They brought me here to kill me. I don't see myself surviving.
In the long and troubled history of medicine as a casualty of war, the case of Dr. Hussam Abu Safiya stands as a stark emblem of what is lost when healers become targets. Eighteen months after his arrest without charge, the former director of Kamal Adwan hospital in Gaza sits barely conscious in an underground Israeli prison, his body bearing injuries his own lawyer struggled to reconcile with the man he once knew. His suffering is not solitary — a four-month-old boy named Ahmad Maarouf Zaid died this week after soldiers blocked his family from reaching an ambulance, a death that rights groups place within the same deliberate unraveling of Palestinian access to care. These are not merely legal or medical failures; they are questions about what a society permits to be done in its name, and whether the world is watching closely enough to matter.
- Dr. Abu Safiya is almost unrecognizable after 18 months of detention — beaten daily, unable to breathe freely or sit upright, and telling his lawyer he does not expect to survive.
- The underground Rakefet prison where he is now held was previously shut down as inhumane, then reopened under Israel's far-right national security minister, and detainees there report suffocation in unventilated, overcrowded cells.
- A four-month-old boy, Ahmad Maarouf Zaid — born after years of IVF — died this week when Israeli soldiers blocked his family at a checkpoint, forcing a detour on mountain roads that cost him over an hour and his life.
- Rights organizations are demanding Abu Safiya's immediate release and an independent medical examination, but Israeli prison authorities deny the allegations and cite privacy concerns rather than addressing his documented condition.
- Physicians for Human Rights Israel describes these incidents not as isolated failures but as part of a systematic dismantling of the conditions necessary for Palestinians to access healthcare at all.
On July 2nd, attorney Nasser Odeh sat across from his client Hussam Abu Safiya and struggled to recognize him. The physician who had directed Kamal Adwan hospital in northern Gaza — one of the most visible faces of Palestinian healthcare during the war — had been in Israeli custody for eighteen months without charge or trial. He could barely breathe, could not sit upright without help, and told his lawyer directly: they brought him here to kill him.
Abu Safiya had recently been transferred to Rakefet, an underground prison built in the 1980s for organized crime figures, later closed as inhumane, and reopened under national security minister Itamar Ben-Gvir. Detainees there never see daylight. Others have described suffocating in overcrowded, unventilated cells. Abu Safiya told Odeh he was beaten every day and had lost consciousness multiple times. Before this transfer, while held in solitary confinement at Ganot prison, he described a guard attack with hammers and batons — an assault that followed a court appearance via video link challenging his detention. Each move through the prison system had brought visible deterioration.
His case, according to Milena Ansari of Physicians for Human Rights Israel, is not an aberration. It reflects a deliberate pattern — the systematic dismantling of the conditions Palestinians need to access medical care at all.
That pattern took another life on July 6th. Ahmad Maarouf Zaid, four months old and born after years of IVF treatment, developed a high fever that morning. His parents called emergency services. An ambulance was dispatched to the Ein Ayoub checkpoint at Deir Ammar refugee camp. Four Israeli soldiers blocked the family from crossing. They had fired teargas in the area. They did not respond to the family's pleas. Ahmad needed oxygen. Forced onto unpaved mountain roads, the family lost more than an hour. Ahmad did not survive. His uncle told the Guardian there are no words for watching a child die in your arms while knowing there was nothing you could do.
The Israeli military denied blocking the family. The prison service called Odeh's account of Abu Safiya's condition false and declined to address his health on privacy grounds. Rights organizations continue to call for Abu Safiya's release and an independent medical examination. He remains detained indefinitely, and whether he will survive is still unknown.
Hussam Abu Safiya, one of Gaza's most recognizable physicians, sat across from his lawyer on July 2nd looking like someone his lawyer could barely identify. Eighteen months in Israeli custody without charge or trial had left him almost unrecognizable—his body marked by severe injuries, his breathing labored, his voice barely audible. When Nasser Odeh, his attorney, visited him after his transfer to Israel's underground Rakefet prison in late June, he found a man struggling to remain conscious, so physically weakened he could not sit upright without assistance. Abu Safiya, who had directed the Kamal Adwan hospital in northern Gaza before Israeli forces seized him, told his lawyer plainly: they brought him here to kill him. He did not believe he would survive.
The Rakefet facility itself carries a dark history. Built in the 1980s to house senior organized crime figures, it was eventually shuttered as inhumane—a judgment that did not prevent its reopening on the orders of Israel's far-right national security minister, Itamar Ben-Gvir. The prison is built underground. Detainees never see daylight. Other Palestinians held there have reported feeling breathless and suffocated in the unventilated, overcrowded cells. Abu Safiya's condition suggested something far worse. He told Odeh he was beaten daily. He had lost consciousness multiple times as a result of these beatings. The visible injuries on his body, combined with his account of what he endured, left his lawyer with a single conclusion: his life was in immediate danger.
