A Gaza mother’s heartbreak as her son’s release is postponed

Khan Younis, Gaza –  Over the past week, Najat al-Agha went from the happiest she’s ever been to wailing in heartbreak as she heard that her son, who was among 620 Palestinian prisoners meant to be released on Saturday, would not be released.

Diaa Al-Agha, who was arrested for killing an Israeli officer when he was 16, has been in prison for nearly 33 years, the longest-serving prisoner from Gaza in Israeli jails.

Seventy-five-year-old Najat has waited for Diaa since he was taken on October 10, 1992. She has campaigned, participated in sit-ins, spoken at conferences, and became one of the most well-known faces among prisoners’ families.

“Oh, my son, I waited for this moment for 33 years, and it vanished before my eyes,” she wept.

Destroying a fragile hope

Najat is not the only person crushed by Israel’s decision to not release 620 Palestinian prisoners, despite that being part of a ceasefire deal between it and Hamas in Gaza.

On Saturday, Hamas handed over six captives taken from Israel in October 2023 and Israel was supposed to release 620 people it had detained at different times.

But it decided not to, claiming the handover ceremony for the six captives had been “provocative” and so it would halt prisoner releases.

“When they told us there would be no release, I collapsed, screaming: ‘Why? Why?’

“Then I lost consciousness.”

That morning, Najat, her son Mohammed, his wife and children, and her daughter Ola with her children, got on Salah al-Din Street to try to reach Khan Younis where the release was expected. They had been displaced for much of the war.

Salah al-Din is the only street Israel allows cars to use.

“I kept pleading with the driver: ‘Please, son, hurry up,’” she says.

“He could only reply: ‘It’s out of my hands, mother, look at the traffic.’”

It took more than an hour to reach their devastated home in Khan Younis, which Israel had shelled in November 2023 during its assault on Gaza. The trip is roughly 24km (15 miles).

Relatives, neighbours, and friends had gathered at the house to celebrate Diaa’s impending release.

“I was embracing people, barely believing I was finally hearing those words after 33 years,” Najat says.

Some of the mothers of other prisoners urged her to wear the embroidered dresses she had prepared for Diaa’s homecoming.

“They all knew [about the dresses] but they were lost when my home was destroyed [by Israel],” she sighed.

Fragile hope rising

When Najat heard that Israel had finally agreed to release Diaa among Saturday’s batch, her “heart nearly burst with joy”, she recalled wearily.

“I had dreamt of this day for so long,” she continues, tears streaming down her face. “For 33 years, I feared I would not live to see my son free.”

But she clings to her hope. “In just a few days, he will be in my arms,” she whispers, as if willing the dream into reality.

Diaa al-Agha

Diaa’s name has come up for inclusion in past prisoner exchanges, with Israel refusing, citing his crime.

A member of the Fatah movement from the age of 13, Diaa began participating in armed operations at age 16.

Now, he suffers from health issues that affect his bones and digestive system, yet has been denied proper medical treatment, according to his mother.

Najat has waited and prayed for other men in her family who were detained before.

Her husband, Zakaria, was arrested in 1973 on charges of belonging to resistance groups and spent two years in Israeli custody. He died in 2005, after a stroke she says he had because of his sorrow over seeing Diaa in prison the day before.

Her eldest son, Azzam, was detained in 1990 for belonging to a “designated terrorist military wing” and spent four years in prison, while Mohammed served 12 years, charged with deliberately shooting at Israeli soldiers.

Each time, Najat waited, counting the days and visiting when she could.

She also kept visiting Diaa, despite being denied access sometimes.

“But I consider myself lucky because the last time I saw him was just a month before the war on Gaza. He was in good health and spirits,” she says.

‘Are we just pawns?’

Standing there waiting for Diaa’s release, Najat went through fear, anticipation, and hope.

“I kept imagining how he would be brought out – his hands and feet shackled in this bitter cold,” she said.

“I know the Israeli prison guards take pleasure in humiliating prisoners in their final moments before release,” she said shakily. “That filled me with dread.”

But she also imagined spending her first Ramadan in 33 years with him.

“I imagined myself preparing his favourite meals – I wouldn’t let anyone else cook. I want to make up for all the years we were kept apart.”

The thought of leaving without him that night did not cross her mind – until it did.

“I saw people crying, whispering. My children huddled together, and I heard: ‘No, not today.’

“I grabbed my daughter Ola: ‘Tell me what’s happening. What does ‘no’ mean?’”

Her children tried to calm her, assuring her it was just a delay. But the world around her blurred, as she put it.

“I didn’t want to hear anyone. I didn’t want to talk. I just screamed in protest until everything went dark.

“Are we just pawns to them?” she cried. “Thirty-three years of waiting – isn’t that enough?

“I will see my son free, hopefully very soon,” she says, her voice resolute. “I’ve waited 33 years, I’ll wait a little longer.”

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