(A testimony told by Moataz Billah Mohammed Al-Kafarna, 38, regarding the receipt of aid from the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation)
As we approached the Israeli military checkpoint, the Israeli soldiers started shouting with the loudspeaker ordering us to turn back. They claimed that the Center closed. They began cursing and insulting us and describing us as dogs. They threatened if we do not leave within three minutes to open fire at us. Just after they warned us, and before giving us a chance to move, they started shooting directly at us without mercy or hesitation. Their military base was approximately one kilometer away from us.
I looked around and saw dozens of wounded people. I heard their screams and calls for help, however, nobody could raise his head due to the intensity of the gunfire and the constant whizzing of bullets above our heads. Once the gunfire slightly subsided, the young men were able to evacuate the injured to a nearest point operated by the International Committee of the Red Cross. The most heartbreaking scene was seeing the wounded dying in front of us because they could not bear the pain of their injuries.
We returned with broken spirits. Our heads bowed in sorrow, fear, and pain. Some of those who stood with us in line were either injured or killed. That was on “Eid” Day (feast); a dark “Eid” in which our hunger drove us to seek food from our own enemy; food wrapped in humiliation and disgrace, after we had been living once in pride and dignity.
We tried to sleep at the dirty shore of Rafah, awaiting our chance to enter the center again. Around 6:45 a.m., heavy, indiscriminate, and terrifying gunfire erupted once more from the same Israeli military point. The bullets were only one meter high from the ground, forcing us to either lay down flat or curl into a fetal position. At such a moment, memories from previous life start flowing in front of his eyes. One start thinking of those who love him; of how death is not the only fear today, but rather the thought of dying and not returning to our children with food in hand to ease their hunger.
My children are waiting for me in the shelter. They are starving. They look forward to seeing me coming back alive with food. I can still remember their laughter during our meals around the table in our house. Now, that turned into tears; into looks that make me feel responsible for their suffering. Children are innocent. They do not know that I am hungry, too; that I am powerless. Going to that horrifying place with all the death scenes around was for the sake of getting them food.
The shooting continued from 6:45 until 8:00 a.m.; an hour and fifteen minutes of live bullets targeted at us. All kinds of weapons used, accompanied by the terrifying noise of the different aircraft in the sky. Fear lodges in every corner. We could not do anything but utter prayers and pleas to God.
When the shooting finally stopped, those experienced with the situation among us said: “Now is the time to go in.”
What followed was a tragic scene beyond anything ever imagined in Roman or Greek epics, or even in Dante’s Divine Comedy. You had to sprint from your cover. Running was the only way to survive. It was a two-kilometer distance. Along the way, you would see young men sprawled on the ground with the plastic bags still in hands to bring food in it. The wounded were bleeding, trying to take care of their injuries, like those shot in the leg.
Despite the sound of sandals pounding the road, you could hear the moans of the injured. Your conscience shreds like a discarded piece of paper. Your humanity dissipates like ash in the wind. You run like a beast to get food. You pass the dead and those wounded but you are unable to stop and help. If you hesitate, you might be stepped on by the starving crowd behind you; you might be killed or you might miss your portion of aid entirely. There, you must raise your hands and your white bag as a sign of surrender and proof that you are a civilian coming to get food, like livestock awaiting their feeding trough in a soulless pen.
You reach the Israeli checkpoint, turn left, run for another kilometer, then turn right and run a third kilometer to the American checkpoint guarded by private U.S. security contractors. They just look as if they are in a Hollywood movie. They are fully armed, wearing dark sunglasses, and body armor with the American flag. They have earphones behind their ears, carry weapons aimed directly at our bare chests. They do not hesitate to shoot at the ground near anybody who dares to approach the aid stockpile situated behind the hill which they stood upon.
They gradually retreated; their weapons still aimed at us as if we were bulls in a rodeo, all released at once, though we are human beings, real humans stripped of our humanity and transformed into creatures less than animals. No order, no ethics, no dignity. We were just starving bodies running for scraps handed to us by those who are killing us.
Once, the Americans stepped back and cleared the path, we climbed the hill, where the aid was piled. Everyone who stood in the queue was beast. We were a horde scrambling to snatch from a fallen prey. We then had to run with all our strength to catch a box of food. No order, no fairness, no justice.
It was a jungle-ruled situation. Once one grabs a box, one had to dump it quickly into his white bag and flee. If those behind you found no boxes, they might attack you and steal what you got. If you could scoop what fell from others fleeing like you, do it and do not stop. If you fall, you will trample. If you slow down, you will be robbed. You need to carry a knife or a blade for protection and stay close to friends, relatives, or a group of people you trust to protect each other on the way back. It is in fact a real jungle in every sense, where the strong devour the weak without mercy. They stripped us of our humanity and turned us into soulless monstrosities.
After escaping the death zone at the aid center, I opened the bag to see what I had received, and hereby, what I found:
Two kilograms of lentils
Half a kilo of chickpeas
Two kilograms of flour
Four kilograms of pasta
One kilogram of tahini
One liter of frying oil (sesame oil)
Two kilograms of salt
One can of peas
One can of beans
Two cans of fava beans
At that moment, tears dropped from my eyes. If any trace of humanity remained within me, it cried out in agony. My soul was torn apart. My heart crushed by helplessness. I bled emotions endlessly.
For this meager quantity of food, I had to throw myself into the jaws of death; I walked dozens of kilometers, crawled on my stomach for hundreds of meters, ran thousands of steps, witnessed the corpses of young men on the ground and saw the wounded and was not able to help any of them.
Abdallah Sharsharah
19/06/2025
