Stop killing the children of Palestine, and give those who remain a chance to grow up

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What does the child want from life? He wants to grow up, go to school, play with his friends, return to his mother, hear his father’s voice, and dream of becoming a doctor, engineer, football player, or pilot. Those things that seem normal to adults are life itself for a child, but the children of Palestine, and primarily the children of Gaza, found themselves facing a constant aggression that not only demolishes homes, schools, and hospitals, but also robs them of their most basic rights: to live their childhood, and to reach the age when they can decide: what. Will they grow up when they grow up?

The children of Palestine are not numbers in the reports of the dead and wounded. Rather, each one of them has a story, a dream, and a family. Some of them were martyred, some of them survived without a limb or sense, and some of them lost their parents and siblings, and were lost among displacement and rubble. Their stories differ, but the tragedy is the same: a future that should have extended before them, when aggression cut it short with death, amputation, loss, and wandering.

Haitham went out of Al-Mawasi looking for milk for his little sister, and he was martyred while searching for it. His friend Amir, who was fourteen years old, was carrying the grief of his death, so he went to the cemetery to bid him farewell. Amir was not carrying his friend’s grief alone; His maternal grandfather died during the displacement, and he was sleeping in the open air. He stood in front of Haitham’s grave and asked him to greet his grandfather when he saw him. On his return, a smart missile hit him and he was martyred. Thus, the lives of two children were lost. It was the most that should be asked of them to live.

In the story of Duha and her child, the child was born with one hand, and when he mastered speaking, he asked his mother: Where did Eddie go? She answered him without hesitation: She went to heaven, but the aggression did not give them a chance to survive, so they were martyred by a very stupid missile, and his innocent question about his lost hand remained a testimony to a mother who tried to protect her child from the cruelty of the truth, and neither she nor he escaped it.

As for those who remained alive, some of them bore the marks of aggression on their bodies. Mahmoud Ajour, from northern Gaza, lost his arms, and asked: How will I hug my mother anymore? His question was not about a distant future, but rather about the simplest human act that he was deprived of. Ahmed lost his legs while fleeing the bombing, and he dreamed of going to his school, carrying medicine to his grandmother, and finding his bag. Suddenly, his ordinary dreams turned into a battle with a body transformed by aggression.

Samir lost his sight, and began to wonder how he would see his sister’s beauty growing up in front of him, while Laith lost his hearing, and feared that he would not hear the call to prayer, or his father’s voice, or the sports commentator describing a goal in a football match. As for Karim, the shrapnel made him lose his tongue, and he was no longer able to chant my homeland’s anthem, but what remained in his heart the shrapnel could not reach. They escaped death, but the aggression left traces in their bodies and lives that will accompany them for a long time.

Media testimonies reveal other aspects of this tragedy. Donia Abu Mohsen lost her parents, her brother, her sister, and her leg. However, she continued to dream of a prosthetic leg, of becoming a doctor treating children, and of ending the aggression and handing over the children of Gaza. The British Broadcasting Corporation reported the story of Mona Alwan, who lost her parents, her sister, her brother, and her grandparents, and she kept calling for her mother without knowing that she would not return. As for Melissa Jouda, she survived a bombing that killed more than sixty. A member of her family, but she lost the ability to walk. Their loss was not only in dreams that did not come true, but in the families, bodies, and security they needed to create their future.

There are children who lost the world they knew. Amal and Ahlam found themselves far from home and family, and Salam no longer knew how to return to his street or where his toys were. As for Hanan, she found herself carrying her baby sister, Rahaf, and trying to play the role of a mother, as she is a child who, in turn, needs someone to carry and protect her. A little girl carrying a baby girl and trying to protect her from hunger and fear, when she should have been the one receiving care and safety.

A child who loses his parents loses the world he knows, and he who is lost from his family is not only searching for a home address, but also searching for himself. Displacement is not a move from one place to another, but rather the uprooting of the child’s memory, security, and belonging. When the house becomes a tent, the school becomes a place of escape, and the street is a path to the unknown, it robs the child of his sense that the world is a safe place in which he can grow.

