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On August 11, 2025, a deliberate Israeli strike on a journalists’ tent outside al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City claimed the lives of five Al Jazeera staff: correspondents Anas al-sharif and Mohammed Qreigeh, cameramen Ibrahim Zaher and Moamen Aliwa, and assistant Mohammed Noufal. Two others were also killed in the attack. This was not the chaos of crossfire; it was a targeted strike on those who stood between Gaza’s suffering and the world’s ignorance. Since October 7, 2023, nearly 270 journalists and media workers have been killed in Gaza, a toll that points to a deliberate effort to silence witnesses.

Anas al-sharif worked daily to document the massacres committed by Israeli forces and to report on the social realities inside Gaza. His reporting drew threats from the occupation, and in November 2023, he revealed that Israeli officers had sent him messages through WhatsApp, attempting to pressure him into halting his coverage. He refused to leave the field, continuing to report from northern Gaza under constant danger.

On December 11, 2023, Israeli warplanes bombed his family home, killing his father. With cemeteries inaccessible, Anas buried him in the courtyard of an UNRWA school. Even in the face of this devastating personal loss, he vowed to remain in the field, bearing witness to the crimes against his people.

Mohammed Qreigeh, another journalist killed in the strike, tirelessly reported the suffering of Gaza’s people, was himself living through his own profound grief. The occupation forced him from his home in al-Shuja’iyya, demolished his house, and pursued him and his elderly mother from place to place. His pain reached its peak when Israeli forces executed his mother with a bullet to the head as she sat on a pavement after trying to force her, sick and frail, to evacuate alone to the south of the Strip.

For nearly two weeks, Mohammed searched for her, only to find her lifeless body, a wound in his heart that would never heal. Yet, despite his personal tragedy, he remained devoted to his city, carrying its voice and its anguish to the world.

The stories of Anas and Mohammed stand as an account of Gaza’s unyielding refusal to be silenced. Their lens and voices became symbols of steadfast resistance, capturing not only the atrocities but also the unbreakable spirit of Gaza.

Anas al-sharif had prepared his death will in April this year and entrusted it to his friends, a reflection of his steadfast courage and the clear awareness that his life could be taken at any moment. Here, the English translation of his death was published on his X account.

This is my will and my final message. If these words reach you, know that Israel has succeeded in killing me and silencing my voice. First, peace be upon you and Allah’s mercy and blessings.

Allah knows I gave every effort and all my strength to be a support and a voice for my people, ever since I opened my eyes to life in the alleys and streets of the Jabalia refugee camp. My hope was that Allah would extend my life so I could return with my family and loved ones to our original town of occupied Asqalan (Al-Majdal). But Allah’s will came first, and His decree is final. I have lived through pain in all its details, tasted suffering and loss many times, yet I never once hesitated to convey the truth as it is, without distortion or falsification—so that Allah may bear witness against those who stayed silent, those who accepted our killing, those who choked our breath, and whose hearts were unmoved by the scattered remains of our children and women, doing nothing to stop the massacre that our people have faced for more than a year and a half.

 I entrust you with Palestine—the jewel in the crown of the Muslim world, the heartbeat of every free person in this world. I entrust you with its people, with its wronged and innocent children who never had the time to dream or live in safety and peace. Their pure bodies were crushed under thousands of tons of Israeli bombs and missiles, torn apart and scattered across the walls.

 I urge you not to let chains silence you, nor borders restrain you. Be bridges toward the liberation of the land and its people, until the sun of dignity and freedom rises over our stolen homeland. I entrust you to take care of my family. I entrust you with my beloved daughter Sham, the light of my eyes, whom I never got the chance to watch grow up as I had dreamed.

 I entrust you with my dear son Salah, whom I had wished to support and accompany through life until he grew strong enough to carry my burden and continue the mission.

 I entrust you with my beloved mother, whose blessed prayers brought me to where I am, whose supplications were my fortress and whose light guided my path. I pray that Allah grants her strength and rewards her on my behalf with the best of rewards.

 I also entrust you with my lifelong companion, my beloved wife, Umm Salah (Bayan), from whom the war separated me for many long days and months. Yet she remained faithful to our bond, steadfast as the trunk of an olive tree that does not bend—patient, trusting in Allah, and carrying the responsibility in my absence with all her strength and faith.

 I urge you to stand by them, to be their support after Allah Almighty. If I die, I die steadfast upon my principles. I testify before Allah that I am content with His decree, certain of meeting Him, and assured that what is with Allah is better and everlasting.

 O Allah, accept me among the martyrs, forgive my past and future sins, and make my blood a light that illuminates the path of freedom for my people and my family. Forgive me if I have fallen short, and pray for me with mercy, for I kept my promise and never changed or betrayed it.

 Do not forget Gaza… And do not forget me in your sincere prayers for forgiveness and acceptance.

 Anas Jamal Al-Sharif

06.04.2025

This is my will and my final message. If these words reach you, know that Israel has succeeded in killing me and silencing my voice. First, peace be upon you and Allah’s mercy and blessings.

Allah knows I gave every effort and all my strength to be a support and a voice for my…

— أنس الشريف Anas Al-Sharif (@AnasAlSharif0) August 10, 2025

Anas al-sharif was more than a journalist; he embodied Gaza’s unconquered will. Across its scarred streets, there are countless others like him—ordinary people forged into extraordinary symbols of endurance. They stand not with weapons, but with patience and steadfastness, facing an army armed with the machinery of modern war. Through his camera, Anas brought these daily epics to the world, each image a testament to courage that outshone the surrounding violence.

The Zionist forces, determined to seize land and extinguish dissent, sought to cloak their crimes in silence. They wished the world to remain blind to their acts, brutalities that spared neither the elderly, nor children, nor women; cruelty that treated captives with less regard than animals; bullets fired at those queuing for a morsel of bread. But journalists like Anas al-sharif and his colleague Wael Dahdouh refused that silence. They risked everything to carry Gaza’s story to the world. Every word they reported struck with the force of truth sharper than a blade; every frame they captured detonated with the power of a thousand testimonies.

Their images told what words could barely contain. They revealed a world split in two: on one side, those who perpetrate violence stripped of all compassion; on the other, a people who live the essence of sacrifice. In Gaza, you see men and women sharing their last crumbs while hungry themselves, guarding the schools that shelter them, carrying water for kilometres on weary shoulders, teaching children beneath trees when classrooms lie in ruins. You see families comforting one another through loss, worshippers praying amidst shattered mosques, and communities smiling through hunger while their hearts quietly proclaim, “All praise is due to God.”

Gaza has no “ordinary” people. Every soul there writes history with their blood and stands firm with the strength of mountains. Anas and his companions proved this time and again, showing that Gaza’s spirit will not be broken. They turn our gaze inward, forcing us to confront our own humanity. As we pray for the thousands who fall each day in Gaza, it is as if they ask, “Why do you mourn us? We have attained eternal life.” Their unspoken message condemns the silent, the ones who see and yet say nothing, whose inaction marks them as the true living dead.