Mohammed al-Khaldi, 36
Journalist
“My brother was a very distinguished journalist. Thank God he didn’t have children, as losing a father is very difficult. He was single and never married due to the difficult living conditions in Gaza,” says Anas al-Khaldi.
Khaldi was killed four days before his 37th birthday.
“My brother studied Arabic language and media at al-Azhar University and had worked in journalism since 2010. He loved his profession.
“From the beginning of his journalistic career, and during previous wars, Mohammed always absolutely refused to film body parts or people screaming. He would tell me that his heart could not bear such pain.
“My brother was very intelligent, brilliant and pure-hearted. This inspired him to leave the field of preparing humanitarian stories and move into investigative journalism. He began as a reporter with the Palestinian newspaper Dunya Al-Watan. He developed his skills and started filming humanitarian stories.
“In 2019, he received an award from the Coalition for Accountability and Integrity (Aman) for an investigation on unemployment in Gaza.
“Despite the financial burden of investigative reporting, which he could barely afford, he was determined to create content on social media. Sometimes, he had to borrow money to complete his work, repaying the debt after he was paid for his investigations.
“He was passionate about exposing fake news and clarifying the facts, so he joined the Misbar platform to verify news, investigate facts and expose lies in the public sphere.
“He often told me he wanted to travel abroad and develop his content. He shifted his work from political to scientific, gaining recognition on YouTube and Instagram. He always sought to improve his skills.
“My family, including Mohammed, were displaced from Jabalia in northern Gaza to Rafah in the south by order of the Israeli occupation. Mohammed wanted to continue his journalism and had received generous offers from international news agencies, but we feared for his safety. Since the beginning of the war, the occupation had been targeting journalists and their families.
“After some time, driven by his sense of responsibility towards Gaza and its people – and with Israel preventing international journalists from entering – Mohammed decided to convey our voice to the world in a way that could also be described as creative and engaging.
“For example, he would compare life in Gaza – marked by tragedy, displacement and starvation – with life outside Gaza, producing videos that shared Gaza’s story in his own unique style.
“Like all journalists in Gaza, Mohammed suffered from hunger, displacement and separation from his family. He lost a significant amount of weight. He was forced to flee several times – first from Jabalia to Rafah, then, after the Rafah invasion, to Deir al-Balah, and later to the eastern Gaza Strip.
“Eventually, he took shelter in the tent near al-Shifa hospital with fellow journalists. This was one of the few areas with internet access and he spent much of his time there.
“I would ask him if he needed anything, but he would always reply, ‘Don’t worry, brother.’
“Once his colleague asked him what he wanted to do when the war ended. He answered, ‘I want to eat shawarma with extra tahini.’
“Mohammed felt deep compassion for children. When he filmed starving children waiting in line for food, he would try to help them. He often posted the contact information of victims in need of financial or food assistance on his Instagram account, in case individuals or organisations could help.
“The last time I spoke to my brother was about two days before Israel killed him. I offered to buy him a tent for privacy but he refused, saying he wanted to remain with his colleagues. We spoke about his dreams and ambitions, and he told me he wanted to travel after the war ended and continue his content creation.
“I am proud of my brother – of his martyrdom, his good reputation as a journalist, and his kind heart. He was a skilled journalist, but he was a wonderful human being.”
***
Anas al-Sharif, 28
Journalist
“On the few occasions when Anas was able to visit us while covering the Israeli massacres, he would rush into my mother’s arms. He was her youngest son, the one she pampered the most,” says Mahmoud al-Sharif, Anas’s brother.
“My brother fulfilled his mission and his duty, despite the constant threats he faced from the Israeli army.
“Anas never longed for death. On the contrary, he dreamed of an end to the genocide and of living in safety with his wife, two children and mother. He dreamed of travelling – to Egypt, to Qatar to meet his colleagues at Al Jazeera headquarters.
“He had never left Gaza – not even once in his life. He often spoke of what he wanted to do when the genocide ended: to respond to invitations from around the world to share his testimony, to speak for Gaza’s bereaved before global audiences. He also dreamed of visiting Saudi Arabia to perform umrah and hajj [pilgrimages].
“Anas yearned for calm, for an end to war, and for the chance to finally travel.
“What people saw on social media – that he was preparing to die – was the result of repeated threats from Israel and calls from Avichay Adraee, the head of the Israel Defense Forces’ Arab media unit.
“Like all Palestinians, he could not afford to show weakness. He was known for his courage and steadfastness, even during the darkest days.
“Anas appealed to the world to stop the massacres. Since the first days of the war, he carried the voice of Gaza to the global stage, yet no one listened.
