Phalapoem editor, 25/11/25
December 2023 — Gaza.
Night hung low over the city, trembling with distant explosions. Hospitals glowed in the dark like last surviving stars — fragile, flickering — and then, one by one, they began to go out.
Handala stood on the rooftop of a neighboring building, his bare feet coated in dust, watching the Al-Basma IVF Centre, Gaza’s main fertility clinic, still lit from within. Inside, thousands of dreams rested quietly in cryogenic tanks — 4,000 embryos, tiny seeds of families who had already suffered too much.
Handala whispered to himself:
“They’re only cells now… but they are futures.”
Below him, a doctor stepped out to smoke a quick cigarette before returning to the night shift. A generator sputtered. Nurses moved between rooms with soft footsteps, guarding what they knew were among the most precious lives in Gaza — embryos entrusted to them by 2,000–3,000 patients a month.
And then the sky tore open.
⸻
The Israeli Shelling
The first shell hit like God slamming a fist into the earth.
A deafening crack, then fire.
Handala didn’t flinch — he never did — but he watched with eyes that had seen too many endings.
The doctor outside ran toward the entrance screaming for help, but the second shell struck the main laboratory directly. Windows exploded outward. Shards of glass rained over him like a deadly glitter.
Inside, a nurse was hurled across the floor. Cryogenic tanks ruptured. Liquid nitrogen hissed out in white plumes. The embryos — thousands of them — were thrown into the chaos, their containers shattered, their temperature rising faster than human hands could reach them.
Handala whispered, voice trembling with ancient rage:
“They are killing babies who haven’t even been born yet.”
Another Israeli shell. The ceiling collapsed.
A wall of fire swallowed the clinic’s machines, the incubators, the hope.
There were no gunmen.
No fighters.
No military presence.
Only doctors.
Only nurses.
Only would-be parents.
The UN would later say exactly what Handala saw that night:
There was no credible evidence the building was used for any military purpose.
The destruction was a measure intended to prevent births among Palestinians — a genocidal act.
Handala watched the clinic burn until the screams faded into ash.
⸻
The Aftermath
Smoke drifted like ghosts when Handala finally walked into the ruins.
The ground crunched beneath his bare feet — shattered glass, melted plastic, charred metal. The smell of burning chemicals stung his throat. Cryogenic tanks lay toppled on the ground, their metal peeling from heat. Labels floated in puddles of dirty water:
“Embryo #1147 — Boy.”
“Embryo #2332 — Girl.”
“Embryo — Twins.”
Names never written.
Lives never lived.
Handala crouched beside a collapsed incubator, placing his small hand on the warm metal.
Handala
(softly)
“Four thousand children.
You didn’t even give them a minute.”
A young mother arrived at the scene, stumbling over rubble, her hands shaking. She had come to check on her embryos — her last chance after cancer treatment. When she saw the building, she collapsed, screaming until her voice broke.
Handala stood beside her.
She couldn’t see him.
But he stayed.
⸻
The UN’s Words
Days later, the world heard what Handala already knew.
The UN Commission’s report stated that Israel had:
• Intentionally shelled the Al-Basma IVF Centre.
• Destroyed 4,000 embryos, eliminating future Palestinian births.
• Committed a genocidal act, aimed at preventing a population from continuing.
Former UN Humanitarian Affairs Coordinator Martin Griffiths told Al Jazeera:
“It’s good that the UN is now talking about genocide… the evidence is incontrovertible.”
Yet even he stopped short of saying the ICC or ICJ would hold anyone accountable.
The same UN report also documented what Handala had seen across Gaza:
• Palestinian women and girls were targeted directly.
• Killings constituted crimes against humanity and war crimes.
• Forced stripping, sexual harassment, threats of rape, and sexual assault were part of Israeli forces’
“standard operating procedures.”
Handala listened to the report from the ruins, dust settling in his hair.
⸻
Handala Speaks to the Embers
He stood at the center of the destroyed clinic, surrounded by the ashes of thousands of potential lives.
Handala
(quiet, shaking with a child’s fury)
“They say I am the witness of all Palestinian children.
But tonight…
I witness the children who never had the chance to become children.”
He touched the remnants of a cryogenic tank, still warm.
Handala
“They were not nameless to God.
They were not nameless to their parents.
And they will not be nameless to Palestine.”
The fire crackled, eating through the last pages of medical records.
Handala
(bare feet rooted in the rubble)
“I will carry their memory.
I will carve their absence into the conscience of the world.
And I will not turn around…
not until someone answers for this.”
A gust of wind blew across the ruins. The night fell silent again.
Only Handala remained — the last witness of 4,000 silenced beginnings.