The New Yorker Radio Hour - A Palestinian Journalist Escapes Death in Gaza

Episode Date: August 18, 2025

Mohammed R. Mhawish was living in Gaza City during Israel’s invasion, in the immediate aftermath of the October 7th attack. He witnessed the invasion for months and reported on its devastating consequences for Al Jazeera, The Nation, and other outlets. After his home was targeted in an Israeli strike, which nearly killed him, he fled Gaza. In The New Yorker, [he’s written](https://www.newyorker.com/news/the-lede/treating-gazas-collective-trauma) about mental-health workers who are trying to treat a deeply traumatized population, while themselves suffering from starvation, the loss of loved ones, their own injuries—and the constant, remorseless death toll around them. “They were telling me, ‘We cannot wait for the war to stop to start healing—or for ourselves to heal—to start healing others,’” Mhawish relates to David Remnick. “I understood they were trying to heal by helping others heal.”  New Yorker Radio Hour listeners, we want to hear from you.  We have a few questions about the show and how you listen to it. The survey takes about twenty minutes, and your feedback will help us make our podcast better.  Take the survey here.

This is The New Yorker Radio Hour, a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. The war in Gaza has been, among many other humanitarian disasters, deadly for journalists. Foreign reporters have almost no access to Gaza, so nearly all the reporting on the war's impact comes from Palestinian journalists on the ground. Israeli officials often accuse them of lying about what's happening, or they, even accused them of being terrorists. A week ago, the IDF struck a tent where Al Jazeera journalists were working, killing seven people. One of them, Israel said, was a Hamas operative, which Al Jazeera denied. Close to 200 members of the press have been killed in Gaza since October 7, 2023,

according to the Committee to Protect Journalists. A young journalist named Mohamed Mawish was very nearly among them. After surviving an Israeli strike, Mahwish, left Gaza, but he still reports on what's happening there. He just wrote for the New Yorker about mental health workers who are treating a deeply traumatized population. Well, they themselves, of course, are suffering all the devastation of this long and terrible war. I spoke the other day with Mohamed Mahwish.

Tell me a little bit about your life on October 6th, 2023. I was born and raised in Gaza City, and I grew up there, I studied literature, I had my passion towards writing and journalism since I was a freshman in college. And I started reading more. It was basically firstly literature stuff,

reading poetry, studying it, and then I had the chance, which was a very, very difficult job to do, but it was a very beautiful time in my life that I got to teach some of it after I graduated at the Islamic University of Gaza. And how did you experience in Gaza's sense, city, you know, some people would call it an open-air prison. But in any case, and in any language,

life was not ordinary there by any stretch of the imagination. How did you experience that? Gaza is not the hotbed of militancy that everybody thinks it is. It was for those who managed to visit Gaza before October 7th, they saw an insistence on living. They saw an insistence on living. saw people waking up every day, facing the worst version of the same challenges, and just trying to overcome. Like, there was some level of unemployment. The blockade that was clossing all the way ends into Gaza, restricting movement from in and outside of Gaza. And personally speaking, I lost an uncle and an aunt to a disease. They were not permitted exit to access treatment outside of Gaza. And I have been trying to be vocal about the situation that I was living, even myself,

personally speaking, and just trying to communicate with the world that Gaza should be at least allowed the freedoms and the basics of life. One of them is the freedom of movement. I'm coming from a place of Yaffa, and I have never been allowed to set foot there. Yaffa being a town south of Tel Aviv that was primarily Palestinian, and then after 1935, 48 that all changed. Yes. My grandparents come from Yaffa, and so they were among the people who had to flee their houses and villages in the 1948, and then they settled in Ashkelon where my parents were born. And then in 1967, my parents...

Ashkelon, the Port City... Yes, inside of Israel right now. Right, in north of Gaza. And so they were among the people who had to flee Ashkelon in 1967 and settle into Gaza as refugees where I was born, and I have come to experience my own displacement in 2024 when I had to leave after working as a journalist. Before we get to your displacement out of Gaza, tell me what October 7th was like. It was a very disruptive, very unexpected day.

It started with the usual. I was just getting ready to engage with some writing work throughout the day when all of a sudden. the sky started to light. It was rockets from every corner, and I asked my family not to go outside. We were just trying to understand and absorb what was happening, and I switched on the news, and it was basically the announcements of these rockets being fired from Gaza, and then the retaliation came from Israel. And it felt like the whole earth swallowed us whole at that moment. And we were navigating a very uncertain and a very terrifying situation. I tried to secure my family inside the house.

I made sure everybody in, and I wanted out to report and see what was happening. And who were you reporting for at that time? At that moment, when it all first started, I was a freelance reporter. I received a call from Al Jazeera English later that morning to start reporting for Al Jazeera. And so for the first few hours, I was on my own just trying to grasp and just get a full understanding, although it was a very impossible job to do, of what was happening. And I started writing and filing breaking news around the clock, starting from day one, before being dispatched into the field as a full-time journalist throughout the war. Sooner or later, it became clear that Palestinian journalists in Gaza, and really they're only Palestinian. journalists in Gaza because the doors, the gates have not opened for any well as to come in.