“He was cheerful, kind-hearted and gentle. Everyone who knew him loved him. He treated his colleagues with dignity and respect. Our loss is immeasurable, and no one can fully comprehend his absence.
“He had slept at the Baptist [al-Ahli] hospital until assassination threats grew more serious, then he pitched a tent away from the crowds near al-Shifa hospital. He feared being targeted but even more, he feared others would be killed alongside him.
“Forty days before his death, he managed to see his wife and children for only a single day. One report that enraged the Israeli army was his coverage of killings of Palestinian civilians waiting for aid at American [US and Israeli-backed] distribution points. Anas went to the Zikim area to investigate, taking the risk on his own initiative, without being asked by Al Jazeera, and the network was astonished by his courage.
“As famine deepened in Gaza, he appeared on Al Jazeera in tears. He wept for the starving children and elderly people. People sought refuge in his tent, asking for his help.
“Under siege and starvation, he often felt powerless. His tears flowed from his grief for the reality his people endured.
“Anas held a bachelor’s degree in journalism from al-Azhar University and had aspired to pursue a master’s degree. Before the war, he worked as a photographer and began submitting photos and videos to news agencies, including Al Jazeera.
After Israel intensified the siege and cut communications in December 2023, Anas managed to obtain a sim card and connect with the channel by phone. Shortly afterwards, Al Jazeera recruited him as a correspondent.
“One of the most painful events that shaped him was the killing of our father on 11 December 2023. After threats to bomb our home, we evacuated. My father, however, said he would finish his prayer and then join us. Israel struck before he could leave. That tragedy became a driving force for Anas to raise Gaza’s voice.
“He lost many friends, colleagues and family. He carried the coffin of his fellow Al Jazeera correspondent Ismail al-Ghoul and was devastated by his killing. He was equally broken when the cameraman Fadi al-Wahidi was left paralysed by Israeli fire.
“In anguish, he told me: ‘I was with him. I couldn’t protect him.’ For nearly three months, he worked relentlessly to secure Fadi’s transfer to Qatar and only once Fadi left for treatment did Anas’s mental health begin to recover.
“With the killing of Anas and his colleagues, Gaza lost four prominent voices who had documented suffering with courage and truth.
“Israel claimed my brother was a Hamas member. He was not affiliated with any political party. Then they accused him of being a Hamas fighter. Anyone could see that he was not a soldier. Israel killed him for one reason: to silence Gaza’s voice. That is why he was targeted.
“My last conversation with Anas was just hours before his death. We spoke about family and about Israel’s plan to invade Gaza and force people south. Anas vowed he would never leave; he would rather be martyred than uprooted.
International organisations had offered to help him evacuate but he could not abandon the people of Gaza, who felt strength in his voice. He told me he would travel after the war ended, not before.
“Anas left his will with a trusted friend outside Gaza, fearing none of us would survive to share it. In it, he entrusted the cause of Palestine to the world and urged humanity to continue carrying the message. He entrusted his family, his wife, his children and his mother to the world’s conscience.”
***
Mohammed Noufal, 29
Journalist
Ibrahim Noufal, a photographer, is the brother of Mohammed, who was an Al Jazeera cameraman
“The last words Mohammed said to me were: ‘Go sleep at home. Don’t sleep in our tent. I don’t want our father to die grieving over losing both of us.’ Hours later, Israel killed him, along with my friends Anas al-Sharif, Mohammed Qreiqeh and Ibrahim Zaher, in a tent near al-Shifa hospital – where I had just been.
“Israel killed my brother on 10 August 2025. It killed my mother, Munira, 57, on 22 June 2025, and my brother Omar, 33, on 7 October 2024. I am exhausted by loss and grief.
“Mohammed, known as ‘Abu Yahya,’ was gentle and kind, and he was my mother’s most beloved child. He loved cooking and before the war, he always invited friends to our house and prepared delicious food for us. He spent most of his time with family and friends.
“He was devout in his faith and consistent in his prayers. He grew figs, grapes, peaches, cared for lemon and olive trees, and even planted sugar cane on our land. He loved life. He was planning to get married.
“Mohammed was only one year older than me but I always turned to him. He was my refuge, my support in this world.
“Like everyone in Gaza, Mohammed suffered greatly, displaced many times and enduring bombing, hunger and deprivation. On 30 October 2023, Israel bombed the place where we were sheltering in Jabalia.
“I was pulled alive from the rubble. Mohammed was thrown on to a neighbour’s rooftop, breaking his pelvis. We lost 11 members of our extended family that day.
