In the heart of Gaza’s Shuja’iyya neighbourhood, where homes once stood and laughter once echoed, a Palestinian nurse, Mustafa Abu Al-Kass, lived through a horror he will never forget. On a day marked by yet another Israeli airstrike, Mustafa returned to check on his neighbours. Moments later, the neighbourhood was reduced to ash and rubble.

Dozens were killed, many were buried alive, and the screams of the injured filled the air. Most of the victims were women and children. Medical teams were helpless—overrun, under-equipped, and left to perform miracles with nothing but their bare hands.

One voice rose above the rest. Trapped under a slab of concrete, Moamen Abu Amsha—Mustafa’s neighbour—was alive but fading. His leg crushed, his body pinned, his family either martyred or missing. With no surgical tools, no painkillers, and no time, Mustafa made a decision no human should ever have to make. He amputated Moamen’s leg to save his life.

“We broke the bone with our hands,” he said, barely able to finish the sentence. “There was no other way. I can still feel it breaking in my soul.”

Moamen was rushed to intensive care, his survival still uncertain. But for Mustafa, the wound remains open. “We were not just digging through rubble—we were digging through our own hearts, trying to save what we could from this nightmare.”

What happened in Shuja’iyya is not an isolated tragedy. It is a reflection of the unbearable burden carried by those still breathing under the constant threat of death. In Gaza, survival has become an act of resistance—and those who remain are haunted by the lives they couldn’t save.