In June 2024, after seven months of evacuating across refugee camps, Lina's family—including her parents, two sisters, nine-year-old brother, and bedridden grandmother—returned to Nuseirat in central Gaza. They rented an apartment near what is called the 'golden border line.'
On the morning of June 8, her father saw thick dust clouds. Israeli military forces were advancing into the area. Neighbors fled, but the family thought the tanks were still far away. In an instant, a shell tore through the apartment.
The blast pressure nearly deafened Lina. Her sister Eman crawled toward her, covered in blood. Younger sister Yasmin had three shrapnel pieces lodged in her chest. Her mother suffered severe facial injuries. Her father shielded the nine-year-old brother with his body, taking shrapnel in both legs.
The family dragged themselves outside, but couldn't call an ambulance because tanks blocked the street. They waited over three hours, bleeding and passing out. At Al-Aqsa Hospital, Lina saw hundreds of wounded people, bodies scattered, blood pooling on the floor. 'It was a massacre,' she recalled.
Israel's 'hostage rescue,' described by media as 'daring' and 'successful,' was in fact an airstrike that killed at least 274 people and wounded nearly 700 others, according to local health authorities. Israeli soldiers disguised as civilians, using aid trucks to approach.
Two years later, Eman still has shrapnel in her hand near sensitive nerves, inoperable. Yasmin carries shrapnel in her chest. Her mother bears scars on her face. Her grandmother suffers from shrapnel in her back. The apartment is half-destroyed; the family fears windows, fears any view outside.
Lina said: 'I still wake up with nightmares: shells, tanks, rivers of blood. No one takes responsibility. There is no real investigation. Violations continue day after day.'
There is no safe place in Gaza. Drones monitor day and night, the golden border line expands, supplies are scarce, prices soar. 'I survived by a miracle, but how long will that last?' she asked.