Hadil was seven years old when she was martyred. She was about to start third grade. When she was born, she was so pretty and cute and she filled the house with joy. She was the darling of the family. We spoiled her a lot. When Hadil asked me for something, I always gave it to her. Her pocket money was more than a shekel, even three, because I was a taxi driver.
She was very mature for her age and was always ready to help her mother. She was always smiling and was very beloved. She had good relationships with her friends and siblings and used to play with them a lot. Hadil always spoke quietly and didn’t like it when there was shouting at home.
When I watched the news, she would sit next to me, and if they showed something difficult or painful, she would immediately say: “Oh, God! How awful!”. But she mostly loved watching cartoons. When she would finish watching them, she would get up and continue studying or read. She was a diligent student, mostly in English, and was always looking for new words, especially ones connected to animals and toys. She loved playing with cats, which is why we have a cat.
Whenever we looked out the upstairs window and saw the Israeli occupation soldiers entering Beit Lahiya, even 300 meters away, Hadil would get very scared. She was afraid of the tanks, the shooting, the sounds of the helicopters. She would run downstairs in fear. When she saw harsh things on TV, she would cry. She couldn’t stand the sights and her mother would hug her and try to comfort her. When the occupation forces withdrew from the Gaza Strip, she was thrilled. She waved the Palestinian flag on the roof and said to me, “There are no soldiers.”
The morning Hadil was killed, she woke up around 6:00 and had breakfast with her brothers and sisters. It was a holiday marking the Prophet’s birthday, and she went with her sister to her aunt’s house next door. They got home around 11:30 and she continued playing with her brothers and sisters in the house and in the front yard until 2:30 P.M., which is when I got home from work. I saw her arguing with her mother because she wanted a track suit just like her sister Amneh had got. I told her I would bring her a suit and went to rest in the bedroom. Before I left, she said to me: “When you wake up, bring me the suit!”
At 4:00 P.M., one of my regular customers called me. When I came out of the room, Hadil asked me for two shekels to buy a notebook and pencil. I told her I would give her the money when I got home, and she reminded me again to get her the track suit. She refused to take a shower otherwise. Her mother said I would get the suit on the way back home, and she went to shower.
I drove out with the taxi and then my brother’s wife called and told me that a shell had hit my house. I was just leaving Beit Hanoun. I let off all the passengers quickly and drove home as fast as I could. I got there 10 minutes after the shell hit. There were a lot of ambulances out front, and all the neighbors had gathered there.
I rushed to the hospital and saw four of my children there. I was sure all my other children had been killed. My brother Mansur, who was at the hospital, told me: “Your daughter Hadil was killed.” Then I realized that the shell had fallen inside the living room, right next to Hadil. She was killed instantly by shrapnel that hit her head. My entire family was injured.
In Beit Lahiya, the Gaza Strip, 10 April 2006
The testimony of Muhammad Ghaben, 40, a father of 11, Hadil’s father
The testimony was given to Muhammad Sabah on 1 August 2006
I lost my daughter on 10 April 2006, at 5:30 P.M. The Israeli military was shelling east of Gaza and Hadil was hit by shrapnel in the head and stomach. She was buried under the rubble of the house. Ten other members of the family were hit by shrapnel.
Ambulances arrived and took us to hospitals in Gaza. I was nine months pregnant with my son Hadi. When the house exploded, a power cord fell on my back and I blacked out. I woke up in a-Shifaa Hospital and couldn’t remember a thing. My body was full of shrapnel.
The next day I asked my sister-in-law about my children. She said: “Everyone’s fine, thank God”, but I didn’t believe her. After all, I was so badly injured, and Hadil was sitting on me when the shell landed. My sister-in-law told me they wanted to take me home and I couldn’t understand why, because I was badly injured. So I told her: “I bet all my kids were killed.” But she told me everyone was fine except Hadil, who had been killed.
I let out a scream and started sobbing. I was taken from the hospital to my brother-in-law’s house, to say goodbye to Hadil. I felt terrible and when I saw her, I felt like all the energy had left my body and my heart was on fire. I put my hand under her head and hugged her tight, kissed her and wept. I put my hand on her head, where she had been injured. It was a huge gash and my hand was covered with blood. I fainted and was taken back to hospital. I cried for two days straight.
All my children were injured by shrapnel and some of them had burns all over their body. For five months, we went to hospital every day to remove the pieces of shrapnel. Then we had daily treatments for about three years at the Doctors Without Borders clinic. My daughters had to have plastic surgery, too. The children also got psychological help.
I’m still suffering the consequences of that shelling. For 13 years, my children and I have been living in pain. My son Munir, who is 22 today, has a particularly hard time of it. He’s been in Egypt for several months now with his father, for medical treatment. He has shrapnel in his nose and has trouble breathing. He also has difficulties with his eyesight because some shrapnel penetrated his eyes. At first, he was supposed to be treated at al-Mutala’ (Augusta Victoria) Hospital in Jerusalem, but the Israeli army rejected his request for an entry permit several times. He finally got a permit and four months ago was hospitalized there for two weeks, but his condition didn’t improve so he was referred to Egypt for treatment.
I still have a piece of shrapnel in my neck and can’t move my neck or shoulders. The doctors said that if they tried to get it out, I might be paralyzed, so they left it in. I live on painkillers, medication and all kinds of treatments I still undergo. My daughter Tahrir, 21, has problems with her kidneys, which swell up because there is shrapnel lodged in them.
Of course, that day’s attack also had implications for our mental health. My children become very nervous and panic when they hear bombings. My daughters get totally hysterical when they hear bombs. My husband has not been able to work at all since that day.
I never stop thinking about Hadil, I keep remembering her. When I see girls her age, I think how I wish she were alive and I could see her as a bride, see her children. The loss breaks my heart over and over again. It’s so painful. She was only in the second grade. All the teachers loved her. She was an excellent student and I dreamed of seeing her attend university with her classmates. I imagined how she’d get top grades and how proud I would be. But the Israeli army took her from me and robbed Hadil of her childhood and of the possibility to live.
On the day of the barrage, the Israeli army called my husband. They told him they were sorry and had not meant to hurt us. They told him they wanted to pay us compensation, but my husband turned them down. He said: “No money can help now. Hadil is dead, and my wife and all my children are injured. Money will not solve anything now. What did we do to you, my children and I? Only God will help me and compensate me.” Then a human rights organization contacted us about filing a lawsuit against the Israeli army. I don’t know what happened with that, my husband was in touch with them.
Safiyeh Ghaben, Hadil’s mother, 51 and a mother of 11, met with B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd this year, recounting the shelling that killed her daughter and her life since then:
That day, the Israeli army shelled Beit Lahiya indiscriminately. There was shrapnel everywhere. I told my children to stay away from the window, so they wouldn’t be hit by the shells. Suddenly, our house was shelled. The missile hit the living room, where we were all sitting. The blast was so strong, some of my kids flew out and landed under the trees. Everyone was injured and the house was completely destroyed.
As the corps’ policy at the time was that such incidents were defined as “combat events” that were not investigated by the MPIU.