In Gaza, even the silence after an airstrike can be deadly. Across the scarred landscape of destroyed homes and broken lives, children are being lured by the glint of unexploded munitions—deadly remnants of Israel’s relentless assault. These fragments of war, many resembling shiny toys or golden objects, are claiming the lives and limbs of Gaza’s most vulnerable.

Fifteen-year-old Ahmad Azzam lost his leg when an explosive hidden in the ruins of his home in Rafah detonated. He had returned with his family during a brief ceasefire, hoping to recover what little was left. Instead, he found a death trap disguised as debris. Hundreds of children have met the same fate—victims not only of war but of its cruel aftermath, left to wander bombed-out streets without schools, play, or safety.

Experts warn that Gaza is now littered with unexploded ordnance that could take up to 14 years to clear. Demining specialist Nicholas Orr says two people are killed every day by these hidden bombs—most of them children. With aid severely restricted and medical care collapsing, those who survive face permanent disability. There are no prosthetics, no long-term care, only pain and the unyielding silence of a world that continues to look away.

This crisis is not just a by-product of war—it is a consequence of policies and decisions that have turned Gaza into a graveyard for children. The munitions that didn’t explode on impact now sit in schoolyards, living rooms, and gardens, waiting for tiny hands. In Gaza, even the shine of hope is lethal.