Interview with Saed, a young doctor and friend from Nasser Hospital in Gaza.

What happens to a Gazan doctor forced to work for free during a genocide, while it is costing him his life dearly?

This is Saed’s story.

It’s the story of a person who helps rebuild the lives of others, but cannot help rebuild their bodies.

You need to use strong words.

Otherwise, this will remain just another article, among many you’ll read. You won’t enter Saed’s body, you won’t understand his pain.

The pain of 100,000 Palestinians. Slaves of 1 million Westerners.

1) When the siege of Gaza began, where were you and what were you doing?

When the siege began, I was in Gaza, trying to protect my family while continuing my medical duties. I had already been volunteering in the emergency room for two years without any pay. For me, medicine wasn’t just a job, it was a responsibility.

In the emergency room, I saw things no human being should ever see: mangled bodies, blood everywhere, a mother desperately searching for her son’s head after finding only his body, a child crying and asking for his recently murdered parents. These scenes never leave you.

One day, the hospital itself was surrounded by tanks and soldiers. The bombings continued, and the casualties continued to arrive. We were only eleven doctors in the emergency room, completely alone, trying to manage waves of wounded. Miraculously, we survived the siege and the bombings.

2) What are your biggest challenges today and what are your hopes for the future?

My challenges are not only professional, but also deeply personal.

Despite volunteering for two years without pay, I still haven’t graduated. The university requires full payment of my accumulated tuition fees—about $9,000—before issuing my certificate. I am the main breadwinner for my family. My beloved father has passed away, and I support my mother. Today, I live in a shabby tent in the Mawasi area of ​​Khan Younis.

Beyond the financial hardship comes emotional exhaustion: the burden of loss, displacement, and instability.

But I still have hope. I hope for safety, dignity, and the opportunity to continue my education and complete my medical training. My dream is to become a pediatric surgeon. The children of Gaza deserve better. They deserve a future of healing, not daily violence. They deserve to grow up in peace.

To help Saed, and Gaza, this is the link

3) Tell me about the people you’ve lost, especially friends, and how it happened.

I’ve lost many friends and colleagues. One of the most painful moments of my life was when I was with my friend, Dr. Mohammad. We were talking about everyday life: simple dreams, ordinary conversations. Suddenly, Nasser Hospital was bombed.

At that moment, my friend was killed in my arms. I was wounded in the chest—a moderate wound—but I survived. Today, I’m physically fine. Emotionally, that moment lives within me forever.

I don’t share these stories to inspire pity. I share them because they’re true. They’re not statistics. They’re people with names, with families, with dreams.

4) Do you know of any unpublished stories about Hamas or Israel that we Westerners might not know?

I don’t claim to possess classified political information. I’m a doctor. What I know is the human cost.

What many outsiders don’t fully understand is how hospitals operate under siege: limited supplies, overworked staff, constant fear, and yet we continue to work. The untold story is the resilience of ordinary people trying to survive as everything around them collapses.

5) Would you leave Gaza?

This is the most difficult question.

If leaving meant safety, continuing my medical education, and supporting my family, I’d consider it. But Gaza is my home. My memories, my family, and my dreams are here.

I don’t want to leave out of fear. I want to stay out of hope. But survival sometimes requires difficult decisions.

Wherever I am, my goal will remain the same: to care for children and give them a chance at life, something every child deserves.

To help Saed, and Gaza, this is the link