In the early days of the genocidal war on Gaza, I found myself facing scenes beyond what any human being can endure.
Out of necessity -- and because I was trained in mass-casualty management -- I set up a tent inside the hospital, away from the emergency department, to place the martyrs there directly. It was the only way to prevent the ER from overflowing with the dead, and to give the wounded a greater chance of survival and proper treatment.
But the moment the tent was ready... the tragedy arrived with it.
It filled faster than the soul could comprehend.
I would enter and find the ground lined with the bodies of martyrs... entire families, from grandparents to infants, lying side by side, as if they had fallen into their final sleep without a farewell.
In front of them were bags holding unrecognizable remains -- just small labels reading: "From the bombing site."
Heads without bodies... bodies without limbs... images no human mind can explain.
I stood there with dry eyes that refused to cry... yet my heart was burning.
I kept trying to remind myself that I am a doctor, that I must remain steady, but inside, everything was collapsing.
We worked in the hospital under the constant roar of aircraft hovering overhead and the explosions shaking the walls around us.
And with every moment, one merciless question crept into my mind:
What about my family -- left in the heart of fear and terror? Are they still alive?
I could no longer bear the sight of the martyrs... especially as I began recognizing faces: neighbors, relatives, friends.
I started avoiding the hospital courtyards, afraid of seeing people I love crying, wounded, or gone.
Injuries we had never seen in medical books -- complex wounds that defied science and logic.
Yet we tried... we tried with every ounce of strength left in us to save whatever could be saved.
Still, we worked nonstop, around the clock, pretending to be strong for the people.
But inside, we were fragile -- broken -- crying silently, fearing who the next patient might be... a friend? A relative? Someone dear to us?
To the free world... to every human being who still carries a conscience and a heart:
This is not a story from a book, nor a scene from a movie.
This is the testimony of a doctor from Gaza.
If you think you understand... imagine yourself in my place for just one moment:
What would you do? What would you feel? Could your mind even comprehend it?