From Bleeding Heart of Gaza: Sarah, Child Blinded by Israeli Enemy & Deprived—Along with Her Family—of Hope for Treatment
Lying in her bed, the Palestinian child Sarah Mousa spends her difficult days searching for a glimmer of light she suddenly lost after bullets fired by the Israeli enemy army robbed her of her eyesight and closed the doors of play and joy with her peers, deepening the tragedy of her family. They, like the rest of Gaza’s residents, live amid catastrophic conditions caused by the ongoing Zionist genocidal war for more than two years.
Five-year-old Sarah was shot in the head on the day the ceasefire agreement entered into force in the Gaza Strip, on October 10. The injury caused her to lose her sight completely and led to severe fever episodes and involuntary vomiting.
Sarah was admitted to intensive care for six days. Doctors were unable to do anything for her due to the severe shortage of medical services in the Strip, a result of the continuing Israeli blockade.
For more than two months, Sarah has been bedridden at Nasser Hospital in southern Gaza. Doctors say there is a slight hope that her eyesight could return, but this depends on her receiving proper treatment outside the besieged Strip, as medical capabilities in Gaza’s hospitals are nearly nonexistent.
However, the Israeli enemy prevents the opening of the Rafah crossing to allow humanitarian cases to leave Gaza for treatment abroad.
Sarah’s mother recounts some of the suffering to the Yemeni News Agency (Saba), saying:
“We were displaced from northern Gaza to the south, living in a tent in the Asdaa area. On October 9, the Jews withdrew, and a bullet came from a quadcopter drone. It entered Sarah’s head from the left side and exited from the right.”
She adds:
“Sarah entered intensive care at Nasser Medical Hospital for six days. When she came out, she couldn’t see. I was shocked that she couldn’t see after six days.”
Describing her daughter’s reaction, Sarah’s mother shares words that encapsulate part of Gaza’s immense pain:
“After leaving intensive care, my daughter Sarah says to me: ‘Mama, I want to see you. Mama, I want to see the sunlight. God, please let the sun rise. Mama, turn on the light. Mama, tell Baba to charge the battery. Mama, I don’t want to eat. Why, Mama, is there no light in the bathroom? Mama, give me your glasses. Don’t glasses make you see? You see with them—I want to see with them. Give me your glasses, Mama. I want to see your face so I don’t forget it. Light it up for me so I can see your face, Mama. When will the electricity come?’ And I tell her, ‘Mama, the electricity is cut.’”
Sarah’s mother confirms that her daughter has not yet comprehended what has happened to her. She explains:
“Sarah is traumatized because she can’t see. We need an MRI scan to see what happened in Sarah’s brain—why her eyes are not working. The vision center in Sarah still has some hope; there is still life in it. My daughter still has hope; the vision center wasn’t hit directly. I need an MRI to find out what happened in Sarah’s brain, why her eyes can’t see. This is what I’m asking for. This is what Sarah is asking for.”
In a voice heavy with grief, she continues:
“Treatment is a right for this little child. At the very least, we want treatment. I haven’t slept for 35 days at all because of Sarah’s constant high fever.”
Sarah’s mother points out that her daughter is the only survivor of her family since the beginning of the war, with no aunts on either side. She adds:
“We were pulled out from under the rubble of four floors—God saved her for us, thank God.”
The suffering is not limited to Sarah alone. Like many mothers, Sarah’s mother endures the pain of seeing her child in such a condition. She says:
“I am psychologically exhausted because of my daughter. My child asks for her eyes to see with, and I can’t do anything—it’s not in my hands.”
She expresses her hope in people of goodwill to save and treat her daughter:
“God willing, through the compassion of good people and doctors, Sarah can go out for treatment. I want any solution—just to be reassured and see how Sarah is. Even if she sees me blurry, I’d be satisfied; even if she sees me with a faint glimmer of light in her eyes. She is a child, and her father and I won’t be with her forever. She always asks me and says she wants to see. As a mother, what can I do? It’s not in my hands. I hug her to make her feel safe, but she wants to see me.”
Sarah’s story is only one example among thousands—indeed, far more—of stories of suffering spread across the besieged Gaza Strip due to the Israeli aggression, which continues to commit crimes day after day before the eyes and ears of the world. The question remains: does this world still hav