Gaza family torn between hope and grief as two sons vanish

Gaza City – For over a year, Ashjan Abdel Aal's life has hung suspended between grief and hope. Her two sons, Othman and Sami, went missing on the morning of June 29, 2025, when they left the family's temporary shelter in Gaza City to collect aid and never came back.

“I want them to come back. I want a day when I can see them, hug them, and hear their voices,” said Ashjan, 36, her voice breaking.

The brothers – Othman (now 17) and Sami (13) – told their family they were heading to a distribution point near the Netzarim corridor in central Gaza, promising to bring candy back for their six-year-old sister, Emarat. Their mother also recalled they might stop by the family's old home in the Shujayea neighborhood, east of Gaza City, to pick up a pair of shoes for her.

The Abdel Aal family is one of thousands displaced during Israel's war on the Gaza Strip, which has killed more than 73,340 people, according to health officials, and left much of the territory in ruins. In April 2025, Ashjan, her husband Rafaat, and their children found shelter at a relative's house in Gaza City, as famine, soaring prices, and shortages of essentials pushed many to take risks to find food.

“People either return to dangerous areas or go to aid distribution points because there is no other choice,” said Rafaat, 41.

On the day his sons left, Rafaat was away, heading to U.S.-backed aid distribution points near Zikim, north of Gaza. “I stayed there for a day and a half. When I got back, my wife said the boys hadn't returned. I got worried and started asking about them,” he recalled.

The family waited through the evening in vain. The next day, Rafaat began searching hospitals, shelters, and asking relatives, but found no trace. Since then, the boys' disappearance has turned family life into an endless search.

Conflicting reports

The first clue came more than a month later. A resident of Shujayea said he had seen four bodies near the family's old home, two of them unidentified. The description led Rafaat to suspect they could be his sons, but the family couldn't confirm.

Two days later, a relative sent a photo of an unidentified body at Al-Ahli Arab Hospital, saying it resembled Othman. “At first glance, I was shocked. I thought it was my son with 90% certainty. I went to the hospital, but when I saw the body, it wasn't him,” Rafaat said.

In October 2025, after Israel and Hamas reached a ceasefire deal, Rafaat was able to approach the area near his old home in Shujayea. He found only rubble. “There were missile fragments, debris, and a small piece of bone,” he said. But afterward, the family couldn't enter the area because it lay behind the so-called Golden Road – Israel's control line inside Gaza.

The search continued through the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) and human rights groups, but no confirmed information emerged. At one point, Rafaat said the uncertainty became unbearable: “In many moments, under immense psychological pressure, I thought of going to the civil registry and asking for death certificates for them. But that was impossible because there were no witnesses or sufficient evidence to confirm their death.”

Hope and unanswered questions

In May, new information rekindled the family's hope. Rafaat received a call from his brother-in-law, who helped him liaise with human rights groups, international organizations, and lawyers. “He said a lawyer from inside the 1948 territories, who introduced himself as someone tracking disappearances with human rights groups and the Red Cross, said the two boys are alive and being held in Israel's Ofer and Naqab prisons,” Rafaat recounted.

“My husband told me, and we hugged each other and cried a lot. We cried because we thought maybe they were about to come home,” Ashjan recalled that moment.

However, this information was never officially confirmed. The family tried to reach the lawyer again but received no response. Al Jazeera also attempted to contact him, but the phone number provided by the family was not working.

“I'm like a drowning person grasping at any straw. My heart tells me they're alive. I see them in my dreams telling me not to cry,” Ashjan shared. She said before his disappearance, Othman – a teenager with autism – always sensed his mother's sadness before anyone else. “He'd try to comfort me in every way. Because of his kindness, Sami was very attached. He followed his brother everywhere.”

Rafaat fought back tears as his wife spoke of their sons. He said the boys had tried to help the family despite his objections, going out to seek aid in hopes of bringing food back. “Since they left, I feel I'm living in an endless loop. I can't move forward, nor can I stop thinking about what happened to them.”

Many families trapped in uncertainty

The Abdel Aal family's story reflects the broader struggle of many families in Gaza searching for missing loved ones amid a lack of confirmed information and the spread of conflicting reports.

Gaza's Government Media Office estimates about 11,200 people remain missing across the territory, including those believed to be trapped under rubble and others whose fate is unknown.

Nada Abu Aita, director of the Palestinian Center for the Missing and Forcibly Disappeared, said one of the biggest challenges in documenting disappearances is “the diversity of sources.” The center relies on communicating with families, collecting details, and recording the circumstances of each case.

“Families live in a state of uncertainty that prevents them from moving forward or processing their grief. In the morning they search for hope of finding them; in the evening they believe they are dead,” Abu Aita said. This uncertainty leaves families vulnerable to information from unofficial sources, especially when those sources offer the possibility of finding loved ones.

The center has received many reports from families contacted by people claiming to be lawyers or organization representatives, saying their relatives are held in Israeli prisons. But after checks, the center found some organizations don't exist and some names appeared fabricated. “We cannot force families to believe or dismiss this information. In many cases, families choose to believe reports we classify as misleading because they want to hold onto any hope that might bring their sons back,” Abu Aita said, noting that the lack of a comprehensive official list of detainees complicates the situation.

Open requests

Pat Griffiths, ICRC spokesperson in Jerusalem, said the organization's work begins with what it calls “tracing requests.” When a family reaches out, ICRC collects contact details, information about the missing person, and the circumstances of their disappearance. This allows the organization to share confirmed information whenever available.

“This work is often slow, complex, and frustrating. Answers aren't always available to share with families,” Griffiths said. One of the biggest obstacles is that the ICRC has not had access to Israeli places of detention since the war began in October 2023, despite ongoing dialogue with Israeli authorities to restore access. “That means we can't confirm to families about detainees the way we used to.”

In cases of presumed deaths, Griffiths noted major challenges in recovering remains and conducting forensic identification. These difficulties can delay confirmation to families for months or even years. “Living in limbo, not knowing the fate or whereabouts of a missing loved one, is a terrible and unique anguish. We speak to many families going through that.”

The ICRC currently has “thousands of open tracing requests,” but doesn't disclose exact numbers because they change daily. When confirmed information emerges, the organization contacts the family. “Ultimately, families have the right to know the fate or whereabouts of their loved ones. Whether it's helping them have a final chance to mourn, or hoping to reconnect or reunite with their loved ones, we do this work for them.”

For Rafaat, each new piece of information no longer brings comfort but prolongs the pain because the family can't verify it. “I don't want to search forever. I want to know. When someone is missing, you can't mourn, and you can't celebrate their return,” he said.

As for Ashjan, she said all she wants “is just certain information about their fate.” Her voice cracked: “If they died, tell us. If they're alive, tell us.”