Know their Names: The Gaza Red Crescent paramedics Israel attacked

Al Jazeera

09-04-2025

Refaat Radwan recorded his last mission and his own final breaths.
He was filming from the third ambulance in a convoy, which included a fire truck, that had gone out to find a Palestine Red Crescent Society (PRCS) ambulance that had lost contact with its base.
All the vehicles in the convoy were clearly marked, with emergency lights flashing.
This is a modal window.
Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window.
End of dialog window.
This is a modal window. This modal can be closed by pressing the Escape key or activating the close button.In the video, the crew members see the missing ambulance by the side of the road and approach, muttering prayers for their colleagues' safety.
Then a voice says: 'They're scattered on the ground! Look, look!' and Refaat runs out of his ambulance with other medics to check on the fallen aid workers.
Then the sound of bullets rings out as Israeli soldiers shoot at uniformed medics who were running to assist the medics they had already killed. Refaat was hit.
In his final moments, he prayed and called repeatedly to his mother to forgive him - for choosing the path of a paramedic, putting himself in harm's way.
Israeli soldiers killed eight PRCS workers that night, as well as six workers from the Palestinian Civil Defence who had gone out on the same mission.
A ninth paramedic, Assaad al-Nassasra, was captured.
Here are the Red Crescent medics Israel ambushed that day, through the eyes of the people who loved them:
With his glasses and serious face, Ashraf was always a reassuring presence for his colleagues.
The 32-year-old medic had started volunteering with the PRCS in 2021.
He quickly integrated into the PRCS community, making sure that all his colleagues had a meal for iftar during Ramadan. He would either cook it himself at the Red Crescent centre or bring some of his family's food from home to share.
In September 2023, he got married, and one month later, Israel launched its genocidal war on Gaza.
When he was killed, he left behind his wife and their two-month-old baby girl, Wiam.Ezzeddin was 51 when Israeli soldiers killed him, and a father to six children.
The dedicated family man had a great sense of humour, but the war on Gaza stripped that away from him as he gradually stopped laughing.
He joined the PRCS in 2000, and four years later, he married Nivine, with whom he had four boys and two girls.
At work, he remained a sort of caregiver, making sure his colleagues got at least a little rest every night and something to eat.
His motto about rescue work was: 'If it is written, we'll make it back [from a mission], and if we don't make it back, that's our destiny,' his colleague Ibrahim Abu al-Kass told Al Jazeera.
A seven-year veteran of the Red Crescent, 36-year-old Mohamed loved his work, as any of his colleagues would tell you.
During crises, he would stay at the Red Crescent centre, only going home to see his wife and six children once a week.
His children ranged in age from three months to 11 years old at the time Israel killed Mohamed. Bereaved and confused, the children are clinging to the thought that their father died on a humanitarian mission, making him a 'martyr'.
His colleagues remember him for just figuring things out, Abu al-Kass said. If ever Mohamed heard of a family that was being displaced and needed help, he would make it happen.
Since he himself couldn't use ambulances to move people's belongings, he would sweet-talk his family and friends until he found transport and shelter for those who were displaced.
Mustafa was 50 with a 15-year-old son, and Mohamed was 23 and single, but when they got together, their antics were legendary.
'One rainy day, those two were walking along when they saw an elderly woman trying to cross the road, but it was too wet and slippery,' Abu al-Kass said.
'So they looked at each other. One said: 'So, are we partners or what? No matter what the mission is?' and the other said: 'Of course we are!''
They went and got a chair and brought it up to the woman, asked her to sit down, and then lifted the chair and walked her carefully across the road, beaming the entire time.
'They were carrying her like she was a bride,' Abu al-Kass continued. The elated woman was laughing and cheering, he added, and sent loving prayers after her two rescuers.
Raed, 25, loved taking pictures. Silly ones, serious ones, casual ones, posed ones.
And he hoped that one day the world would see his images and he would be able to convey the suffering of his people through his work.
He began volunteering with the PRCS in 2018, when he was 18, during the Great March of Return protests.
Israel killed 214 protesters, including 46 children, during these demonstrations, and injured 36,100, including nearly 8,800 children.
The youngest out of five siblings, Raed wasn't married yet, although his family had been hoping he could get married after the war. But that didn't happen.
Raed's father recounts a harrowing nine-day wait to find out what happened to his youngest child, fighting to hold back the certainty that he had been executed along with his colleagues.
Twenty-four-year-old Refaat was a gentle soul, Abu al-Kass told Al Jazeera.
'He especially made sure to help any elderly woman he came across. If he saw such a woman standing in line to collect her medicine from the hospital pharmacy, he would ask her to sit down and go fetch the medicines for her.
'It was like he sought out the prayers these gentle women would say for him when he helped them. He would bring them what they needed, then would bid them farewell so tenderly that anyone watching would think she was his grandmother.'
Saleh, 42, liked to help. On that, everyone agrees.
His brother Hussein told Al Jazeera that Saleh also loved his work, rushing back as soon as he recovered from surgery in 2024.
Last February, Hussein explained, Saleh had been on a mission to help wounded people when Israeli forces had opened fire on the medics, despite having been informed that they would be there.
Saleh was badly injured in the shoulder and chest, and ended up having to spend time in hospital for surgery and recovery, after which he went straight back to work.
That was his bravery, Abu al-Kass commented. 'He was dedicated to helping, and used to say that wherever people were crying out for help, that's where we should be, to respond to them.'
Assaad always showed endless patience for negotiating with kids, Abu al-Kass said.
Whenever he saw children playing in the street, he would get to wheeling and dealing, offering them candy to get off the road and go play somewhere safe.
The kids quickly figured him out, though, and would be playing in the street again the next time, giggling and saying: 'We tricked you!'
But Assaad never minded, and simply kept handing over sweets.
His body wasn't among those found when an international mission went to search for the missing emergency workers.
He was captured, bound and taken away, according to the one surviving witness, Munther Abed.
The 47-year-old father of six last spoke to his family the evening he disappeared, telling them he was on his way to PRCS headquarters to have iftar with his colleagues, according to his son Mohamed.
When they tried to call him around suhoor time, he didn't respond, and they found out from headquarters that nobody could reach him or the other emergency workers.
He had always warned his family that whenever he headed out on a mission, he may not make it back, his son said. But as Assaad continued his rescue work for PRCS, they had always tried to avoid thinking about that.