Last November, Hani Almadhoun mourned the deaths of his brother Majed, his sister-in-law and three of his nephews who were all killed by the Israeli army in Gaza. This November — just a few days after Thanksgiving — Almadhoun lost another brother: chef Mahmoud Almadhoun, who was targeted in a drone attack.
Mahmoud, a father of seven and a beloved name across North Gaza, was best known for his efforts to uplift his local community. Alongside Almadhoun, Mahmoud co-founded the Gaza Soup Kitchen, which provides fresh-cooked meals to displaced individuals across the area. He also opened a medical clinic — supplying countless patients with essentials like baby formula, medicine, blankets and diapers — and launched a small school.
Despite the ongoing atrocities, Mahmoud always led with compassion and gratitude. Prior to his death, the chef was detained in northern Gaza by the Israeli military and subsequently released both times. His killing wasn’t a mere accident, Almadhoun alleges.
“Mahmoud’s killing wasn’t just an attack on my family; it was a message. He wasn’t a fighter—he was a father, a humanitarian, and a man devoted to his community,” Almadhoun wrote in a memorial for his younger brother published in The Nation. “His only ‘crime’ was slowing the ethnic cleansing of northern Gaza through tireless efforts to organize aid, deliver meals, and sustain those around him.”
He continued, “I believe his killing was not an accident; it was meant to silence the helpers—the humanitarians who stand in the way of Gaza’s complete erasure.”
Almadhoun, director of philanthropy at UNRWA USA, spoke with Salon about the death of his late brother and the future of the Gaza Soup Kitchen.
The following interview has been lightly edited for clarity and length.
Take me back to when you and Mahmoud started the Gaza Soup Kitchen.
Around December last year, Mahmoud and I were helping our community by doing two things. One, buying ready-made meals from somebody who was still cooking rice. We would buy bags of cooked rice and give it to people in bundles. And two, sourcing food packages so we could buy canned food, wipes, lentils or pasta — whatever we could find.
A few months later, the rice person who we used to buy rice from said he could no longer provide it because he couldn’t find rice and afford it. So, Mahmoud figured, ‘Hey, what will we do now?’ He improvised a plan to start cooking for people. Our kitchen used to be in the old market (located in the center of Bethlehem). Mahmoud bought three pots and made a stew out of veggies — mostly from cans, like peas and carrots — fresh tomatoes, seasonings and salt. He provided meals for about 120 families on the first day he cooked. I believe the first day was February 14, Valentine’s Day.
Mahmoud and I eventually decided that the kitchen was going to be a sustained effort for the time being. Mahmoud started going into the local farms, specifically in Beit Lahia, and buying anything he could find. There were some potatoes. Because it was winter, they hadn’t spoiled. There were some zucchinis that were intended to be small but had become overgrown. There were also some carrots. Mahmoud would buy large volumes of food, store them in his warehouse and then cook stews. He did that for about a month until the new season brought more greenery and fresh crops, including melons and persimmons. That sustained the operation for a few more months.
In February, the local media was celebrating the kitchen’s initiatives because, at the time, the North was being intentionally starved. And in March, the kitchen garnered attention from the international media. [Amid our operation], Mahmoud and I lost our brother, Majid. Mahmoud himself had been detained, abducted and released. People found something poetic about our story. The operation was to stay for 10 months until Mahmoud was killed in November.
The soup kitchen is described as “more than just an initiative, it’s a personal vow,” per its website. Tell me more about that message.
We cook for our neighbors. We are struggling, like all of them. We are not on an organization’s payroll. We just cook for our neighbors. And our vow is to not close shop when things get difficult. We continued to operate until, literally, the bombs fell outside the kitchen. We can’t disappear because this is our neighborhood. We’re not going to hide because this is where we live. If we don’t cook for others, we ourselves don’t eat.
It’s also a testament that Chef Mahmoud was assassinated. I can’t believe I said the words “chef” and “assassinated” all in one line. We continue to do the work and provide meals in different parts of Gaza, the North and the South. At the end of the day, people still need us. There are hungry children in Gaza that need support, and we will be there for them.
Is there a fond memory you shared with your brother while working in the kitchen together?
Mahmoud was always proud of the solutions he provided. He was also proud of being the person who provided meals for up to 700 families per day. Mahmoud would call me in the morning and say, “Hey Hani. Can we do X, Y and Z?” And I’d say, yes. In one instance, Mahmoud told me that he was going to grill some meat. I was like what the heck is he going to grill? Because meat is banned. It’s restricted. You can’t bring in meat from outside. Mahmoud got canned meat, which he sliced and seasoned. He cooked it in olive oil, grilled it and came up with a new dish. We call it Canned Meat Shawarma Wraps. People keep asking for it because they’re tired of eating pasta and lentils for four months. That’s one of the dishes that Mahmoud created and became known for in North Gaza.
I read your recent memorial for Mahmoud that was published Wednesday in The Nation. You mentioned that your brother didn’t just focus on food. He also opened a medical clinic and started a small school. Mahmoud’s efforts truly showcase his immense bravery, grit and fearless dedication.
