BBC Gaza reporter: Trying to protect my family while reporting the conflict
Adnan El-Bursh, who was living in a tent, eating just one meal a day, and fighting to keep his wife and five children safe, covered the Gaza War for the media for almost three months. The correspondent for BBC Arabic describes the terrifying experiences he had while covering a battle that tested his endurance.
Note: Some readers may find the details and photos in this report upsetting.
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The night we all slept on the street was one of the worst experiences of the last six months. I felt powerless as I stared at my wife's and kids' expressions as they huddled in the savage cold in Khan Younis, southern Gaza.
Together with their mother Zaynab, my fourteen-year-old daughter Yumna, my eight-year-old son Mohamed, and my five-year-old daughter Razan were lying on the street. The twins, Zakia and Batoul, are 19 years old.
Drones hovered above and the sounds of shelling resounded throughout the night as we attempted to sleep outside the offices of the Palestinian Red Crescent Society.
We had found an apartment to rent, but the owner had contacted earlier in the day to say they had received a warning from the Israeli military that the building would be destroyed. My family packed up and left, but I was at work at the time.
The Red Crescent offices was already crowded with displaced persons when we met up there.
All night, my brother and I sat on cardboard boxes and talked about what we need to do.
The Israeli military had ordered everyone in northern Gaza to go south for safety, so a few days earlier, on October 13, we had left our houses in the town of Jabalia behind, along with the majority of our belongings.
And now, at the location where we were instructed to relocate, we had just avoided being bombed. It was difficult to think clearly. The fact that I was unable to defend my family made me feel awful, ashamed, and enraged.
Eventually, I lived in a tent near Nasser hospital in Khan Younis with the BBC crew, while my family relocated to an apartment in downtown Gaza's Nuseirat. Every several days, I would stop by.
The internet and phone services were intermittent, making communication challenging. I once went four or five days without hearing from my relatives.
The BBC team—roughly seven of us—ate only one meal a day while we were in Khan Younis. There was seldom someplace to use the restroom, so even when there was food, we sometimes skipped it.
During this period, my buddy Wael Al-Dahdouh, the leader of the Al Jazeera bureau, had a horrible loss.
An Israeli airstrike destroyed the home his family had been residing in. In addition to his wife, he also murdered his teenage son, daughter, age seven, and one-year-old grandson.
The Israeli military claims to have "targeted Hamas terrorist infrastructure in the area" and to take "feasible precautions" to minimize civilian losses.
Covering Gaza: My War
Palestinian journalists in Gaza record the battle as they see it, day in and day out. In this BBC World Service video, we learn the tale of Adnan El-Bursh, a reporter for BBC Arabic in Gaza, who ended himself covering the news as it happened.
I saw the video of my 20-year buddy hugging the shrouded corpses of his children in the heart of Gaza. I wish I could have been with him.
The announcement coincided with other stories of other acquaintances, family members, and neighbors passing away. My heart hurt. Thus far in the fight, I have lost around 200 people.
I was crying live on television that day as I was reporting. My cheeks were wet when I woke up in the middle of the night. My memory of Wael will always be vivid.
I have covered Gazan battles for fifteen years, but this one is unique in both the scope of the fatalities and the extraordinary strike that started it.
On October 7, at 06:15, my kids' cries and loud explosions awakened me up. When I climbed to the rooftop, I saw missiles being fired from Gaza into Israel.
Upon realizing that Hamas had crossed the border into Israel during its attack, which resulted in about 1,200 fatalities and 250 hostages, we anticipated an unprecedented reaction from Israel.
As of right moment, the health ministry headed by Hamas in Gaza reports that over 34,000 people have died there. There has always been a chance of harm and perhaps death.
Two days into the conflict, I rushed to the Jabalia neighborhood market to restock on groceries. Others were busying themselves in the same way.
However, the area was extensively attacked within ten minutes of my departure. The huge grocery store where I had just been shopping was among the many wrecked items in the area.
The business owners' faces were familiar to me. Among the deceased were many of them.
There should be a war crime investigation into the assault, according to Amnesty International, because at least 69 people died in it.
Regarding this occurrence, the BBC questioned the Israeli military; they have not answered.
It has claimed throughout the conflict that Hamas, which it claims runs its operations from civilian areas, is the objective of its operation.
It also states that "strikes on military targets are subject to relevant provisions of international law" .
