Amidst the ongoing genocide that Israel has been waging for over 700 days against children, women, and the elderly, the media often presents this war in a purely statistical and dehumanizing way in the news bulletins.
The broadcaster recites the numbers of the martyrs mechanically: “Today, 105 Palestinians were killed in Gaza, and 500 others were injured.” And then, the news ends.
But what about the stories of these martyrs? What about their dreams? What about the ambitions that were buried beneath the weight of the constant flood of breaking news?
Yousef’s sister, Amani, remembers: “I used to find a piece of chocolate hidden in my desk drawer. For a while, I thought it was some kind of magic. Later, I discovered it was Yousef who left it there quietly, without ever telling me.”
It pains me to see media channels crowded with political reports, strategic analyses, and future predictions, while ignoring the human stories. Dealing with the victims of Gaza merely as “things” reduced to humiliating numbers and cold statistics strips them of their emotional and spiritual presence.
Every martyr in Gaza is a human story, a unique tragedy unto themselves.
Each martyr has a family grieving them, friends mourning them.
Each one had dreams and future plans that were buried with them.
Yousef’s mother remembers: “During the war on Gaza, Yousef brought home a tiny kitten. Even with food being scarce, he would save from his own meals to feed that little cat.”
We must read the news and watch these events through a human lens, not just as data and figures. How many brilliant minds have been killed by the Israeli occupation’s war machine? How many innocent children were burned alive by Israeli airstrikes? How many young men of noble character were buried alive? How many ambitious entrepreneurs had their dreams crushed and killed by the Israeli occupation?
Yousef’s friend, Basheer, remembers: “He never sought the spotlight. But whenever Yousef was absent from our conversations, we all felt something missing, like we’d lost our compass.”
Yousef, an ambitious, creative young man whose life and dreams were murdered by the occupation.
Yousef Mahmoud Al-Ghefari, a young man from Gaza, was born in October 2001. He was a rare example of this era: a determined, ethical, passionate young man—sharp-minded, diligent in his studies, and a top performer among his peers.
Yousef’s friend, Basheer, remembers: “Whenever we had discussions in our group, Yousef would always be the last to speak. But when he did, he spoke with calm clarity, using logic, evidence, and wisdom. And if he didn’t know the answer, he simply said: ‘I don’t know.’”
His impeccable manners drew admiration and respect from all who knew him. He was sincere in his words, sensitive, and chose his expressions carefully to never hurt others. His devotion to his parents was exemplary: he never raised his voice, always discussed matters with them respectfully, never refused their requests, and served them tirelessly, seeking their satisfaction and always acknowledging their role in his life.
Professionally and academically, Yousef was driven beyond his age. At 16, he began working as a sales representative, and by 19, he had organized and led several community initiatives encouraging young people to read. After graduating from high school, he pursued two separate degrees: Business Administration and Multimedia. By 21, he had founded his own marketing company and, at 23, was building a company to serve the entire Middle East.
Yousef’s mother remembers: “Whenever I called Yousef, he would always answer with a warm, ‘Yes, Mama.’ But sometimes, he would simply say ‘Hello. I once asked him why, and he replied: ‘When I’m with my cousins (the children of my aunt who passed away) I don’t want to hurt their feelings by saying ‘Mama.’”
Yousef was among the dreamers and visionaries, full of hope and dedicated to building a reality beyond the hardships of life in Gaza—beyond the wars, the blockade imposed since 2006, and the endless challenges of occupation. None of this could strip him of his optimism and his dream for the future.
Yousef’s work colleague remembers: “He didn’t chase profit, he lifted others. That was Yousef.”
How can we ignore the fact that before he turned 21, he had collected and designed two books: one about the Palestinian families of Ottoman descent and another about his own family, the Al-Ghefari family?
If we spoke only of his character, he was the pinnacle of kindness and dignity—respectful to elders, tender to the young, always honest, never lying regardless of consequences. He was self-reliant, hardworking, and never extended his hand in need.
Yousef’s sister, Amani, remembers: “Every day when I came back from school, I’d find Yousef waiting for me at the door. His first question was always, ‘Did anyone bother you today?’ Yousef wasn’t just my brother, he was my shield.”
Yousef—may he rest in peace—was generous in spirit and action, giving in charity to the poor despite his own needs, embodying selflessness. He was quiet but impactful, calm, thoughtful, and deeply engaged with careful and deliberate intellectual reading. He was quick to forgive, held no grudges, and always avoided conflict and strife.
On May 7, 2025, the occupation killed Yousef in a fleeting moment—just as it killed over seventy thousand souls before him.
A work colleague of Yousef’s remembers: “One day, I called Yousef to tell him I had found him a private client outside of his usual job. I thought he’d be excited about the extra income. Instead, he surprised me with his kindness and said: ‘I’ll teach you how to serve this client yourself, the money should go to you. You are the one who made the effort.’”
Israel killed Yousef, snuffed out his dreams, and silenced his beautiful spirit. It left behind a father weeping for him, a mother mourning him, and friends whose hearts it broke. Yousef left this world in silence, unnoticed by those who should have cared. He was killed for no crime other than the fact that fate decreed he be born in Gaza.
Yousef was murdered while his killer still walks free, traveling the world to vacation on beaches, visit tourist sites, and live life as if nothing had happened.
What about the 17,000 children killed—their bodies torn apart and burned alive?
What about their stories? Does anyone know them?
Does anyone hear the cries of the mothers of these slain children?
Does anyone know what dreams these children held?
Does the world know what their final moments were like as they bled to death?
Does anyone know why they were killed?
At the very least, over 700 infants were murdered before they even turned one year old.
Does anyone know their names or why they were killed?
Ignoring the stories of the martyrs and turning away from speaking about their ambitions, dreams, failures, and successes is nothing less than a form of indirect killing. For the martyr is a human being with a presence that is physical, spiritual, and moral. If the Israeli occupation kills the martyrs physically and bodily, we must ensure that we do not kill them spiritually and emotionally by forgetting them—otherwise, we have killed them again.
This is very heartbreaking.
Is there a path to ending such tragedy?