He Loved Dabke, the Sea, and His Neighbors: Why Did Israel Kill Ahmed’s Smile?

By Shaimaa Eid

Every evening, Ahmed’s mother sits in front of the tent, staring at the horizon as if waiting for something. Maybe she’s waiting for justice that never comes.

The news of Ahmed Saeed al-Abadlah’s killing devastated the residents of the displacement camp.

Ahmed, the innocent young man whose smile never left his face, suffered from Down syndrome, and he was a source of joy and peace for everyone who knew him. Despite our daily suffering in the camp, his presence illuminated the place with hope and his simple love for life.

I never imagined that this innocent face could be a target of bombing and killing. After four days of agonizing waiting, the camp residents searched for him everywhere, before we received the devastating news: “Ahmed al-Abadlah was killed.”

Ahmed Saeed al-Abadlah was 30 years old. His father had passed away, and he lived with his mother and his married brother, Firas. He had four brothers and three sisters.

He was forced to leave his home three times over a period of nearly nine months. Eventually, he settled with his mother and brother Firas in a tent in the Mawasi Al-Qarara area in Khan Yunis, where he lived in harsh conditions due to the ongoing war of extermination on the Gaza Strip.

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Suhaila al-Abadlah, Ahmed’s 66-year-old mother, says: “Since Ahmed was born, he was a smart, calm, sociable child who loved life. The family paid him special attention, enrolling him in a special association called ‘The Right to Life’ for education and to practice special skills.”

Ahmed and his family—his mother and older brother Firas—were first displaced on October 9, 2023. They left their home on Street 2 in the Qarara area, east of Khan Yunis, and headed to the Al-Katiba area in central Khan Yunis, which was slightly further from direct bombardment.

When a temporary truce began in November, the family decided to return home, but they were soon forced to flee again after the truce ended.

After Israeli occupation aircraft dropped leaflets demanding they evacuate the area, the family moved to a center affiliated with the Relief Agency in western Khan Yunis. As Israeli raids intensified in the new area, the family was once again in grave danger, prompting them to move a third time. They settled in a tent in the Mawasi Al-Qarara area near the Khan Yunis beach.

“Ahmed was terrified of the sound of missiles, planes, and bombs. He would cover his head with his hands and lie on the ground when he heard explosions,” said Suhaila, Ahmed’s mother.

Ahmed spent most of his time in the camp with neighbors and relatives. His hobbies included dancing, dabke, and swimming. He would sometimes go to the sea, which was not far from the tent, and return every evening.

Suhaila says, “The family didn’t keep Ahmed confined to the tent. Although he had Down syndrome, he understood things well and had a strong ability to communicate with those around him—cousins, neighbors, and relatives.”

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“While the occupation tanks were in our area, we had no idea about the condition of our home—whether it had been bombed or destroyed. I was always hoping to check on the house. I said these words while Ahmed was listening to the conversation, but he said nothing,” the mother added.

On July 25, 2024, Ahmed left the tent in the morning, as he usually did. His family was used to him walking around the camp for a while before returning.

When evening came and Ahmed hadn’t returned, his family began to worry. They weren’t used to him being gone that long. He knew he was allowed to go out in the area, but not to stay out late. The mother told Ahmed’s older brother Firas that something was wrong.

The family began searching for Ahmed throughout the camp. They contacted hospitals, acquaintances, relatives, neighbors, and even the police—but to no avail.

On July 29, 2024, the family was shocked to see news of Ahmed’s killing published in a local news group.

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After contacting people to confirm, they learned from a neighbor—who had remained in the area despite its danger—that he had seen Ahmed’s body from afar in front of their house but couldn’t approach due to ongoing Israeli shelling.

“Ahmed’s brother couldn’t wait. He risked his life, went to the area, and reached our house. He found only the upper part of Ahmed’s body—the missile had severed the lower half,” the mother said.

Ahmed’s brother found the body already beginning to decompose. He sought help from a resident who had a cart pulled by animals. They transported Ahmed’s remains to Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital and buried him that same night.

His mother whispers, tears welling in her eyes: “Ahmed’s brothers told me his body had begun to decompose because of the heat. Apparently, he was killed on the first day he went missing. They couldn’t bring him to me so I could say goodbye or even see him. They preferred that the image of Ahmed remain in my mind as it was—him laughing and smiling—not beginning to decompose.”

Ahmed’s mother believes her son was killed by an occupation drone that deliberately targeted him as he approached the house, without cause.

She says, “My son told me that when he moved Ahmed’s body, he found a hole under it about 7 cm wide. He also found a matching hole in Ahmed’s chest, which makes it likely that the strike came from above—not from a tank shell.”

The mother asks, “Why did the pilot do it—why bomb him? Ahmed posed no threat to them. He was a defenseless young man who loved life.”

The mother concluded: “The day after we buried my son, a neighbor told us they found Ahmed’s leg about 200 meters from where he was killed. We identified it by the clothes he wore that day. We brought his leg and buried it too.”

Every evening, Ahmed’s mother sits in front of the tent, staring at the horizon as if waiting for something. Maybe she’s waiting for justice that never comes—or perhaps for the end of the war of extermination.

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After the interview, I left Ahmed’s mother and walked away with heavy steps, my mind reeling: how could I translate the pain that was ravaging her into words? How could I describe the absence that left an irreplaceable void in her heart?

Ahmed Saeed al-Abadlah has passed away, but his story will remain alive in the hearts of those who knew him—and in Gaza’s painful memory. Ahmed was not just a victim of war; he was a symbol of innocence and hope—proof that even the purest souls are not safe from the cruelty of occupation.

(The Palestine Chronicle)

– Shaimaa Eid is a Gaza-based writer. She contributed this article to the Palestine Chronicle.