutes our neighbor’s son came to tell me that Mahmoud was hurt in the incident and was taken to the hospital, but that he’s in good condition.

I rushed to the hospital crazed. I was so angry with Mahmoud that he left the house and didn’t listen to me. I told myself that I will punish him for it when he comes home and gets well. I arrived at the hospital in Hebron and found my husband crying and yelling, “Mahmoud is gone”. I ignored him not wanting to believe or even hear what he said or what my brothers and sisters said, as well as the other relatives. I refused to go into the hospital because I didn’t want to see his body. 
I looked at him one last time at the mosque, before they prayed for him and buried him.

After Mahmoud’s death my heart was filled with revenge, sadness, pain and endless sorrow. I shut in and gathered myself, ignoring my husband, my home and my children. I was consumed with sadness and by my crying over Mahmoud, and I wished for death, so I could see him. Three years passed this way.

Bushra and other members of our Women's Group

One day, a friend suggested I join the Families Forum (PCFF). I refused adamantly and asked her how could I shake the hand of the Israeli side that killed my son? A little while afterwards that same friend invited me for coffee in her house. When I arrived, I met an Israeli woman called Robi in the living room, and I immediately turned to leave. I didn’t want to meet her or talk to her, but then the woman got up and asked me to stay. She said she would like to hear the story of my son, Mahmoud. I sat down and began to tell her. When I showed her his photograph she burst out in tears. She later told me her story and the story of her son, who was killed by a young Palestinian man in 2002.

After my meeting with Robi, I understood that our tears are the same tears. Our pain is the same pain. As mothers who lost their sons, we could share our emotions with each other. 
I later participated in a joint meeting of Palestinian and Israeli mothers who have lost their children. The atmosphere in the meeting was different, appeasing and honest. We talked about the suffering of both sides and about the fact that we all agreed that the bloodshed must be stopped, that peace must be made between the nations, and that the occupation must be ended. 
I joined the Forum believing in its message, and I am a prominently active member still.

Italian Trulli

Previous story: Robi Damelin

Next story: Ikhlas Ishtaya

Kholoud Houshiya

I am Kholoud Houshiya and I live in the village of Al Yamun near Jenin. Originally my family is from Haifa. I wasn’t able to experience childhood due to the occupation, which forcibly displaced my family to Jenin under oppression and humiliation.

Later, I married and I gave birth to my first child, whom I named Mohammed. I raised him with all my love and effort.

Mohammed was a young man who loved life dearly, and he loved me even more. He was both my son and my friend, thanks to our close bond.

Mohamad was 23 years old. He worked in Israel and helped his father.

On January 2, 2024 Mohamed took a picture of the Israeli army tearing down my neighbor’s house. The army thought otherwise and they shot him. Just because he was Palestinian.

I always dreamed of seeing my son as a groom, just like any mother. But now, I am left with him buried in my garden. I had hoped to see him, his wife, and his children in my house, but now, every day, I look at his grave from the window in my room.

My message to the world is this: Enough. Enough killing, enough injustice, enough destruction, enough oppression. Enough violence on both sides.

It is not easy for a mother to recount the story of her son’s death—the pain is indescribable. I cannot bear the loss of another child. This is why we must raise the voice of the mothers for a better future for all children and young generations – Palestinians and Israelis.

Maayan Kfir Shani

Hala
al-Bukhari

I am Hala Al-Bukhari, living in Jerusalem.

My daughter, my sister and her large family, children and grandchildren live in Gaza. Despite the distance, before the war, I used to communicate with them daily, checking on their health via video call.

On the morning of October 7th, my son told me to watch TV to see what was happening in southern Israel. From that day, fear has overwhelmed my heart.

Then came the morning of October 18th, bringing the harsh news: My sister’s house was bombed, and she, her husband, her children, and grandchildren were in the house—33 innocent lives lost in this horrific massacre. Since then, my fear for my daughter has grown. I have pleaded with human rights organizations, seeking any means to get her out of the hell of war and the horror of the massacres. Eventually we succeeded to get my daughter out of Gaza.

With every word I write, I struggle to express the extent of my pain. Our hearts bleed with grief for those we have lost and continue to lose. Our sorrow is profound, and our souls yearn for the peace we all dream of.

Let us all live in peace and build a better future for our children. War brings only destruction and ruin to everyone involved, whether Palestinian or Israeli. It is always the innocent people who suffer the most.

Liat Atzili

I am Liat Atzili from Kibbutz Nir Oz.

My partner, Aviv and I built a life and a family in Nir Oz. We were an inseparable part of this little community, which fulfilled our aspirations and needs. Mine as an educator, and Aviv’s as a farmer and an artist.

On October 7th, our kibbutz was attacked, conquered, and destroyed by Hamas. A quarter of the residents were either killed or kidnapped, including me. The time I spent as a hostage in Gaza was of complete despair, unending fear for my friends and family, and long days. I was nervous that I wouldn’t survive.

After 54 days in captivity, I was returned home. The following day, my family and I were told that Aviv was killed on October 7th. Aviv had hundreds of friends, he traveled and created, and made the most of every opportunity; he truly loved life.In his final year, Aviv fulfilled many dreams, the greatest being to share his art publicly. While managing the kibbutz’s agricultural garage, he painted on tractor parts and scrap metal, blending his love for metals and the Negev fields into his creations. Our children looked up to him and I feel like I had the greatest privilege to share my life with him.

I always believed that war is not our destiny, and that any conflict, including ours, can be solved. This war has proven to me beyond a doubt that we cannot continue fighting, that we have no right to impose the continued suffering of war on future generations on either side. I am ready today, more than ever, to do everything in my power so that our children can live here in peace and security.

Mazen Abu Zir

I am Mazen from Bethlehem. Many of my family members live in Beit Lahiya, Gaza. They lived in a beautiful house and went on about their lives, despite the siege.

It all stopped on October 10, 2024, when, my uncle, his three sons, and his son-in-law were outside near the house. Israeli aircraft targeted them with bombardment and gunfire. My aunt managed to bring their bodies into the house. With trembling hands, she was forced to gather what remained of them, unable for over a week to lay her husband and three sons to rest.
I cannot believe that so many of my family are dead, and that I cannot go there to help them and cry with them.

The depth of pain in Gaza is beyond description and cannot be fathomed by the human mind. How much longer will this hatred on both sides continue? How much longer will we endure this nightmare? All the Palestinian people desire is a dignified life free from occupation—a fundamental right, just like that of any other people in the world.

The suffering will not cease until we collectively seek pathways to peace and understanding. Revenge will not forge a shared future; we must strive to find common ground and solidarity. Let us unite for a brighter future for the generations to come, and let us raise our voices for peace, so that together we may end this cycle of violence and finally live in safety and harmony.

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