‘We believe in love and dreams’ - A Gaza love story tested by Israel’s genocide 

“For me and Reham, we believe in love and dreams […] and we hold onto them,” Abdallah Abdou says softly, as if trying to convince himself as much as anyone who is listening.

Sitting in a makeshift shelter in southern Gaza, Abdallah, a 31-year-old dentist, reflects on a future that, for now, remains out of reach. Just a year ago, he and his fiancée, Reham, were counting down the days to their wedding. They had carefully planned every detail—the venue, her dress, his suit, the guest list. 20 October, 2023, was meant to be the start of their life together. 

But as Israeli bombs began to fall over Gaza, their plans were shattered. Instead of celebrating, they found themselves torn apart, separated by a war that has ripped their world.

Born and raised in the Tel Al-Hawa neighbourhood, nestled in the southern reaches of Gaza City, Abdallah always felt a responsibility towards his community. After earning a degree in dentistry in Egypt, he returned to Gaza to open a clinic in the crowded Shati Refugee Camp, providing high-quality, affordable care to people struggling to make ends meet.

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For six years, he dedicated himself to his work, while saving to build a future with Reham. Now, both his clinic and the home they had planned to share have been reduced to rubble, leaving Abdallah displaced in the south, separated from Reham, who remains in the north.

“The war started in our area, in Tel Al-Hawa, where we excitedly built our home brick by brick, putting our love and hope into every detail and design. But, in just minutes in the early days of the

war, Israeli tank missiles destroyed it completely – my clinic too! Israeli soldiers raided it and damaged all my equipment there,” said Abdallah.

Dr. Abdullah Hassan Abdo from Tel Al-Hawa neighbourhood,

“So everything is lost now. And after we received a call from the IDF threatening us to evacuate our home, my family made a decision to flee to the south, while my soul mate, Reham, and her family remained trapped in the north.”

They have not seen each other since, he added. Life in displacement has stripped away even the simplest aspects of daily life. Abdallah describes an endless routine of hardship – waiting hours for bread, struggling to find clean water, charging their devices at makeshift solar stations. They ration outdated flour and are now taking refuge in a kindergarten, where they share overcrowded space with other displaced families.

Keeping in touch with Reham is difficult and often heart-wrenching. Communication blackouts and unreliable internet have left them isolated and anxious, fearing the worst. “Sometimes, during the bombings, I try to comfort her with words, but it’s hard to find the right ones. Even comforting words feel empty because I have to say them so often.”

When the bombings intensify at night, Reham’s fear and worry increase. “She tells me how much she misses me and wishes she could be by my side,” he says. “Despite everything, we express our love for each other, even if it has to be through pain and the daily hardships that never end.”

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Moreover, resources are scarce and prices are soaring. However, many in the south consider themselves “lucky” compared to those in the north, where conditions are even more harrowing.

Food is almost non-existent. “We are spoiled and lucky here in comparison to the north,” he remarks. “Sometimes I manage to have a simple meal here, maybe a few vegetables, and I imagine her without enough food. It’s a painful thought,” he adds softly.

There is a “strong likelihood that famine is imminent in areas” of northern Gaza, according to a committee of global food security experts, as Israeli forces press on with a major offensive in the area.

“Immediate action, within days not weeks, is required from all actors who are directly taking part in the conflict, or have influence on its conduct, to avert and alleviate this catastrophic situation,” said the independent Famine Review Committee.

It added that it could be “assumed that starvation, malnutrition and excess mortality due to malnutrition and disease, are rapidly increasing” in north Gaza. “Famine thresholds may have already been crossed or else will be in the near future,” the global hunger monitor said.

Abdallah’s cousin, Anas Mahani severely injured when shrapnel from an explosion penetrated his trachea—the vital airway that carries air to the lungs—leaving him struggling to breathe or speak

The UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs estimates that there are between 75,000 and 95,000 people still in northern Gaza.

“No one can truly comprehend or expect this – it’s beyond anything we could have imagined. This war is like living in an endless nightmare,” Abdallah says. He shares that, among the tragedies he

has witnessed, one stands out in his mind: his cousin, Anas Mahani, severely injured when shrapnel from an explosion penetrated his trachea—the vital airway that carries air to the lungs—leaving him struggling to breathe or speak.

“For us, as young people, the worst part is the uncertainty. We don’t know if we’ll survive, if we’ll ever see the ones we love again. I have no way to reach Reham, and she has no way to come to me. The war hasn’t just separated us physically; it has torn apart our dreams. We’d started planning our future together, and she dreamed of completing her master’s in business administration. I hoped to keep building my career in dentistry, gaining experience and new certifications.”

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Abdallah pauses, “But now, I have been without steady work for over a year.” In Deir Al-Balah, there are almost no dental clinics left, and supplies are so scarce that even volunteering has its limits. Still, he’s found purpose where he can, joining a small team of volunteers who offer dental care to displaced families.

“With the limited resources we have, we’ve offered basic care like extractions, root canals for children, anything we can manage,” he explains. “It’s a small way to bring some hope and even a smile. This is my way to help, my way to give back.”

“It’s not like working in a clinic, but it’s something,” Abdallah says, managing a faint smile. The work is not easy. Patients are often children suffering from untreated infections, and sometimes he has nothing more to offer than advice on pain management.

Abdallah finds a fragile thread of hope in his work, even as he mourns those he has lost. During the war, he lost 15 members of his extended family, including his brother’s wife’s family, who were killed in a single air strike. The loss stretches beyond family; over 60 dentists, many of them close friends, have lost their lives as well. For Abdallah, each life lost feels like another piece of his own world slipping away. Yet, he continues to offer his care to others, determined to keep a part of their shared dreams alive.

“I lost 15 of my family in a moment,” Abdallah says, his voice catching as he recalls each face, each story. Some were children who had never known a life beyond Gaza, others were elders who had endured past conflicts but had always hoped for a better future. His younger cousins dreamed of studying abroad; an uncle had just started expanding his small business.

They were people who, like Abdallah, had dreams beyond the confines of conflict, yet they were taken in an instant.

As he reflects on everything lost – his home, his clinic, his friends – Abdallah remains hopeful in his belief in love and hope, fragile as they may feel. He clings to the idea that, one day, he and Reham will be reunited. Together, they will rebuild not just their own lives, but the lives of their community, helping to heal the wounds of those who have been torn apart by this endless war.

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