In the heart of Gaza, where loss has become a daily ritual, the story of Hossam Faraj cuts deep. A devoted paramedic who spent years pulling lives from the edge at Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital, Faraj now joins the ranks of the bereaved, mourning his three sons, Rezq, Mohammed, and Moan, all killed in a single Israeli drone strike.

The attack struck near a displacement camp in Nuseirat, where Faraj’s family had been sheltering after being uprooted multiple times. For a man who had saved so many, the scene was painfully familiar, but this time, the blood was his children's, the cries were from his daughter, and the victims bore his own name.

Moments before the strike, Faraj had returned from a punishing 24-hour shift. He was preparing a modest meal when the explosion hit. One son died instantly; the others lingered for minutes he will never forget. Desperation replaced his years of clinical calm as he carried his children to a hospital he knew too well. But hope, like the shelter they lived in, collapsed.

His wife and daughter remain in hospital beds, their fates uncertain. Their tent, their sixth since the war began, is now a heap of dust. “In Gaza, those who survive the bombs are left to starve,” he said quietly.

Faraj's anguish is not an isolated tragedy. It reflects a wider truth: Gaza’s medics, once symbols of resilience, are now mourners themselves. They dig through the rubble not just for patients, but for their families. In this war, even those trained to save life are denied its most basic guarantees.

Since the assault began in October 2023, Gaza has witnessed the mass killing of civilians under a siege that human rights groups now openly call genocide. In the smouldering aftermath, the story of Hossam Faraj stands not only as a personal loss, but as a damning reflection of a war that has spared no one.