GAZA: As the first birthday of her triplets nears, Gaza-native Hanane Bayouk faces the heart-wrenching reality that she has only seen her children once.
Born on August 24, 2023, in Jerusalem, the three little girls—Najoua, Nour, and Najmeh—have been growing up without their mother’s presence, a separation dictated by war and rigid border controls. Bayouk, only 26 years old, had to return to Gaza alone shortly after giving birth because her Israeli travel permit expired.
Her glimpse of her newborn daughters, just an hour and a half in their incubators, is a fleeting memory she clings to as she fears she may “die without them.”
Bayouk’s journey to motherhood was not easy. After seven painful years of IVF treatments, she finally received the precious gift of children. The decision to give birth in Jerusalem’s Al-Maqased hospital, located in annexed east Jerusalem, was made because of the superior medical facilities compared to those in Gaza, especially the availability of incubators.
However, this choice also meant that the fragile connection between mother and children was at the mercy of geopolitical forces beyond her control.
Two days after applying for a new exit permit on October 5, 2023, the situation in Gaza drastically changed. Hamas launched an unprecedented attack on Israel, leading to an all-out war. The Erez terminal, Gaza’s only entry point into Israel, became a battleground, closing the only route Bayouk could have used to reunite with her daughters. Now, amidst the chaos and destruction, the war has claimed tens of thousands of lives in Gaza, with countless others displaced, including Bayouk herself. She now lives in a displacement camp, sharing a tent with seven of her in-laws, all the while being haunted by the thought of never holding her daughters.
The situation is not unique to Bayouk. Another mother, Heba Idriss, finds herself in a similar predicament. Her daughter Saida, born prematurely at Al-Maqased, is growing up without her parents in war-torn Gaza. Idriss, like Bayouk, has been displaced multiple times due to the relentless airstrikes and evacuation orders. Her husband, Saleh, has only seen his daughter through pictures. For both mothers, the separation from their children is an ongoing torment, compounded by the constant fear and uncertainty that comes with living in a war zone.
The hospital where their babies remain, Al-Maqased, has seen a drastic drop in the number of births since the war began. The usual flow of mothers from Gaza has ceased, and even those from the occupied West Bank struggle to reach the facility due to the tightened restrictions and frequent checkpoint closures. Dr. Hatem Khammach, the director of the neonatal intensive care unit, notes that under normal circumstances, there would not have been space to keep the triplets for so long. However, the war has brought about an eerie silence, with fewer newborns arriving from Gaza and the West Bank.
Despite the challenges, the hospital staff continue to provide care, often serving as the only link between the mothers and their children. They make regular calls to Bayouk, allowing her to speak to her daughters, though these brief conversations often end in tears. The fear that her daughters will grow up without knowing her is a constant source of anguish for Bayouk. Yet, amidst her sorrow, there is a glimmer of hope—her wish that her daughters remain safe, far from the war, even if it means enduring this painful separation a little longer.
The story of Hanane Bayouk and Heba Idriss is a stark reminder of the deep personal tragedies that unfold in the shadow of conflict. For these mothers, the joy of bringing new life into the world is overshadowed by the unimaginable pain of separation, a pain that lingers as the war continues to rage on, with no end in sight.
