In a corner of the vast, unrelenting pain stretching across the Gaza Strip, 72-year-old Hajj Barakat Al-Bu’ carries a burden heavier than anyone should have to bear. He is now responsible for caring for 15 orphaned grandchildren who lost their fathers in a war that stripped them of their homes, safety, and childhoods.
Speaking in a weary voice, his words carry the heavy toll of repeated displacement.
“The war destroyed us… it destroyed our homes and our land,” he says. “We were displaced more than nine times. Each time was a catastrophe on its own.”
A Grueling Path of Displacement
The family’s forced journey began in Beit Hanoun in the north. It was never a single move, but rather an exhausting path through Rafah, Al-Nuseirat, Khan Younis, and Deir al-Balah. These places offered no real refuge, only new chapters of suffering.
But the harshest chapter was not the journey itself—it was the profound loss.
At the beginning of the war’s second year, his son Tamer was killed while walking in the street, leaving behind a widow and eight children. Tragically, this was not the family’s first devastating loss. Earlier in the conflict, his daughter’s husband was killed in the Al-Shati refugee camp while simply sitting outside for no apparent reason, leaving behind another seven children.
Suddenly, 15 orphans and two widowed mothers found themselves relying entirely on an elderly man who was barely able to shoulder the burdens of his own survival, let alone provide for a large family.
Surviving the Shelters
Recalling their time in displacement centers, Hajj Barakat paints a bleak picture of their daily reality.
“We lived in school shelters… the situation was catastrophic,” he recalls. “A deadly famine—we went for days without food. Nothing was enough.”
Despite the horrors around them, the children remain children. They still ask about their fathers. They ask for clothes, food, and the simple everyday items that children anywhere else in the world would ask for. Yet, Hajj Barakat stands helpless before their basic needs.
“I don’t know what to tell them… and I cannot provide what they ask for,” he admits.
Facing an Uncertain Future
Amid this helplessness, an even deeper fear weighs heavily on his mind: what will happen to these children if he is gone?
“I am 72 years old… I don’t know what will happen to them after me,” he shares.
While helping hands occasionally reach out, the assistance is simply not enough to meet the family’s overwhelming daily needs. Their life remains a constant, grueling struggle between the little that is available and the massive amount that is desperately required.
Still, he feels he has no choice but to keep going.
“I have no option but to endure… this is our fate,” he says. “We ask God to give me strength to carry this responsibility.”
His story is not just the tragedy of a single family. It is a condensed reflection of the suffering of an entire generation of children forced to grow up entirely too soon. It is also the story of an elderly man trying, with what little strength he has left, to become a homeland for his grandchildren after their own was lost.
The scale of this broader tragedy is staggering. According to Gaza’s Ministry of Social Development, the number of orphans has risen to 64,616 children. This includes 55,157 who lost their fathers during the recent war—an alarming indicator of a deepening humanitarian crisis that is quickly becoming a long-term reality.