Felt that they were being targeted, deliberately targeted by Israeli forces. And what is your sense of that? I have had my very personal experience navigating the risks and the danger of being a journalist on the ground. At some point, I had to abandon my press vest. A bulletproof vest. Yes, it's a press on it. Exactly, the one that had a press on the front. Because it became, in a sense, a target?

It was no longer safer rather than... Exactly. It did not provide me with the protection that I was hoping to get wearing that and running across the city to meet survivors and first responders and witnesses and people just, you know, being pulled from under the rubble. It gave me a sense of security at first, but then it turned into a red target mark. I started receiving threatening calls and messages on my own personal number and social media text messaging,

urging and warning me to stop reporting and stop writing and stop my journalism work. And who would they say they were calling? They were identifying themselves as officers of the Israeli military. Directly. Part of the IDF, exactly. Yes. They were saying names.

They were identifying themselves at the beginning of the call. and they were explicitly and very formally asked me to stop reporting. It escalated after late October 23 until December 6th, 2023, when the house was targeted as a result of... Your house was targeted. Yes. Tell me about that. I had been away for around a week reporting from Ashifa Hospital in Gaza City when I decided after that week to go home and reunite with my family to check on them and have a moment of rest on

December 6th, 2023. After 15 minutes of stiving inside the house, I received a call that was from a no-caller ID, basically a private number, who I had to respond to because it was a scary gesture to get that sort of phone calls during this time. And he identified himself as an officer of the military in the IDF. And he warned me to get outside of the house and evacuate immediately because in 20 minutes the house is going to be bombed. I did not tell anyone in the house about the call. I thought it was an attempt to shut me down, to scare me, to stop me from my work. And I made a promise internally between me and myself that I'm not going to be reporting for the next two weeks. I'm going to stick inside the house

and I'm not going to go out, meet people, speak, do any by the lines. I put down the phone on my side and I started watching the clock in 25 minutes. Nothing happened. So I thought maybe that was it. Nothing happened.

So he's just scaring me. And I was really exhausted. I remember that day and I fell asleep. I was just waking up the next day in the morning. It was around 7.30 in the morning when in a millisecond the entire house collapsed. we didn't hear anything we only felt the rubble

and the weight of the ceiling and the roof being crushed against our bodies in a matter of seconds I started screaming only the smoke and a fog, very dark fog of smoke and stones

clotted in the air and I started screaming the names of my family including my son who was two and a half at the time nobody returned my call nobody returned my screams. And I thought at that moment, that's it. Everybody's dead.

Shortly after that, I remember nothing I passed out. I woke up a few hours later. I remember it was around close to three hours when we were being pulled out from under the rubble by rescue teams and neighbors. And I only heard the screams of people saying they're alive. I couldn't talk. I couldn't move my body.

Seven of my fingers in my two hands were broken. I remember my back. I wasn't able to move my back. I remember my left arm was broken. And I can't remember exactly the scenes of the surrounding area. But I remember my son, his face was covered in blood. And he was unconscious. And I started asking the people rescuing us and helping us,

whereas my parents were or my family. Everyone tried to calm me down and just tell me they're fine, they're good. You're going to see them later. They assured you they were alive. That's what they said. But I did not rest assured because I couldn't see them. My parents were last to be rescued. So by when I was rescued, they were still inside.

A few hours later, I was at the hospital at the emergency gates, just trying to receive what was available. of the medical treatment back then. Mohamed, forgive me. Who was alive and who had died? Two neighbors died. One of them was actually on the third floor. One of them was passing by the building

the moment it happened. And among your family? Among my family, we had two people from one of them from my father's side of the family and one from my mother's side of the family. So in total, it was four people who were killed in the attack. Although I was the targeted one

and I made it out, and I don't know if it was luck or fate that made me survive this. So you, your wife, your child, and your parents. Yes, my wife, my child, my parents, and my one sister, we made it out. But I, in all honesty, David, I feel like I'm carrying the guilt of everyone who's been impacted by that strike. That very same incident has plugged into my son's head a very traumatizing incident, a very traumatizing memory that he still remembers, although he was a very, very young kid. He does remember keenly.

Yes. He's triggered even these days when he sees a helicopter, even a civil plane. He's terrified of, you know, any sudden sounds or a sudden closure or a shut of a door next to him. He starts running to me

and he just... In terror. ...rembers what it was like to be trapped inside of the house and just not having the awareness of what was going on. But I got back to reporting after I was feeling a little bit better

it was like it was only a few days after the attack and I started filing stories. You started filing stories after being warned that your house was going to be learned. Yes. And it was much more scarier to get back to it in the second time because once my name started to go up and online again, I started receiving the same kind of threats again.