Then Hind Rajab, six years old, came to confront the world with a tragedy that needs no explanation. She was trapped inside a car after members of her family were killed, and she was able to call the Red Crescent and ask for help. Her voice continued to reach the world while she was afraid and trapped. An ambulance was sent to rescue her, and the two paramedics were martyred. Twelve days later, Hind’s body and the bodies of members of her family and the paramedics were found. The United Nations documented the details of the incident in a later report.

Hind was not asking for compensation, and she knew nothing about statements and conferences; She wanted to live, to reach her mother, and in her words, the wish of every Palestinian child was summed up: to survive, to return to his family, and to live. Therefore, her voice remained stronger than many of the statements issued after her death.

Also in the West Bank, at least 243 Palestinian children have been martyred at the hands of the occupation forces and settlers since October 7, 2023, according to the report of the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs issued on July 3, 2026, including Adam Samer Al-Ghoul, Basil Suleiman Abu Al-Wafa, Muhammad Bahjat Al-Hallaq, and the two brothers Muhammad and Othman Bani Odeh. Each of them has a story and an unfinished dream, and their families have a pain that cannot be replaced by words. From Gaza to the West Bank, the stories of children whose dreams were taken away from them continue.

A Palestinian child was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he answered in a way that sums up the tragedy of an entire generation: We do not grow up until we become something because they kill us when we are young. Imagine this becoming a child’s answer about the future. Not a doctor, not an engineer, not a teacher, not a football player, but a person who does not know if he will reach the age where he can choose.

What will history write about the children who were prevented from growing up, and about those who prevented them from doing so? He will write about Haitham, who went out looking for milk for his sister, and about Amir, who went to his friend’s grave and then was martyred returning from the cemetery, and about Doha, who tried to explain to her child where his hand went, then was martyred with him. He will write about Mahmoud, Ahmed, Samir, Laith, and Karim, and about hope, dreams, peace, tenderness, and Rahaf, and about Donia, Mona, and Melissa, and about Hind Rajab, whose voice reached the world as she called for help. These are among approximately 22 thousand children who were martyred in Gaza, where the number of martyrs reached approximately 75 thousand, and approximately 174 thousand injured, including approximately 46 thousand children. He will also write about the children of the West Bank whose lives were snatched away before they had the opportunity to choose what they wanted to become.

But history will not ask about children alone. It will also ask about those who had the ability to prevent the disaster but did not, and about the institutions that were created to protect people when they were unable to protect themselves and did not do so. What did the world do when it knew that other children were still in danger? Is the data sufficient while the killing continues? The child needs actual protection, not expressions of concern.

We turn to the League of Arab States, the Organization of Islamic Cooperation, and the United Nations, not to ask to bring the martyrs back to life, as this is impossible, nor to erase the traces of amputation from the bodies of those who remain alive. We ask of them something that is still possible: stop the killing of the children of Palestine, especially the children of Gaza, and give those who remain a chance to grow up.

Do not wait for the child who has not yet lost his legs, or the girl who still has a mother to whom she can return, or the child whose school bag is waiting for her, to turn into a new name in the victim reports. Protecting children should not begin after their death, and convictions are not a substitute for saving them. What is required is to stop the killing, protect civilians, deliver food and medicine, provide treatment and rehabilitation for the injured, protect children who have lost their parents, rebuild schools, hospitals, and homes, and hold those responsible for crimes accountable.

Accountability is necessary, but nothing can return Mahmoud to his arms, Ahmed to his legs, Haitham to his sister, Amir to his family, Doha to her child, or Hind to her mother. That is why we do not want to add to these stories a new Mahmoud, a new Ahmad, a new Haitham, a new prince, or a new India. We want the list to stop here; For the child to ask about tomorrow instead of being afraid of it, and for him to return to school instead of searching for his family members under the rubble or for a place to hide.

O League of Arab States, O Organization of Islamic Cooperation, O United Nations, the children of Palestine, especially the children of Gaza, do not need more data that records sadness after the tragedy occurs; They need your political, legal and diplomatic ability to be transformed into effective protection for those who remain. Many have left, and others will carry the traces of aggression in their bodies and memories, but there are children who are still waiting for one chance: to live, so stop killing the children of Palestine, and give them a chance to grow up.