Odeh's assessment came after Abu Safiya's transfer from another facility, Ganot prison, where he had been placed in solitary confinement without explanation in late May. While held there, Abu Safiya described an attack by guards wielding hammers and batons—an assault that occurred shortly after he appeared via video link at a court hearing challenging his detention. The pattern of his movement through the prison system, each transfer accompanied by deterioration, suggested something systematic rather than incidental. When Odeh met with him at Rakefet, the lawyer noted that the man before him was not the same person he had visited before. Abu Safiya appeared frightened and reluctant to speak freely, though he managed to convey what was happening to him.
Abu Safiya's case has become emblematic of something larger. Before his detention, he had emerged as the public face of Gaza's healthcare workers—doctors and nurses struggling to treat patients amid the war, operating in hospitals without adequate supplies, without electricity, without basic conditions for medicine to function. His arrest and the injuries he has sustained are not isolated incidents, according to Milena Ansari, director of Physicians for Human Rights Israel. They are part of a deliberate pattern in which the conditions necessary for Palestinians to access healthcare are being systematically dismantled.
That pattern extends beyond detention. On Sunday, July 6th, a four-month-old boy named Ahmad Maarouf Zaid died after Israeli forces blocked his family from crossing a checkpoint to reach an ambulance. Ahmad had developed a high fever that morning. His parents called emergency services. An ambulance was sent to the Ein Ayoub gate of Deir Ammar refugee camp—the main route to Ramallah and its hospitals. But four Israeli soldiers stopped the family at the checkpoint. They had fired teargas at people in the area. They ignored the family's pleas. Ahmad needed oxygen. The delay in reaching the hospital, traveling instead on unpaved mountain roads, cost him more than an hour. It cost him his life.
Ahmad was a longed-for child. His parents had undergone years of IVF treatment before he was born. For most of his short life, he had been healthy. His uncle, Arafat Ahmad Zaid, spoke to the Guardian about what it meant to watch a child die in your arms while knowing there was nothing you could do. There are no words for that pain, he said. That is the ultimate suffering. That is the ultimate humiliation. The Israeli military denied blocking the family from seeking medical aid, but a video of the incident circulated on social media, and the family's account remained unshaken.
When asked about Abu Safiya's condition and the allegations made by his lawyer, an Israeli prison service spokesperson dismissed Odeh's account as false and entirely without factual basis. The same spokesperson declined to comment on Abu Safiya's health, citing privacy concerns—a response that struck observers as evasive given the severity of what his lawyer had documented. Rights organizations, including Physicians for Human Rights Israel, are calling for his immediate release and for an independent medical examination. Abu Safiya remains held indefinitely, along with thousands of other Palestinian civilians, in prisons that Israeli rights groups have described as torture camps. The question of whether he will survive his detention remains unanswered.
Citações Notáveis
His physical and psychological state, the severe injuries visible on his body, and his personal testimony leave no room for doubt: his life is in immediate danger.— Nasser Odeh, Abu Safiya's lawyer
There are no words to describe the pain of watching your own child die in your arms while knowing there is nothing you can do to save him. That is the ultimate suffering. That is the ultimate humiliation.— Arafat Ahmad Zaid, uncle of Ahmad Maarouf Zaid
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does Abu Safiya's case matter beyond the individual suffering?
Because he was the doctor people recognized. He became the symbol of what healthcare looks like when a system is collapsing. His arrest sends a message about what happens to those who try to keep that system functioning.
The lawyer says he's almost unrecognizable. What does that phrase actually mean in this context?
It means the injuries are so extensive that someone who knew him would struggle to see the person they knew in his face and body. It's not metaphorical. It's describing physical transformation from trauma.
Why move him between prisons? What's the pattern there?
Each transfer seems to coincide with deterioration. The solitary confinement, then the beating after the court appearance, then the transfer to Rakefet where conditions are worse. It suggests the moves themselves may be part of the pressure.
The baby's death—is that directly connected to Abu Safiya's detention?
Not directly, but they're part of the same system. One shows what happens to healthcare workers who resist. The other shows what happens to patients when access is blocked. Both illustrate the same undermining of Palestinian healthcare.
Why does the Israeli military deny blocking the family if there's video evidence?
Because acknowledging it would mean acknowledging responsibility for a child's death. The denial is a form of protection—legal, political, moral.
What happens next to Abu Safiya?
That depends on whether international pressure forces an independent medical examination and whether his case reaches courts that might order his release. Right now, he's in a facility designed to be invisible.