Ibrahim, Aya, Randa, and Salma Ibrahim

These words were shared to remain as strong proof of the brutality of the Israeli occupation army: "I've been trying to write about Ibrahim for a while, but I can't. Perhaps it's from the shock that Ibrahim, who loved life and loved people, and whom people loved, has left us and is gone. Or because Ibrahim is like a whole book of stories, memories, laughter, and games. I used to envy my mother and father for having such a son. He used to sing a line to my mother from the song 'Sahret Hob' (An Evening of Love), and ask her, 'How are you, Randa?' My mother would reply, 'Greaaat!' and he would say back, 'And oh, how tender her voice is.' He was my brother, my friend, the best civil engineer in all of Gaza, my teacher for math, physics, and Arabic, and my keeper of secrets. He showered us with kindness, fun, and love. His wife, Aya, or my third sister as I used to call her, was like his twin in her kindness and cheerfulness. They loved life and had many plans and many countries they dreamed of visiting as tourists, along with their two beautiful daughters: Randa—witty and intelligent like her father, and kind-hearted like her mother—and Salma, who had not yet reached three months of age. On October 23, I called my mother, and Ibrahim answered. It was the first time I was able to speak with him on video. He was happy, and around him were my cousins who were also killed with him. Ibrahim: 'Come on, get ready, we're coming to you in Turkey.' Me: 'Haha, no, forget racist Turkey, it's full. You go to Egypt and I'll come to you.' Ibrahim: 'I say we just meet in paradise, haha.' The next day, Ibrahim, Aya, Randa, and Salma were gone. We will not forget. We will not forgive."