As the ceasefire takes hold, rescue workers are confronting the tragic realities of their job, hoping to recover the dead while grappling with despair.
**Gaza's Rescuers: Living with Trauma Amidst Destruction**
**Gaza's Rescuers: Living with Trauma Amidst Destruction**
The toll of relentless conflict weighs heavily on Gaza’s Civil Defence workers, who face profound psychological trauma from their harrowing experiences.
The dark shadows of destruction forecast a heavy burden on the shoulders of Gaza's Civil Defence workers as they navigate a ceasefire after months of intense conflict. The emotionally charged landscape is littered with reminders of lives lost, with workers donning the dust-laden orange vests of their fallen colleagues at countless funerals. Rescuer Abdullah al-Majdalawi poignantly states, "I have become afraid of my own memories," epitomizing the psychological toll his role demands.
Over the course of the relentless bombardments, the Civil Defence service has lost 99 personnel and sustained 319 more injuries, including life-altering conditions. "We lay the vests over their bodies to honor their sacrifice," shared fellow rescuer Nooh al-Shaghnobi, signifying the deep bond shared among colleagues who risk their lives daily.
The Palestinian health ministry estimates harrowing casualty figures, indicating over 47,000 deaths and 111,000 injuries—predominantly among women and children. Rescuers face daunting challenges as they quantify up to 10,000 graves still trapped in rubble. Their efforts to retrieve the dead are hindered by a lack of equipment, citing little more than manual tools and makeshift machinery.
Al-Shaghnobi, who has gained recognition through social media for sharing his experiences, described the deep suffering surrounding his work. "You should grow numb, but I feel more pain, not less," he lamented. Like many, he struggles to cope with the horrors they witness day-to-day, feeling increasingly isolated and burdened.
While support emerges for returning Israeli hostages, Gaza's rescue workers express a desperate need for psychological help—an urgent request consistently unmet. Mohammed Lafi articulated the necessity of counselling to cope with the overwhelming grief they gather in the rubble. He poignantly remarked that a year’s therapy could hardly alleviate the burden of a single day on the job.
As the Civil Defence embarks on this new phase of recovery, their target is to uncover the remaining bodies within 100 days, although that task remains challenging without transportation and essential resources. With conditions remaining dire, the UN has expressed concerns that recovery may take years, compounded by the hazardous landscape. The grief remains palpable among families picking through the remains as they search for any trace of their loved ones.
"I will recognise my son immediately, even if his face has no features," asserted Ali Ashour, grasping at hope amid the wreckage. For families like Ashour's and many others, the pain does not vanish within the rubble; instead, the work of the Civil Defence stands as a haunting reminder of lives forever altered by the brutality of war. Al-Shaghnobi reflects, “These people need to be found and honoured. This work awaits us.”
Over the course of the relentless bombardments, the Civil Defence service has lost 99 personnel and sustained 319 more injuries, including life-altering conditions. "We lay the vests over their bodies to honor their sacrifice," shared fellow rescuer Nooh al-Shaghnobi, signifying the deep bond shared among colleagues who risk their lives daily.
The Palestinian health ministry estimates harrowing casualty figures, indicating over 47,000 deaths and 111,000 injuries—predominantly among women and children. Rescuers face daunting challenges as they quantify up to 10,000 graves still trapped in rubble. Their efforts to retrieve the dead are hindered by a lack of equipment, citing little more than manual tools and makeshift machinery.
Al-Shaghnobi, who has gained recognition through social media for sharing his experiences, described the deep suffering surrounding his work. "You should grow numb, but I feel more pain, not less," he lamented. Like many, he struggles to cope with the horrors they witness day-to-day, feeling increasingly isolated and burdened.
While support emerges for returning Israeli hostages, Gaza's rescue workers express a desperate need for psychological help—an urgent request consistently unmet. Mohammed Lafi articulated the necessity of counselling to cope with the overwhelming grief they gather in the rubble. He poignantly remarked that a year’s therapy could hardly alleviate the burden of a single day on the job.
As the Civil Defence embarks on this new phase of recovery, their target is to uncover the remaining bodies within 100 days, although that task remains challenging without transportation and essential resources. With conditions remaining dire, the UN has expressed concerns that recovery may take years, compounded by the hazardous landscape. The grief remains palpable among families picking through the remains as they search for any trace of their loved ones.
"I will recognise my son immediately, even if his face has no features," asserted Ali Ashour, grasping at hope amid the wreckage. For families like Ashour's and many others, the pain does not vanish within the rubble; instead, the work of the Civil Defence stands as a haunting reminder of lives forever altered by the brutality of war. Al-Shaghnobi reflects, “These people need to be found and honoured. This work awaits us.”