Mahmoud decided to open up a medical point. He hired three nurses and one doctor. The medical point operated for a little bit more than three months before it was targeted. When the hospitals were under siege, victims were brought to the medical point for first aid. Mahmoud helped those victims. That was a very proud moment for him and a big deed that he’s done in the community.
He also opened a school. I remember he used to run away from school as a kid. About 560 kids were enrolled at the school. Some students attended for as long as a month before the school was targeted on November 3. When Mahmoud built the school, he put up a sign that read, “Please Do Not Bomb” in Hebrew alongside the U.S. flag. That was one of the ways he wanted to keep the school safe and the young children out of harm’s way.
Mahmoud would always find ways to solve problems for the community. About two weeks before he was murdered, Mahmoud figured out a way to get clean drinking water in the North. He found a water pump that had solar panels. Mahmoud purchased some of that water and gave it away to the town.
When he could no longer cook because his staff ran away for their lives, Mahmoud said he would deliver food, lentils, blankets, diapers and baby formula to Kamal Adwan Hospital. He’s got a soft spot in his heart for the hospital, so whenever they ask for something, he would deliver it. He's been helping the hospitals as much as he can and we, as his family, think that's why he was targeted by the Israeli Army. One day, Mahmoud was walking to the hospital to check if the produce he had delivered reached its destination. He was walking to the hospital, 30 yards outside of his house, when he was killed on the spot. There was no crossfire. It’s an assassination. We know it was.
No matter how dire his situation was, Mahmoud made an effort to document his community efforts and share a simple yet kind message: “I send this video with love and thanks to my friends in the United States.” He was always incredibly grateful.
There’s a long history of Mahmoud, his videos and the work he’s done on the Gaza Soup Kitchen’s Instagram page. So far, the Israeli army has not provided an explanation for Mahmoud’s killing. We're not holding our breath. We know the IDF had his phone number. They have my phone number. They could have called and said, “Hey Mahmoud, we don’t want you to be here.” He would’ve gladly left. Mahmoud is a father of seven. He wasn't trying to be a hero. He was just solving problems for our neighbors.
Now, if there is anybody who thinks Mahmoud has a secret life, it has been proven that he has been taken twice by the Israeli army, like all the men in North Gaza, and released within hours. I've seen comments by the trolls claiming he was part of Hamas. I assure you, he had nothing to do with that. Mahmoud was just a business guy. He was selling and buying food, then pivoted to cooking and opening a school and delivering water every morning in North Gaza.
Through the soup kitchen, food was providing sustenance, but I’d say it was also utilized as a symbol of resilience and hope.
The soup kitchen became a ritual for the day for the people in North Gaza. Mahmoud started cooking every morning at nine. People came to receive food and hang out. The speakers would be blasting music. Kids danced Dabke, sang and played while waiting for the food to be ready. You know, agencies may deliver civilians a bag of flour, but they’re not going to eat spoonfuls of plain flour. There is no gas to cook with. So people rely on a community kitchen that cooks for them.
Mahmoud was celebrated because he was doing one thing that a lot of people who were watching from afar wanted to do, and he sustained it. Some people cook for a day or a month and then they leave. We kept our operation going. This is the story of Mahmoud. He loved to cook. He used every Friday to make the family meal, which was always some form of rice and chicken. At the kitchen, he continued to do that on a much bigger scale. He really helped people stay in the land until the Israelis needlessly took him out. He shouldn't be where he is now. It’s been a difficult reality to live in.
Tell me more about the family dinners.
So, Friday is the day that people don't open their shops. Mahmoud wouldn't go to work on Friday, he would sleep in and wake up around 11 or 12. He would then season the chicken, cook it in the oven and make the rice or couscous for our family. Mahmoud liked to eat. He had a very good appetite. He would feed our parents, his kids — whoever lives in our area. That’s his passion.
Mahmoud was making stews at the soup kitchen for the longest time until our older sister, who is a culinary wizard, started making more sophisticated menu items like Palestinian Rummaniyeh and other local dishes. She was known for making Palestinian couscous from scratch. When our sister started making more dishes, Mahmoud focused on managing the business and buying medicine for the medical point.
What legacy will Mahmoud leave behind? And what is the future of Gaza Soup Kitchen?
This morning, I woke up to pictures of Mahmoud’s kids helping their uncle distribute food parcels in memory of their father. We’re continuing to connect with my brother by doing the things that he would have enjoyed doing for the family. We hope his kids realize how important his work was and continue to help their community.
As far as our soup kitchen operation, we're still cooking for our neighbors. We're not shrinking. We're expanding, unfortunately. It’s bittersweet because expanding the soup kitchen means more people need it, but people should have food at home. We currently have three soup kitchens in North Gaza and two in the South, where we’re also doing food parcels. In Al-Zawaida, we were cooking for approximately 400 families. Now, we’re cooking for 600 to 700 families. That number is growing because food is very expensive and people can’t afford it. They’re displaced, they’re living in tents.
We want to honor Mahmoud’s memory by serving our fellow neighbors. This is not to make a political statement. Yes, we’re Palestinian. Yes, we’re resilient, but we’re mourning his death. Just because we are continuing to cook doesn't mean we aren’t sad. Every day, a memory or video pops up and we start tearing up. We’re humans. But at the end of the day, people who are not in Gaza need to see a glimmer of hope.
