Family’s agony after mother and children burned alive in tent in Gaza

Warning: This piece contains graphic descriptions of deaths and injuries

There is no conscience. There is no humanity. There are only leaders who observe and do not act.

This is what Ahmed al-Dalou believes, as the images of his family in flames replay in his mind. He says his life is over. He died in the inferno of the Al-Aqsa complex with his children and wife in the early hours of Monday, October 14.

In front of him, on the floor, there is a shroud wrapped around the body of 12-year-old Abdulrahman, his youngest son.

The child remained in agony for four days after the fire. The day before he died, Ahmed saw him in the hospital and was able to tell his father: “Don’t worry, I’m fine, dad… I’m fine. Don’t be afraid.”

Ahmed is half-talking, half-crying as he talks about what was taken from him.

“Three times I tried to take him (Abdulrahman) out of the fire, but his body fell back down.”

His older brother, Sha’aban, 19, and mother, Alaa, 37, died the night of the fire.

Sha’aban has become a new symbol of Gaza’s terrible suffering. Images of him writhing in agony as he burned to death in his family’s tent were shared around the world on social media.

There are burns on Ahmed’s face and hands. The tone of his voice is high, a sharp sound. Of the unnamed pilot who sent the missile and the leaders who gave him orders, Ahmed said: “They broke my heart and broke my spirit… I wish the fire had burned me.”

The strike took place at around 01:15 local time last Monday (23:15 BST on Sunday).

The Israeli military said it was targeting a Hamas “command and control” center in the al-Aqsa hospital complex in Deir al-Balah in the central Gaza Strip.

Four people died immediately and dozens of others were injured, including many with serious burns. The Israel Defense Forces said it was “reviewing the incident.”

A White House spokesman told CBS News, the BBC’s US partner, that images of the fire were “deeply disturbing” and called on Israel to do more to protect civilians.

“Israel has a responsibility to do more to prevent civilian casualties – and what happened here is horrific – even if Hamas was operating near the hospital in an attempt to use civilians as human shields.”

The US and other powers, including Britain, expressed concern about civilian casualties from the early stages of the war.

People are burned to death, torn to pieces and shot every day in this war.

Most of the time the death agonies happen away from the cameras. It’s the frantic search for survivors in the rubble, the dramatic scenes in hospitals, the endless stream of funerals, that are captured on camera.

But Sha’aban al-Dalou’s death was different. His hand can be seen reaching out of the inferno, a figure engulfed in flames, writhing and beyond the reach of any help.

In the days following his death, videos and photographs of Sha’aban himself emerged. He was a typical teenager of his generation, aware of the power of social networks, adept at recording his day to day life.

The fiery figure from the night of the fire appeared to the world as an articulate and intelligent teenager, a software engineering student, a young man planning his family for a new life outside Gaza. He filmed himself donating blood and encouraged others to do the same.

“We saw so many injured people, many children are in urgent need of blood… All we demand is a ceasefire and for this tragedy to end.”

We were only able to tell the story of the al-Dalou family because of our own local journalist who went to meet the survivors. International journalists from media organizations, including the BBC, do not have independent access to Gaza from Israel.

In a video recorded in the tent where he died, Sha’aban described how his family had been displaced five times since the war began a year ago. He had two sisters and two younger brothers.

“We live in very difficult circumstances,” he said. “We suffer from many things, such as lack of housing, limited food and extremely limited medicine.”

In the background, as he speaks, can be heard the loud mechanical drone of an Israeli observation drone, a constant in Gaza’s daily and nightly soundtrack.

Sha’aban and Abdulrahman’s surviving brother, Mohammed al-Dalou, told the BBC that he tried to enter the flames to rescue his older brother.

But other injured people stopped him, fearing that he would also be killed. Mohammed did not sleep in the family’s tent, but in the street, where he watched the piled belongings.

“I screamed for someone to let me go, but in vain… My brother’s leg got stuck and he couldn’t free himself. I think you saw it in the video. He was raising his hand.

“That was my brother. He was my support in this world.”

Sha’aban would come and wake him up for prayers in the morning with a bottle of water and he would tell him, “I’m going to work for you.”

Mohammed recalled how the brothers set up a stall at the hospital gates to sell food prepared by the family.

“We achieved everything with our hard work. Everything we had was the result of our efforts. We would get food and drink… then everything was lost.”

He saw the burned bodies, but could only identify his mother. Although her remains had been mutilated by fire, he recognized a distinctive bracelet.

“Without it, I wouldn’t have known she was my mother. Her hand was separated from her body, but the bracelet was still on it. I took it from her hand.

This is his only memory of the woman who was “the kindness of our house.”

The al-Dalou family is in a state of shock. Survivors mourn the dead. Our BBC colleague asked Mohammed about the psychological cost of seeing loved ones die.

“I can’t describe it. I can’t describe how I felt. I want to explain this to people, but I can’t. I can’t describe it. I saw my brother burning in front of me and my mother too.”

Then, as if asking a question on behalf of the dead, he asks: “What else do you need and keep silent? You see us burning and you are silent.”

Additional reporting by Haneen Abdeen and Alice Doyard