“During his treatment, I stayed with Mohammed in the Indonesian hospital until 22 November 2023, when Israeli forces stormed the hospital and bombs rained down. Anas [al-Sharif] and I rushed to a tent in the courtyard to save our filming equipment, but I could not return to my brother inside due to the heavy shelling and gunfire. Anas and I were forced to evacuate toward Jabalia. I felt guilty leaving Mohammed behind.
“Later, my father urged me to move south because the situation in the north was unbearable. I took my sister and her children and left for Deir al-Balah. The journey was terrifying. But all I could think about was Mohammed, my soulmate.
“Despite his severe injuries, Mohammed somehow managed to leave the hospital. He found a crutch and walked until he reached Jabalia. Mohammed remained by Anas’s side. He was his assistant, his companion. Despite the threats against Anas, Mohammed refused to leave him.
“The genocide has claimed all of Mohammed’s friends – his childhood companions, his schoolmates and his neighbours. I have photographed countless martyrs; the hardest moments were when I held my mother’s body – the first I embraced – and my brother Mohammed’s.
“Displacement separated us for months, but when the truce allowed families to return north, I went back immediately. Hugging Mohammed again was one of the happiest moments of my life. Yet he was thin, frail and starving – like everyone in northern Gaza.
“On the day of his assassination, I was with him and the others nearly all day. I had bought some overpriced vegetables from the market and Mohammed made a salad. We sat joking about the threats Avichay Adraee had made against Anas. We laughed a lot that day, trying to believe those threats were not real.
“Anas and the others weren’t my brothers by blood [but] they were my brothers in every other way. We grew up together.
“That night, I wanted to sleep in their tent, but Mohammed refused. I went to collect my clothes from the laundry, planning to come back and have dinner with them. On the way back, I met some friends who insisted I sit for tea. I stayed about half an hour. Then I heard a rocket strike.
“With no internet, I could not confirm where it landed, but my heart told me it had struck Mohammed’s tent. Soon, the calls began. People said Anas was killed, but Mohammed’s fate was unknown. On my way to the hospital, I got another call: Mohammed was gone.
“My father called … I couldn’t tell him the truth. I said I didn’t know and that I was on my way to al-Shifa. When I arrived, I found my brother’s body. His head was torn apart, his arms severed.
“It was the deepest pain I’ve ever felt. In that instant, I lost not only my brother but also my friends, all at once.
“I put my brother in the morgue fridge and told my father and sisters not to come, because the bombing was insane after the killing of Anas, Mohammed and our friends, and there was no one left to cover the news.
“I slept in the morgue while my brother was in the fridge. The next day, I buried him. I asked that the shroud not be opened and that no one see him … I wanted people to remember him by his beautiful face and smile.”
***
Mohammed Qreiqeh, 33
Journalist
Fayez Qreiqeh is the cousin of the Al Jazeera journalist Mohammed Qreiqeh
“Mohammed was an only child, he lived his entire life with his mother, as his father passed away shortly after his birth. He studied journalism and media, graduating with a bachelor’s degree from the Islamic University of Gaza.
“From a young age, Mohammed was eloquent, well spoken. During the 2008 war, he was always around journalists, observing their work and learning from them.
“He worked as a freelancer for several news channels before the war. Mohammed was cheerful, well mannered and had a wonderful sense of humour. Whenever I felt distressed, I would sit with him, and he would always manage to lift my spirits.
“He was a devoted son to his mother. He always said that his mother, wife and two children were his whole life. He lived for them.
“Mohammed was born and raised in Shuja’iyya in Gaza City, to which he was deeply attached. Like all Palestinians in Gaza he suffered displacement, loss and starvation. When al-Shifa hospital was invaded, Mohammed and his elderly, ailing mother had been sheltering there. The Israeli forces separated men from women, ordering the men to head south.
“Mohammed refused to leave without his mother, desperately trying to stay close to her but as the siege dragged on, he could not find her. After 14 agonising days, the occupation forces withdrew and he found her body decomposing in a stairwell.
“Losing his mother devastated him, especially as his wife and son and daughter had already been displaced to southern Gaza.
“So Mohammed was left alone, his mental health shattered. Yet he continued working as an independent journalist until he officially joined Al Jazeera, after the assassination of [the journalist] Ismail al-Ghoul.
“He was tormented by his inability to provide food for his children due to the starvation. Mohammed was not used to sleeping in the journalists’ tent. But on that night of his assassination, he was standing at the tent’s entrance preparing to leave when the Israeli missile struck, killing him instantly.
“When I heard of Anas al-Sharif’s assassination, I never imagined that I would also have just lost Mohammed – my cousin, my friend. I knew he rarely stayed in that tent.
“His loss is unbearable, not only for our family but for all of Gaza. He was beloved, kind and ready to help anyone in need.”
