An AP photographer sees the plight of Palestinians in one man carrying a refrigerator through the rubble

Associated Press

07-03-2025

NUR SHAMS, West Bank (AP) — Majdi Mohammed has been working as a photojournalist for The Associated Press for 19 years in the West Bank. He lives in the village of Salem, east of the city of Nablus. This what he had to say about this extraordinary photo.
Why shoot this photo?
The distance between Nablus and Tulkarem is approximately 100 kilometers (62 miles), but the trip is compounded by the Israeli military checkpoints that block the main roads, forcing me to take rough, unpaved dirt roads, which adds more difficulty and time to the journey. On the way, news came in that the Israeli army had decided to demolish 17 homes in the Nur Shams refugee camp for Palestinians, giving its residents only two hours to enter their homes and take their personal belongings before the detonations started.
Upon arriving at the area, I parked my car away from the event, as it is common for Israeli forces to smash Palestinian cars during raids. I put on my personal safety gear — a bulletproof vest, a helmet, a gas mask, a first aid kit, and my camera — and headed toward the entrance to the camp. At the entrance, the scene was tense and violent.
The Israeli soldiers fired into the air to disperse the Palestinians who were impatiently waiting to be allowed to enter their homes. Despite the Red Cross' promises of two hours for residents to collect their belongings, the Israeli forces prevented them from advancing and fired heavily to warn the people. Despite the fear and danger, I chose a moderately safe place to take pictures with my camera, ready to document every moment.
How I made this photo
Amid the rubble, mud and sewage, an unforgettable scene caught my attention:
An elderly man, carrying a small refrigerator on his back, moved with difficulty through the destroyed alleys. He stopped every now and then to catch his breath, then continued to walk with determination. The scene was heavy in its meaning, perhaps as heavy as the refrigerator was on his shoulders. I advanced and came to stand in the middle of the street, flooded with water and mud, and waited for the right moment to take the picture. I knew that it was not just a picture, but a testimony to a larger reality, and that it was also a more human message about the reality of forced displacement, loss, but also steadfastness.
The man in the photo is Tawfiq Shahada, 58. He had left his refrigerator with his neighbors a few days earlier, when his house was demolished. On this day, he took advantage of the two hours he was allowed to enter to carry it on his thin back through the ruins. The road was rough, full of debris and mud, but he insisted on carrying it and leaving the camp — as if it were the last thing left of his home.
When he came up to me, I was able to do a video interview with him. He spoke in a voice heavy with sadness as he told me that everything in his house had disappeared under the rubble, all the memories he had built with his family and children, ended in a single moment. He told me that when he entered his house today, he found nothing but his wallet. Everything else had been erased by Israeli bulldozers.
Why this photo works
In his eyes, he was not only carrying a refrigerator, but he was carrying the memory of a house that no longer exists and a life that he tries to continue despite everything. The photo was taken at a moment when I felt that this fridge was not just a physical object that the man was carrying but a symbol of the ongoing state of displacement, of having to carry what one could and leave everything else behind.
For me, this photo was not just a documentation of a moment, but a testimony to the suffering that people here live with on a daily basis. I wanted to tell the world this story, to show how carrying the simplest of household items becomes an act of resilience, of perseverance, of continuing to live.