Muhammad Iyad ‘Abahrah, 17, Silat al-Harithiya, Jenin District, 13 December 2025

On 13 December 2025, soldiers raided the town of al-Yamun and clashes broke out. After Muhammad ‘Abahrah, 17, threw an IED at soldiers in the street and tried to flee, soldiers who had taken over a nearby house shot him. The soldiers then dragged his body to the entrance of the house and prevented a Palestinian ambulance crew from approaching him. His body was loaded onto a military vehicle after about ten minutes. ‘Abahreh was an Islamic Jihad military wing operative. Israel is holding his body.

Muhammad’s mother, ‘Ayidah ‘Abahrah, 41, a mother of five, recounted in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 26 March 2026:

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My son, Muhammad, whom I used to call by the nickname Hammoudeh, was my eldest. He was born three years after my husband Iyad and I were married.

Muhammad was a diligent student, and Iyad and I eagerly waited for him to finish high school and receive his matriculation certificate so we could provide him with an academic education. But fate intervened. The Israeli military killed him before he had a chance to complete his secondary schooling.

Muhammad was killed on Saturday, 13 December 2025. I still remember that the day before, he asked me to help him understand a text about the life of the Russian writer Dostoevsky. It was part of the Arabic language curriculum. Muhammad was interested in this text, which talks about people who discussed ideas that were critical of the regime, but the oppressive government and its officials arrested the protesters when they learned of their attempted coup. Dostoevsky, who was one of them, was sentenced to death. But on the day the execution was supposed to be carried out, when he was on the gallows, the death sentence was canceled and commuted to four years of hard labor.

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I still remember my son’s reactions to this text and how deeply absorbed and focused he was in it. I felt that his interest in the story was very deep as I explained it to him. Since my field is social studies, I was able to simplify the narrative for him. The story is about a man who, after four years of hard labor, decided, during his imprisonment, to change his life and write a memoir.

Muhammad said to me: “Mother, after you explained the story to me, I began to understand its meaning: ‘He was born, lived and died,’ or, actually: ‘He was born, lived and didn’t die.’” I asked him: “Which of the two life stories do you prefer?” and he replied that he chose the second option: he was born, lived and didn’t die. Because there are people in society who can do good deeds for others and leave a legacy that benefits future generations. And whoever defends his land and homeland leaves behind a beautiful legacy.

On the day he was killed, Muhammad woke up in the morning and ate breakfast with his brothers and sister. He had just started his final year of high school, so he stayed home all day studying.

During the day, I visited my sister, who’d just had a baby, in a village called Muthalath a-Shuhada. While I was at her house, my sister’s children and I spoke with my son Muhammad on a WhatsApp video call to see how he was doing. He was eating his favorite food: olive oil, za’atar and labaneh. He’d always ask me to make him a plate like that.

Afterward, I went back home to al-Yamun to take care of the house and the children, and to help them with their homework in preparation for school the next day, Sunday.

At around 8:30 P.M., Muhammad told me that he’d finished studying and doing his homework and that he wanted to go out to meet his friends in the neighborhood. This was normal. We were used to him going out to meet his friends, spending some time with them and then coming home.

At around 9:30 P.M., I prepared dinner for the family. Muhammad was still out with his friends, so I called and sent him WhatsApp messages inviting him to join us for the meal, but he didn’t answer. It wasn’t clear whether he even saw my WhatsApp messages.

I started to worry. I sent messages to our extended family, my brothers and sisters, and my husband’s brothers and sisters, asking whether Muhammad had visited any of them. At that time, there was no military presence in al-Yamun, and it didn’t occur to us that Muhammad might have gone to the neighboring town of Silat al-Harithiya.

But Muhammad didn’t answer the calls or messages, and I started having doubts and feeling anxious, the natural fear that every mother has. My husband and I went out and started walking around the neighborhood to find out what was going on and to look for Muhammad. We ran into someone and asked him what was happening in the area, and he told us that there were raids in Silat al-Harithiya and that the Israeli military had wounded two unidentified people there, and this was posted on social media. At that point, my anxiety grew, and I was afraid that one of these unidentified people was my son, Muhammad.

When I got back home, I found relatives there who had begun to arrive. Even before they managed to tell me that Muhammad had been killed, I understood it from the expressions on their faces. The relatives did confirm that Muhammad had been killed by Israeli military gunfire. I felt immense pain and burst into tears.

Muhammad always knew how to create a wonderful atmosphere, and he filled the house with joy and laughter. He always pampered his little sister, Kawathar, who was in first grade.

My son was killed by soldiers, and his body is being held by the army. I desperately want to recover his body and bury him in the town’s cemetery, so that I can visit his grave and say goodbye to him.

My children are going through a tough time. They keep asking about Muhammad. Yihya, who is 14, has been distraught since Muhammad was killed. Even his hair has started to fall out. He is suffering especially from his loss.