On Wednesday, 12 May 2021, I was in my apartment on the third floor of our family’s building, which is on the town’s main street. We have a hardware store on the ground floor. At 1:50 P.M., I was standing by the window overlooking the street and saw my father standing and talking with his friend, Mahmoud Abu ‘Amer, who had brought us a gas balloon. My father paid him and then stood chatting with him for a few minutes. There were drones hovering over us. They never leave us alone, day or night.

Suddenly, a missile was fired at Abu ‘Amer’s car from one of the drones. It hit the car, which immediately blew up because there were gas balloons inside. The area was covered in smoke and dust.

The moment I heard the blast, I lay down flat on the ground. At first, I thought it was a warning missile fired at our house. A few moments later, I got up and looked out the window, and saw my father lying on the road. His friend, Abu ‘Amer, was inside the car and his body was on fire.

I ran outside. There were already a lot of people there. I picked my father up. He’d been hit by shrapnel in the head, chest and neck. He was dying. I carried him to the stairway and laid him down. He said his prayers and passed away. Meanwhile, other residents tried to put out the fire in the car.

Five minutes later, an ambulance arrived and took the martyrs to Nasser Hospital in Khan Yunis. I stayed at home. That day, after the doctors pronounced my father’s death, we buried him at the Bani Suheila cemetery.