Iyad 'Abd al-Mu'ti Iyad Shalakhati, 14 – 'Askar Refugee Camp, Nablus, 6 July 2025, died 9 July 2025

On 6 July 2025, soldiers fired at youths who were throwing stones at Israeli forces as they withdrew from 'Askar Refugee Camp in Nablus at the end of an invasion. They severely wounded Iyad Shalakhati, 14, and two other youths. Shalakhati was taken by private car to Rafidya Hospital in the city, and died of his wounds three days later.

His mother, Shuruq Shalakhati, 32, a mother of five, said in a testimony she gave B'Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb'i on 7 August 2025:

I got married when I was 15, and for years my husband and I lived in one room in my husband’s family home, in very difficult conditions. Iyad was my eldest son. I gave birth to him in 2011, and he was the first joy in my life, the only beautiful thing that eased those hard years for me. My children are everything to me. All I want from life is for them to grow up and for our lives to get better.

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Four years ago, my husband developed bone cancer, and his condition has deteriorated badly since then. He can no longer work and needs intensive physical and emotional care. My son Iyad had to leave school despite his young age. Circumstances forced him to grow up quickly. Instead of studying and playing like other children his age, he had to work to support us and his siblings. We had no other source of income. If Iyad worked, we ate. If he didn’t, there was no food.

Iyad collected empty drink bottles. For every sack he sold, he got only 10 shekels. He would leave at 4:00 A.M. and come back at 10:00 A.M., and sometimes he would go out again in the evening to work a few more hours and earn about 30 shekels. He loved playing billiards and soccer.

On Sunday, 5 July 2025, at around 4:00 P.M., Iyad left home to collect bottles. Around 9:00 P.M., while I was at home, I felt like something was choking me. When my father-in-law called my husband to come into their home, I felt something was happening. We don’t have internet at home, and I didn’t know anything.

My husband came back from his parents’ home and told me Iyad had been wounded. I started screaming and begging that he not be taken from me. I went to the hospital, and when I arrived, Iyad was in the emergency room. They told me he had been wounded in the leg, and I thought he would be fine. He even spoke to me and told me his head and stomach hurt.

They told me he needed a long operation. The surgery lasted many hours, until around 5:00 A.M. The doctors came out and said he would be fine, but when they brought him out of surgery, Iyad opened his eyes but was not conscious. I tried to speak to him, but he didn’t respond.

They transferred him to intensive care. I stood outside the room, reading the Quran and praying that they would be able to save him, but I felt he was moving farther and farther away from me. I asked the doctor, and he said the injury was very serious: arteries in his abdomen had been torn, and he had only hours left to live.

While I was waiting there, I fainted several times, and my husband took me home. It was the longest and hardest night of my life. I did not sleep at all.

At 7:00 A.M., the phone rang and we were told Iyad had died. It was a devastating blow. All the beauty in my life was gone. My son had grown up before my eyes. His voice had changed, his beard had begun to grow, and he had become taller than me. I was so happy to see him grow and become a man. I could hardly believe my eyes, and now he is gone.

I go to his bed, cry and can’t sleep. Everything in the house reminds me of him. I cannot cook, and I have no desire to do anything. The children have also lost their appetite.

His siblings ask about him all the time. His father says he does not want to live and only wants to join him.

He was with boys his age in the eastern area of the camp, the only place with trees. It overlooks the villages of 'Azmut and Deir al-Hatab, and the Huwarah-Rujeib road. Young people go there to sit in the shade and get away from the overcrowding.

The military goes there deliberately to provoke the young people and then kills them without justification. What did these children do wrong? Don’t they have the right to live their childhood, to play and be happy? Why did they kill him? Why did they take my son from me, the light of my eyes?