My brother is one of many Palestinians Israel continues to illegally detain. Their release must be part of the ceasefire negotiations.
It has been three months since the “ceasefire” took hold in Gaza. In this time, Israel has predictably refused to comply with its obligations under the deal. It continues to block the negotiated amounts of aid into the Strip. Adequate food, medicine and temporary shelters are not reaching us. The Rafah crossing remains closed and those needing urgent medical evacuations still cannot leave.
Israel also continues to bomb us, killing more than 400 people since October 10. The Israeli army continues to demolish Palestinian homes beyond the so-called yellow line, laying waste to whole neighbourhoods.
Meanwhile, there is ongoing mediation to push the ceasefire into phase two, where the army would withdraw and reconstruction would begin. While these efforts offer some hope that the situation in Gaza may improve, there is one important issue that they are failing to address: The fate of the Palestinians who remain in Israeli captivity.
After Israel received all its captives, except for the body of a deceased one, there has been no talk of the continuous suffering of Palestinians who were forcibly disappeared from Gaza by the Israeli army. There are at least 1,800 Palestinians from Gaza who remain detained; that is in addition to more than 8,000 others who have been kidnapped from the occupied West Bank and East Jerusalem.
My brother is one of those 1,800 people from Gaza.
Khalid is a 34-year-old father of three. His children, Dyala, 8, Hamdan, 10, and Abeer, 11, were the centre of his life before his abduction.
Khalid went missing on December 3, 2023. We – 17 family members – had just fled our home in Shujayea neighbourhood because of Israeli attacks and were sheltering at the Western Directorate of Education in Gaza City, near Yarmouk Stadium.
At night, I woke up to the sound of heavy military vehicles moving in. I realised my brother, who had been sleeping next to me, was gone.
Hours later, Israeli forces stormed the building and forcibly separated the women and children from the older boys and men. We were eventually let go, and 15 of us reunited at al-Shifa hospital; Khalid and our father were missing.
Fifteen days later, we learned that our father had been released and was sent to Rafah. We were able to get in touch with him, and he said he believed Khalid had also been detained in the Israeli attack, not killed.
Almost one year later, as we took shelter at my sister’s house in Shujayea, I received a call from a Red Cross employee, asking if Khalid was my brother. My heart dropped. I asked for any news about Khalid; was he still alive? I was informed my brother was alive, detained in the notorious Ofer prison.
When the January 2025 ceasefire was announced, hope returned. We were finally reunited with our father, who was able to come to the north.
We also expected Khalid’s name to show up in the lists of Palestinian prisoners Israel was going to release in the multiple exchanges of captives.
My younger brother, Mohammed, and I anxiously scrolled through the names. Khalid’s name did not appear on any list. Later, we heard from several freed prisoners that Khalid was being held in Nafha Prison.
When the October ceasefire was announced, we searched the list again. A total of 1,718 civilians kidnapped from Gaza, along with only 250 Palestinians unjustly serving life or long sentences, were released.
Khalid was not among them.
This broke me in ways I can’t describe. I cannot fully express the depth of my disappointment in a world so unjust.
Some days, the longing for my brother feels heavier than I can carry. I think about him constantly, about where he is and what he’s going through. The distance between us feels unbearable. There are moments when I would do anything just to see him, even briefly, just to know he’s still there.
The separation has settled into my life in a quiet, exhausting way. It follows me everywhere, shaping my days and filling the spaces he used to occupy.
When I look at Dyala, Hamdan, and Abeer, my eyes fill with tears. Eight months ago, their mother, Nadia, was killed when the cafe she worked in was bombed by the Israeli army; 38 others were massacred with her.
Now, the three live without either parent.
I long to see Khalid’s face free from fear and violence. I dream of laughing with him, hugging him and spending time together.
I am one of thousands of Palestinians who are held prisoner to constant fear and anxiety for their loved ones held in Israel’s dungeons. We have all heard the horrifying stories from released prisoners about the torture and abuse. We have seen bodies, shrunk and emaciated; skin, bruised and melted.
Israel has celebrated the return of all its captives – dead or alive – as a diplomatic victory, a moment of closure. But for Palestinians, there is no closure. No one is celebrating. Our loved ones remain in captivity.
To those at the negotiation table: We urgently call on you to bring the issue of Palestinian prisoners back. This is not a matter that can be put off – it is a moral and urgent imperative. Palestinian prisoners are not a file to be shelved; they are human beings who deserve dignity and justice. Their lives are in imminent danger.
To Khalid: Your absence pains us and we long for your return. We will not rest until you are back with us. We will wait for you, dear Khalid, for as long as it takes.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect media’s editorial stance.
