Gaza City – Before October 2023, Ezzeddin Lulu, or just “Ezz”, enjoyed sketching people he saw on the streets.
With his charcoal pencil and drawing pad, Ezz – a fifth-year medical student at the Islamic University in Gaza City – would walk around and sketch impromptu portraits of people going about their days.
“I focused on those whom I felt needed a smile to ease their burdens,” Ezz, 22, shared via WhatsApp.
His subjects reciprocated Ezz’s joy, as his social media videos showed.
In one, an elderly woman selling toys on the street exclaimed with a big smile: “Oh, Habibi! May God protect you and grant you everything you desire.”
Displacement
One day after Israel’s war on Gaza began, on October 8, the building where Ezz and his family lived in the Tal al-Hawa neighbourhood was bombed.
Miraculously, Ezz, his parents, his older brother and his brother’s young family, survived the attack.
“First, Israeli warplanes bombed the roof, and we ran out,” Ezz recalled. “A few hours later, they bombed again, reducing [the building] to rubble.
“The place I lived for 22 years … the happiest moments of my life, gone in the blink of an eye,” Ezz sighed. “I couldn’t take anything except my phone and some documents.”
The family sought refuge in his grandparents’ home in Remal – a now-devastated neighbourhood that was Gaza’s cultural and economic hub, with vibrant streets, markets, cafes, restaurants and a strong sense of community.
Amid the loss and destruction, Ezz felt driven to volunteer at al-Shifa Hospital, despite knowing that that meant he may be “surrounded or targeted at any moment, especially since [Israel] … said al-Shifa was a target”. His family was supportive despite their own fears.
On October 10, Ezz was listed on the emergency roster as a doctor, a challenging overnight transition.
“This was when people needed me the most, but I didn’t realise how hard it would be,” Ezz said. “But pride overwhelmed me, knowing I was able to help.
“We either didn’t have supplies or we didn’t have enough. In some cases … even if we had the capabilities, there was no treatment for [someone] due to the hopelessness of their cases,” he said.
Loss
By November, tanks had surrounded al-Shifa, ordering everyone to leave under arbitrary shelling and bombing.
“About 7,000 people were inside – patients, doctors, nurses and displaced individuals. Many doctors left.
“Some patients couldn’t make it out, so some doctors and I decided to stay,” Ezz, who was working around the clock, said.
On November 10, Israeli tanks sealed off the hospital, bombarding it so intensely the communication networks went down and Ezz lost touch with his family.
The siege of al-Shifa lasted 10 days that Ezz will “never forget”. The power was cut, oxygen supplies ran out and fuel was nearly depleted.
“Departments, halls, corridors … everywhere went dark,” he said.
“I watched eight patients on oxygen devices die, unable to help them,” Ezz said sadly.
“We lived on dates and water, fasting all the day and breaking our fast with a small cup of water and a date. It wasn’t Ramadan, we fasted to ask God to relieve our distress, and to stretch the limited supply of water and dates for as long as possible,” Ezz said.
Amid the fear, exhaustion and hunger, Ezz got a phone call on November 13 at 9pm from Dr Fadel Naeem, director of al-Ahli Baptist Hospital.
“May God greatly reward you for your loss,” Naeem said. “Your family was targeted … they’re under the rubble.”
Indescribable
“I could never describe how I felt,” Ezz said.
An Israeli attack had killed Ezz’s father Samir, his 32-year-old brother Huzaifa and his two-month-pregnant wife Rana, and their five-year-old daughter Reem. Also killed were two of his uncles with their families, and his grandmother.
When Naeem said: “Your mother is still alive,” Ezz felt life return to him.
“I left the phone,” he said, “and went to perform ablution and prayed to God, thanking Him for at least sparing my mother.
“The sorrow of not being able to say goodbye to my family, especially my father – my best friend and greatest supporter – wounded me,” Ezz said.
When the Israeli army forced everyone in al-Shifa to leave, Ezz searched desperately for his mother who did not have a phone.
“After frantic calls, I found her in the Baptist Hospital,” Ezz said, recalling his relief at seeing his mother.
“At first, I didn’t recognise her; she’d been trapped under debris for about 45 minutes. We hugged each other tightly with tears streaming down our faces, a hug of shared pain and comfort,” he said.
Ezz stayed by his mother’s side for two months, supporting her and recovering from his trauma.
By January, al-Shifa was still nonoperational, so Ezz joined al-Ahli, assisting in surgeries and collaborating with doctors.
Resilience
Ezz wants to make his father’s dream come true.
“My father had always dreamed of me graduating from medical school, donning the robe and taking the oath,” Ezz reminisced.
In honour of that dream, in June, Ezz established the Samir Foundation to provide training, workshops and financial support to medical students in northern Gaza. Contributions from individuals and organisations overseas as well as through crowdfunding helped him to make it a reality.
“Just as my father wished to see me graduate, I want to help other students achieve their dreams and honour their families,” Ezz said.
Some of the doctors who have delivered training for the foundation were Naeem from al-Ahli Hospital, and Drs Hani Al-Qadi and Osama Hamed from a Jordanian medical delegation.
“Despite the loss Ezz had to deal with, he remained resilient,” 21-year-old Tasnim, a foundation beneficiary, shared via WhatsApp.
Ezz’s university has been devastated by Israeli bombs, meaning he will not be able to graduate next year but he has already started working and gained a lot of experience for his age.
“It’s usually difficult for fresh graduates to become first assistants, but I’ve been given this role,” Ezz said, proud and sad.
“I wish my father were here to see how far I’ve come.”
