Dr. Ezzideen

chuffed.org/project/128550… Hello, I am a doctor in Gaza. Each day, I move through the ruins, stitching wounds the world will never see. And at night, I write, because some truths cannot remain buried. If my words have reached you, it is not by accident. It is because suffering…

This morning, I awoke as one might awaken in a grave, not rested, but returned from the underworld, gasping for something that no longer exists. Water. Twelve days without a drop in our pipes. Twelve days of swollen tongues, of children crying not from pain but from a thirst so…

I am a doctor. And I cannot save a child. There: I have said it. What is a doctor, if not a liar with trembling hands? What is medicine, if not a prayer whispered into the dark, hoping something, anything, will answer? Four months ago, the child fell ill. His name is Qasem. I…

They sit beneath crystal chandeliers, wrapped in silence too pristine to be innocent. Five men. Clean hands. Full bellies. Expensive watches gleaming beneath tailored sleeves. They call themselves representatives. But who appointed them? Not the mothers digging graves with their…

It was 1:15 a.m. And I was not asleep, no, I was wrestling with myself, with the ghosts of my own insignificance, with that terrible heaviness that descends after long hours of service, when the world is dark, and your soul is darker still. And then, a cry. A woman’s cry. Not a…

While headlines, including those of Al Jazeera, shift between “progress” and “setbacks” in ceasefire negotiations, and while studios summon experts to analyze the death of a single Israeli soldier, calling it a “turning point” or a symbol of Gaza’s resilience, the truth remains…

I swear to you. Before God. Before this wretched century. Before whatever last flicker of humanity may still remain in me, what I saw today was not life. It was the collapse of everything that ever claimed to be sacred. Once, Fridays in Gaza were holy. Not because of tradition,…

In this shattered land, where the earth groans and the sky bleeds fire, I sit in a room no wider than a prison cell. Around me, the wind carries the faint echoes of promises made in distant capitals of zones, of maps, of safety. That accursed word: safety, spoken by men whose…

They came at dusk: a woman and two children. Not walking, exactly. Drifting, as if carried not by their own will but by a force more ancient and merciless than gravity. The kind of force that drives insects toward flame or the lost toward confession. One of the children pulled a…

A story not for children, but about one. It was nearly midnight. In Gaza, night no longer brings peace. It does not descend like a blanket, but presses down like a weight. Heavy. Breathless. Suffocating. The silence it brings is not one of calm, but of abandonment. It stretches…

They speak now of a ceasefire. A ceasefire. As if death could be paused. As if blood could be bargained with. As if the heavens would take notice of papers signed in rooms far from the stench of burned flesh. I wait. We all wait. Two million of us, sitting in the antechamber of…

Dr. Marwan Sultan is dead. A man. Not a soldier, not a politician, not a merchant of ambition. A healer. A quiet servant of life. He is gone. Not felled in the blindness of fate, but targeted. Not swallowed by time, but torn from it by men who speak of order with blood on their…

"Wir haben im Spital keine Kochsalzlösung mehr. Das elementarste Werkzeug der Medizin". Ich habe den folgenden Beitrag des jungen Arztes Ezzedin Shehab in Nord-Gaza übersetzt und lese ihn hier vor. youtube.com/watch?v=3nak0e…

When I returned to Gaza, I did not come as a witness to sorrow. I came as someone who longed to breathe. I imagined the visit as a brief stillness, a soft hour between departures. The kind of moment when the soul kneels without even knowing it is praying. I had just come back…

They have redrawn the map again. But not with ink. With fire. This morning, the voice came from the sky, a metal voice, sharp and sexless, without soul or breath. It said what it always says: Evacuate. Now. Leave your homes. Leave everything. Again. As if the people of Gaza…

There is no medicine left here. Not for the body. Not for the soul. I have long spoken of the disintegration of Gaza’s hospitals: how we labor beneath roofs that leak shrapnel, beside beds where children lie half-alive. The World Health Organization calls it a collapse. Collapse…

🚨🚨 The situation in Jabalia is extremely dire. I just spoke with my relatives who remain trapped there. They told me that relentless artillery shelling is raining down on residential homes, and the screams from nearby houses are chilling. No one can leave, the shelling is too…

I found it yesterday. A piece of shrapnel, cold and brutal, weighing no less than two kilograms, lying beside the bed of a boy no older than nine. He slept, or perhaps only pretended. His breathing was shallow but steady, as though his soul had learned to hide from the world.…

Important message from Dr Ezzideen from Gaza. BABIES ARE FORCIBLY BEING STARVED TO DEATH. This is not a famine. It is a siege. It is not collapse. It is calculation. It is not neglect. It is intent. ISRAEL IS KILLING BABIES ON PURPOSE‼️