DaysofPal- On the very morning, a limited reopening of the Rafah border crossing was announced, the door to life closed forever for seven-year-old Anwar Al-Ashi from Gaza City.
Anwar did not wait for an official decision or for his name to appear on a travel list.
He died quietly, before he could hear that his turn might come one day.
About a month ago, Anwar was diagnosed with metabolic acidosis, a life-threatening condition that rapidly worsened amid severe shortages of medicine and the collapse of Gaza’s healthcare system.
The illness was compounded by acute kidney failure, leaving his small body unable to endure any longer.
He urgently needed specialized treatment outside Gaza, care that was unavailable locally and accessible only through the Rafah crossing, which had remained closed.
“I was waiting for Rafah to open with burning hope,” his father, Nayef Al-Ashi, told Felesteen newspaper.
“Every day I told myself the crossing would open soon, that my son would travel, receive treatment, and come back. But Anwar couldn’t wait any longer.”
He added, staring into emptiness, “The acidosis destroyed his kidneys. Doctors said the treatment exists outside Gaza, but here we have nothing. Our only hope was travel.”
That morning, as the family followed news reports about the crossing reopening for a very limited number of patients, Anwar’s heart stopped.
The announcement did not save him; the promises came too late.
“When I heard the opening would be restricted and that only a very small number of patients would be allowed to travel, I felt hope being ripped away,” his father said.
“I knew deep down that my son would never get his chance.” He added.
“How can a sick child wait his turn among thousands of patients?” he asked bitterly, adding that “opening the crossing this way killed hope before the disease killed Anwar.”
Anwar was not a number on a list, and he was a child with a name, a face, and a simple dream: to live without pain.
His family hoped he would be included among those permitted to travel, but the lists were longer than his life, and time was shorter than his strength.
Dr. Mohammad Abu Salmiya, director of Al-Shifa Medical Complex, said the mechanism for allowing patients to leave Gaza via Rafah has been sharply reduced.
“The lists dropped from 50 patients to just five cases in the first phase, along with their companions,” he explained.
Specialized medical committees are now forced to prioritize based on severity, while around 450 critically ill patients remain on waiting lists, some dying almost daily due to delays in referrals for treatment abroad.
Abu Salmiya noted that the Israeli occupation previously rejected between seven and ten cases from each list of 50 patients without providing reasons.
What is currently being discussed, he said, is allowing only five patients, with two companions each, on the first day as a trial, instead of the previously agreed mechanism of 50 patients with 100 companions.
“If this pace continues,” he warned, “we will need years to evacuate patients, and many more will die.”
In December, 16-year-old Samah Al-Qarainawi from Gaza City died quietly on a waiting bed, not from a missile or under rubble, but while waiting for Rafah to open.
Her mother told Felesteen that Samah was diagnosed with cancer in the early months of the war, as Gaza descended into bombardment, displacement, and healthcare collapse. “We discovered the disease relatively early,” she said. “Doctors told us her treatment was available outside Gaza and that travel could save her life.”
From that moment, the family entered a deadly cycle of waiting. Samah tried repeatedly to travel through Rafah before its closure in May 2024.
Her name was added to referral lists, and paperwork was prepared, but her turn never came.
“Every time we were told her name hadn’t been called yet, or the list was full,” her mother recalled.
“We went home and convinced Samah that her turn was near. But the days were stealing her from us.” She added.
When Israeli forces invaded Rafah and destroyed the crossing, hope collapsed entirely.
“The moment the crossing was destroyed, I felt the door of life slam shut on my daughter. There was no more waiting, just a countdown to death,” she said.
As medicine ran out and specialized treatment disappeared, Samah’s condition deteriorated rapidly.
Chemotherapy was insufficient, and overwhelmed hospitals could offer little more than painkillers.
“She used to ask me every day, ‘Mom, when will we travel?’” her mother said.
“I lied to protect her. I told her ‘soon,’ and she smiled despite the pain.” She added.
In December, Samah died, dreaming not of freedom, but of crossing a border.
“The closure of Rafah is what killed my daughter,” her mother said firmly.
“Not the disease alone, but denying treatment, denying travel, and leaving children to die while staring at closed borders.” She noted.
Zaher Al-Waheidi, director of the Health Information Center at Gaza’s Ministry of Health, described the limited reopening of Rafah as “a slow death sentence” for patients.
“We are talking about more than 20,000 patients on waiting lists for treatment outside Gaza,” he said, including around 4,500 children, 4,000 cancer patients, 6,000 wounded individuals, and 440 extremely critical cases requiring immediate referral.
“Any delay in their travel directly increases the death toll,” Al-Waheidi warned.
He added that since the crossing was closed on May 7, 2024, 1,268 patients on waiting lists have died. “They did not die from illness alone,” he said, “but because they were denied their right to treatment.”
Before the closure, about 50 patients traveled daily out of 200–250 travelers.
He said “Today, we are talking about extremely limited numbers that do not meet even the minimum need, meaning patients will remain trapped for years.”
Over nearly 20 months of war and invasion, only 3,100 patients have been evacuated, a figure Al-Waheidi described as shocking given the scale of need.
“Keeping Rafah closed, or opening it at a slow pace, means losing more lives every day,” he concluded.
“Patients do not have the luxury of time. Every day of delay means a new funeral. Fully and regularly opening the crossing is no longer just a humanitarian demand; it is an urgent necessity to save what remains of lives.” He continued.
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