Ali Jadallah is a Palestinian photojournalist based in Gaza who has worked for Anadolu Agency since 2012. He has documented the Israel-Gaza war from its beginning in the face of immense challenges. Jadallah has won several international and local awards for his pictures. He has lost four relatives in Israeli attacks on Gaza. He continues to cover the war in the region.
This was at the beginning of the war, one of the first photos I took, and it left a lasting impact on me. It was a deeply shocking image and, as I captured it, I felt an overwhelming fear – terrified that it could be one of my own family members in the place of the injured man. That fear gripped me entirely, and to this day I still don’t fully understand how I managed to continue taking those photos. It felt as though every click of the camera was an act of documentation and a way to shield myself from the terrifying possibility of personal loss.
After the huge explosion at al-Ahli al-Arabi, also known as the Baptist hospital, that claimed the lives of more than 500 people, the overwhelming number of casualties meant that many of the wounded lay on the hospital grounds with no medical staff or space to treat them. This woman needed water and a blanket. I put down my camera to provide her with what she needed. Before being a journalist, I am a human being, and these scenes are incredibly difficult for me to process. My mind feels like it’s going to explode whenever I think about the possibility that this woman could have been one of my own family members.
I have captured countless images of people being pulled from beneath the rubble, but one moment will never leave my mind. I saw this woman when she jumped from a bombed house, running with her child in her arms, trying to shield her from danger. I can’t comprehend where she found such strength – how she managed to flee while protecting her daughter. This war taught me that mothers truly possess a kind of superhuman resilience. No mother on this Earth should ever have to endure the terror of running for her life to save her child.
This scene was one of the most harrowing I’ve experienced. Fear gripped me as the ground invasion unfolded around us, with relentless barrages of artillery and gunfire echoing through the night. The sky glowed an ominous red, lit by the countless explosions that turned night into day. Despite the late hour, the destruction was painfully visible in the flickering light, every corner of the landscape torn apart. I remember thinking it was one of the worst days of the war, but I was wrong. That night, which I thought was exceptional in its horror, gradually became the norm. The chaos, the fire, the terror – it all became a grim routine, part of the everyday machinery of war and death.
In this war, we have witnessed an unprecedented level of devastation – the complete obliteration of entire neighbourhoods. This man sat in disbelief, barely able to hold himself upright as he confronted the reality that his home no longer existed. The wreckage blurred the lines between his house and those of his neighbours, leaving him lost and disoriented. No traces remained of the life he once knew; the memories that once filled those walls were now mere echoes in the rubble. I felt helpless, as I had no words to offer in response to his sobs. I captured the moment in a photo, hugged him, and then left, but the feeling never left my mind.
On this night, everything was illuminated despite the power outage and the pitch black. This area was under heavy bombardment, and it was the first time I had ever documented such a scene. The relentless sound of explosions reverberated around me, lighting up the night sky with each blast. The wails of ambulances echoed everywhere, and I felt utterly exposed and vulnerable, filled with fear that I might become a target. The sky was throwing death everywhere.
What caught my attention most in this image was the stark colour of death. The infant’s body lies pale and lifeless, stripped of the vibrant hues that signify life, mirroring the absence of colour in his family’s existence. In this heartbreaking moment, the older brother says his final goodbye to his younger sibling, a profound loss etched in their embrace. It is a powerful reminder of the fragility of life and the deep sorrow that accompanies such an unimaginable tragedy. The weight of this moment lingers, a haunting testament to the impact of war on innocent lives.
This is the first child I met who had suffered from severe malnutrition. He was transferred from northern Gaza to the south and then abroad for treatment, and I’m relieved to say he is now in good health. As I took this photo, a wave of emotion washed over me, and I felt an intense urge to embrace every child enduring hunger amid the ravages of war. It deeply saddens me to document such heartwrenching moments, yet I know that these images serve as a crucial reminder of the realities faced by countless innocent people.
This devastation cannot be encapsulated in a single photograph; its enormity is simply beyond comprehension. I captured numerous images, but I found myself deleting many of them, feeling they fell short of conveying the reality of what I witnessed. The destruction I saw with my own eyes was far more profound than what the lens could ever capture. I longed for a way to transmit not only the visuals but also the haunting scent of death and decay that hung in the air, a visceral reminder of the horrors that had transpired. Each scene I encountered told a story of loss and suffering that transcended any image I could produce, leaving me with a profound sense of frustration and urgency to share the depth of this tragedy.
After the area came under bombardment, residents stepped outside to witness the destruction of their homes, clinging to the hope that they would somehow remain standing and suffer only minimal damage, allowing them to salvage their belongings. The expressions on their faces were etched with deep sorrow, revealing a profound sense of despair and helplessness. They asked themselves ‘where do I go now?’, a haunting refrain for every person in Gaza enduring this war, a reminder of their vulnerability and the overwhelming sense of loss that accompanies such devastation.
In every photograph I take, I wish viewers could truly grasp the scent of rubble, blood, and death that lingers in the air. It’s not easy to capture a moment while haunted by memories of what happened to my own family – how I lost loved ones in the bombardment and had to pull them lifeless from beneath the rubble. I relive this moment each time I take photos of people rescued from under rubble. It feels as though everyone emerging from the debris wears a uniform of sorrow, draped in a colourless grey that embodies the profound loss and devastation they carry with them.
This image reflects my own feelings – the silence of farewell. Surrounded by many hands, I find that no tears can adequately express the depth of grief. As I captured this moment, I felt an intimate connection with this woman; I understood completely her inability to speak or cry. I sensed her desperate wish for it all to be a dream, yet the hands around her remind her of the painful truth – that they have departed, leaving her to face her sorrow alone and under genocide with no luxury of grief. Everyone’s pain is my pain, I live it every day.