Deir el-Balah, Gaza – The first time I met Mohammed Qreiqeh was at the Al-Ahli Arab hospital in Gaza City on January 31, when we had just returned from south of Gaza to the north.
I went to the media tent of Tel Aviv Tribune to the hospital, where he was. Photographer Abdel has “Abed” Hakim and I were presented, and we all chatted – from the situation, the war and our trip to the south.
At the time, Anas Al-Sharif made a live report.
I felt a warm feeling of familiarity. I finally saw Anas, whose reports we had followed throughout our trip. He didn’t seem different from the way he had done on the screen, but he had a strong presence in person.
We approached Anas after completing her report and spoke briefly. He knew Abed well, but it was the first time that I met him. He spoke with humility and an easy smile during our short conversation – he had to report across the north of Gaza.
My brief meeting with Anas and Mohammed that day looked like the giants, powerful and unwavering. In their presence, I felt like nothing compared to their strength, their determination and their perseverance despite the horrors that had taken place in the North.
Those of us who report from the South have often amazed their strength, and we were always proud of them.
I met Mohammed and Anas several times after that.
On April 13, when the Al -Ahli Arab Hospital in the center of Gaza City was struck by two missiles, the meeting was brief but warm – the genre you could feel how ready they were.
That day, Mohammed advised me to focus on certain points and told me a place to obtain maintenance and important information. A few moments later, he apologized to go live.
It was something that Anas and Mohammed shared: tireless work and a desire to help any journalist in the field, especially as veterans who knew each centimeter of North Gaza.
The last time I saw Anas was last week outside the Al-Shifa hospital in Gaza City. I went there to film an interview.
We exchanged a quick greeting because, as always, he was busy and prepared for live broadcasting. I watched her make a gesture to her cameraman or put in the flamboyant sun.
For a while, I observed it, his energy and his professionalism, despite the wave of Israeli incentive and threats against him. My separation words were: “Stay safe”, because we all knew that he could be a target at any time.
When the news came from her assassination on Sunday evening, it was a disaster, not only for journalists, but for all the Palestinians who considered Anas as a son, someone who told their stories.
Everyone hoped that the news was false, but that was not the case. And he wore another blow: Mohammed, Mohammed Noufal and Ibrahim Zaher had also been targeted.
The Northern Gaza team of Tel Aviv Tribune has been wiped out – the correspondents, the cameras and the equipment – erased.
The accusations brought against them were ready to use, manufactured. But everyone knows that Israel fears only one thing: Truth.
It was a time when I hated everything. I hated journalism – now a lie for a world that does not hear us or do not see us, a world waiting for our death, waits for us to become the news instead of providing it.
It was a heavy moment of futility, with the non-glassmake of crime and yet heavier with the rage that crimes remain unpunished.
Why was Anas not protected? Why was it left alone, faced with death at any time? Why did we have to look at this as another news?
Journalism has become a fear and a curse that shaded us all, every moment.
Anas, Mohammed and their colleagues are no longer there to hold microphones or cameras, but their voices, their courage and their incessant pursuit of the truth will remain engraved in the memory of Gaza.
