From Nakba to Rubble: A Gaza Man’s Life of Exile

Inside a bombed-out house in the Jabalia refugee camp, northern Gaza, 85-year-old Abdel Mahdi al-Wuheidi sits by a small fire brewing coffee, gazing at the remnants of his life amid the debris. Beside him is his wife Aziza, also in her 80s. The couple married six decades ago but have no children. They live with five nephews—sons of Abdel Mahdi’s deceased younger brother.

Born in 1940, Abdel Mahdi experienced the 1948 Nakba as a child—the event in which 750,000 Palestinians were forced from their homes when the state of Israel was established. Yet he insists the suffering of Palestinians in the current Gaza war far exceeds anything he has ever witnessed.

“We came from Bir al-Saba (Beersheba)… that was our homeland,” he says wearily. Bir al-Saba, the largest city in the Naqab desert, was captured by Israeli forces in 1948, forcing most of its Palestinian residents to flee.

Memories of the first exile
Abdel Mahdi’s sharp memory takes him back to childhood, living with his parents on their land, with livestock and property—a normal life before everything changed. He still recalls heated discussions among families in Bir al-Saba as rumors spread about the Zionist militia Haganah approaching; some wanted to flee, others insisted on staying. Ultimately, they decided to move west to Gaza, hoping to return within weeks.

“We all left… We walked for days. We rested, then kept going,” he recounts. “We carried some belongings, never thinking it was a permanent exile.” The family settled in Gaza City’s Zeitoun neighborhood before moving to the Jabalia refugee camp, where they lived in tents, enduring rain, cold, hunger, and long lines for food and water.

The 2023 Gaza war: A new Nakba
The Israeli war that began in October 2023 upended Abdel Mahdi’s life. This time, he was forced to flee as a frail old man, together with his wife and nephews’ families. He was displaced multiple times: to the Gaza port area west of Gaza City, to Deir el-Balah in central Gaza, and earlier to a UN school in Jabalia—where Israeli tanks and soldiers stormed in, causing chaos and gunfire.

“They forced us out of the school. My elderly wife and I leaned on each other to walk. Some couldn’t get out and were killed there,” he recalls. “We walked a long distance to western Gaza, exhausted, but shelling and fear drove us on.”

Abdel Mahdi at one point considered staying home, not wanting to repeat the “mistake of his ancestors” by fleeing in 1948. But danger eventually forced him to evacuate. “When a person leaves his home, he loses his dignity and his worth,” he says, eyes welling up. “I wished for death… All I wanted was a concrete wall to lean on, but there was nothing.”

A flicker of hope, but broken promises
After the ceasefire took effect in January 2025, Abdel Mahdi returned to his ruined home. “A deep pain hit me when I saw Jabalia, where I had lived for decades, turned into endless rubble,” he says. He fell twice trying to walk through the devastated streets.

Despite everything, Abdel Mahdi insists no period of his life—from the Nakba through the 1956 and 1967 wars, and the Palestinian uprisings—compares with the current destruction. “One Nakba at the start of life… and another Nakba at the end. What can we say?” he whispers.

He expresses deep disappointment with the Arab and international response: “History is repeating itself. We have been abandoned at every stage, facing alone a ruthless military machine.” But what cannot be taken from him is his love for the land. “Even if they offered me a palace in New York in exchange for this ruined house, I would refuse,” he insists. “Those who left long ago never returned. I will die here, and I will be buried here.”