The only survivor

Sanaa’s husband was one of the more than 71,250 Palestinians killed by Israel during the war.

Twenty-year-old Batoul Abu Shawish can count her father, mother, two brothers and two sisters – her whole immediate family – among that number.

Batoul comes into the new year wishing for only one thing: to be with her family.

Her heartbreaking loss came just a month before the end of the year, on November 22.

Despite the ceasefire, an Israeli bomb struck the home her family had fled to in central Gaza’s Nuseirat refugee camp.

“I was sitting with my two sisters. My brothers were in their room, my father had just returned from outside, and my mother was preparing food in the kitchen,” she recalled, eyes vacant, describing the day.

“In an instant, everything turned to darkness and thick dust. I didn’t realise what was happening around me, not even that it was bombing, due to the shock,” Batoul added, as she stood next to the ruins of her destroyed home.

She was trapped under the debris of the destroyed home for about an hour, unable to move, calling for help from anyone nearby.

“I couldn’t believe what was happening. I wished I were dead, unaware, trying to escape the thought of what had happened to my family,” Batoul said.

“I called for them one by one, and there was no sound. My mother, father, siblings, no one.”

After being rescued, she was found to have severe injuries to her hand and was immediately transferred to hospital.

“I was placed on a stretcher above extracted bodies, covered in sheets. I panicked and asked my uncle who was with me: ‘Who are these people?’ He said they were from the house next to ours,” she recalled.

As soon as Batoul arrived at the hospital, she was rushed into emergency surgery on her hand before she could learn about what had happened to her family.

 “I kept asking everyone, ‘Where is my mom? Where is my dad?’ They told me they were fine, just injured in other departments.”

“I didn’t believe them,” Batoul added, “but I was also afraid to call them liars.”

The following day, her uncles broke the news to Batoul that she had lost her mother and siblings. Her father, they told her, was still in critical condition in the intensive care unit.

“They gathered around me, and they were all crying. I understood on my own,” she said.

“I broke down, crying in disbelief, then said goodbye to them one by one before the funeral.”

Batoul’s father later succumbed to his injuries three days after the incident, leaving her alone to face her grief.

“I used to go to the ICU every day and whisper in my father’s ear, asking him to wake up again, for me and for himself, but he was completely unconscious,” Batoul said as she scrolled through photos of her father on her mobile phone.

“When he died, it felt as if the world had gone completely dark before my eyes.”

‘Where is the ceasefire?’

Israel said that it conducted the strikes in Nuseirat in response to an alleged gunman crossing into Israel-held territory in Gaza, although it is unclear why civilian homes in Nuseirat were therefore targeted.

According to Gaza’s Government Media Office and the Ministry of Health, around 2,613 Palestinian families were completely wiped out during the war on the Gaza Strip up until the announcement of the ceasefire in October 2025.

Those families had all of their members killed, and their names erased from the civil registry.

The same figures indicate that approximately 5,943 families were left with only a single surviving member after the rest were killed, an agonising reflection of the scale of social and human loss caused by the war.

These figures may change as documentation continues and bodies are recovered from beneath the rubble.

For Batoul, her family was anything but ordinary; they were known for their deep bond and love for one another.

“My father was deeply attached to my mother and never hid his love for her in front of anyone, and that reflected on all of us.”

“My mother was my closest friend, and my siblings loved each other beyond words. Our home was full of pleasant surprises and warmth,” she added.

“Even during the war, we used to sit together, hold family gatherings, and help one another endure so much of what we were going through.”

The understandable grief that has overtaken Batoul leaves no room for wishes for a new year or talk of a near future, at least for now.

One question, however, weighs heavily on her: why was her peaceful family targeted, especially during a ceasefire?

“Where is the ceasefire they talk about? It’s just a lie,” she said.

“My family and I survived bombardment, two years of war. An apartment next to our home in eastern Nuseirat was hit, and we fled together to here. We lived through hunger, food shortages, and fear together. Then we thought we had survived, that the war was over.”

“But sadly, they’re gone, and they left me alone.”

Batoul holds onto one wish from the depths of her heart: to join her family as soon as possible.

At the same time, she carries an inner resignation that perhaps it is her fate to live this way, like so many others in Gaza who have lost their families.

“If life is written for me, I will try to fulfil my mother’s dream that I be outstanding in my field and generous to others,” said Batoul, a second-year university student studying multimedia, who is currently living with her uncle and his family.

“Life without family,” she said, “is living with an amputated heart, in darkness for the rest of your life, and there are so many like that now in Gaza.”