Jabalia was a lovely, quiet village prior to the conflict. I was born there, and up until then, my family and I had been leading a straightforward, happy life full of love and future ambitions.
On my property, east of the town, I had personally planted orange, lemon, and olive trees. After work, I like sipping tea there since it was serene.
A turning point in my life came the day we made the decision to leave our homes and the BBC headquarters in Gaza City behind and go for Khan Younis in northern Gaza.
My family and I crept south down a single route with tens of thousands of other individuals who were all carrying heavy loads in their cars and on foot. We were more than ten people to a single automobile.
Air attacks on adjacent areas on both sides of the road interspersed the drive. The expressions on the faces of the throng and my family were confusion, anguish, and doubt.
The kids wouldn't stop asking me, "Where are we heading? "Will we return tomorrow?"
Our photo book, which has images of my parents, my wife and I when we were engaged, and myself as a little kid, is something I really wish I had taken. In addition, I regret not having brought any of my dad's books, which I preserved after his death. My dad taught Arabic.
My neighbor later informed me that my farm had burnt down and my home had been entirely destroyed.
I worked from Khan Younis for many weeks after that harrowing and weird ride south, and our night outside the Red Crescent offices. Being apart from my family, who were still in Nuseirat, was really difficult for me emotionally.
Then, in early December, Israel started ordering Gazans to relocate farther south to other places, such as Rafah, and out of some sections of Khan Younis.
Along with cutting off my family's only route north, the Israeli troops also sealed off my hometown. I had no idea where we should go or how I would get to them. With hundreds of thousands of people, Rafah was already overflowing with people, and there was very little place to stay.
I struggled with conflicting feelings for days. There was talk of Israeli troops moving toward the major thoroughfares with the intention of severing the southern territory from the center and northern areas. I feared that I would be slain, along with my family, and that we would never see one other again.
I thought I had lost it for the first time. I was not even aware of the day. I thought about quitting my job and going home to my family. We would die together if we were to die.
Ultimately, on December 11th, I traveled to Nuseirat with a coworker via a detour route. My younger kids ran up to greet me when I got there, Razan wrapping his arms around my neck and squeezing on.
We were able to relocate the family to Rafah. The BBC crew had moved there as well and was still reporting. There were some very bad times.
I was there when the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) turned over about eighty corpses to the Gaza authorities at the end of December. The IDF claimed to have transported them from Gaza to Israel for inspection in order to determine if any captives were there.
A big truck crashed into the Rafah neighborhood cemetery. Opening the container revealed an overpowering odor. An excavator had excavated a mass grave on the sandy ground, and men wearing masks and aprons had put the bodies there, covered in blue plastic.
That was a spectacle I had never seen before. that is difficult to express how awful that was.
Then, in January, I was covering a story from a hospital in Rafah when a number of corpses were brought in, including the oldest son of Wael Al-Dahdouh, Hamza, who was also an Al Jazeera journalist.
Wael would never know? With all the catastrophes he had previously experienced, it simply seemed unfeasible. When one of my coworkers phoned a person close to Wael to share the news, I was unable to even hear them.
Hamza and his associate, independent filmmaker Mustafa Thuraya, perished in an Israeli air attack on their vehicle subsequent to their coverage of the aftermath of an additional hit in the vicinity.
According to the Israeli military, they "were members of terrorist organizations based in Gaza." Al Jazeera and the families deny the allegations as untrue.
Although a Washington Post investigation "found no indications that either man was operating as anything other than a journalist that day," the IDF claims the two were operating drones and "posing an imminent threat to IDF troops."
Reporters Without Borders claims that since October 7th, over 100 journalists have died in Gaza; the great majority of these victims are known to be Palestinian.
"Has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists," declares the IDF.
It states that it "takes all operationally feasible measures to mitigate harm to civilians including journalists" , however "remaining in an active combat zone has inherent risks" .
After a while, word spread that the families of the BBC staff were allowed to leave Gaza. After four weeks, with the help of the Egyptian government, we too eventually exited via the Rafah border.
From Qatar, I am writing this. However, I am aware that while I am eating in a spotless hotel here, they have been digging up grass and grinding animal feed in Jabalia. Eating it is difficult for me; it tastes like poison.
The future seems hazy. My life is in Gaza. I want to come back someday, but right now it doesn't seem conceivable.