And then I started considering leaving Gaza after it was clear to me, it was either I get to keep my story or my life. I'm speaking with Mohamed Mahwish. He recently reported on Gaza for the New Yorker. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour and will continue in a moment. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour and I'm speaking with Mohamed Mahwish, a journalist born and raised in Gaza City. Mawish has covered the war in Gaza both in English and an Arabic for a number of outlets and most recently for the New Yorker. He fled Gaza last year after his home was targeted in an Israeli strike, an attack that left four people dead. We'll continue our conversation now. This is a hard question.

There's no doubt who dropped the bomb and attacked. At the same time, Hamas committed the... the act it did on October 7th, and Sinwar, leader of Hamas, had said numerous times that if 20,000, 30,000, 100,000 people have to die. And he meant Palestinians. Of course. Then so be it toward the political ends that he was looking for. When you look back at that decision by Hamas, what is your sense of it? The political and military ideology of the Hamas movement in Gaza, it was basically to engage in constant armed resistance with Israel.

And they made the decision to do this full-scale, unexpected attack on southern parts of Israel on October 7th. That was basically a surprise not only for Israelis. But for you too. For Palestinians inside of Gaza, it was a sense, I remember, feeling a sense of shock among the people when it all first started. Did you have a good sense of what it was? At first, no. But there were signs, politically speaking, before October 7th, inside of Gaza that something might happen, but we didn't know what it was. We felt something was coming.

I remember Yehya Senwar in one of his public engagements with the people explicitly saying and hinting towards a military engagement with Israel, but nobody paid attention in. There were also people inside of Gaza who were monitoring the political developments and the dynamics inside of Gaza, but none of these people were able to anticipate the move that was ahead. I hope you'll write a great deal. more for the New Yorker, but I also feel deeply for you in the sense of it must be very difficult

for a young person with a very young family to imagine in a future, no matter how good you rig- It's very painful. Yeah. And no matter how adept you are at a new place, it's unimaginable. It's very painful to look at the pictures and the footage that's coming out of Gaza at the moment. because I know exactly what it feels to be reporting from inside of those places, and I have been there, if not every part of Gaza, at least the biggest majority of it. And I remember reporting from places from the ground, not only my neighborhood,

but also other parts of Gaza City and the north, where I was standing in places, and you could see the entire area, miles and miles ahead flattened. I mean, people are escaping the bombardments by erecting tents on top of the rubble because there is basically no places left. I could see that in entire neighborhoods and blocks, there is no single building that has not been touched by the bombings. And we have seen some numbers and statistics on that as well. That said, around 92% or something around that figure

of the residential compounds in Gaza are either damaged or flattened. Yes, yeah, exactly. And so people are just navigating the situation by just holding fragments of what is still there and of what they have lost by trying to look forward.

But at the same time, the ongoing challenges and the fear and terror and the lack of food and the shortages of the medical needs, it's very massive, it's very painful for people to keep living with that. You're on WhatsApp every day to friends and colleagues, family. How is the humanitarian aid situation changed even in the last couple of weeks? Well over a thousand Palestinians have been killed.

Seeking food. Exactly. And these people are. starving. They're looking for a bag of flour, a parcel of aid. It happened to me when I was inside. I remember it happened in March, 24, if you remember the floor massacre that happened around there and Navelsy around about in Gaza City. I remember being there because I had been diagnosed with malnutrition with my young kid at that moment. And I have been there to the side because I knew that there were a number of truckloads.

of food coming in. You were diagnosed with malnutrition so relatively soon after October 7th, by December. In March 2024. I had a kidney problem at the moment, but we were not hospitalized. There were no capacity. We were only rationing what we had, including some bites of bread. We had contaminated water. We had to, you know, make bread out of animal feed and barley.

Unfortunately, that was only what was available. We had to survive through the day. We were not living. We were only just trying to make every day from the moment we wake up, make it to the evening. Muhammad, there's a thousand things we could talk about. I want to concentrate for a moment. Yes.

On the subject of your piece for New Yorker.com. We've talked about physical hunger, but we haven't talked at length about psychological trauma. Tell me how you reported this piece and what your main discoveries, after all this time. You're right. Mental health is often the most overlooked part of war, right?

Like we are counting the bodies, we fell in the rubble, but the minds that carry the trauma, I wanted to speak about this, to see and capture the psychological wreckes that is being caused on a daily basis nonstop. I was hearing from therapists who lost entire families, loved ones, and colleagues and their clinics,

that they were still trying to show up and help others. One of the therapists that I talked to for my story lost family members early in the war, including his house, including their clinic, including friends and colleagues of his. And they kept trying to heal others and showing up to them with the least amount of resources and supplies possible.

they were telling me we cannot wait for the work to stop to start healing or for ourselves to heal to start healing others. So I understood they were trying to heal by helping others heal. And so even from where I am right now outside of Gaza, I work closely with survivors and I'm in touch with aid workers and mental health professionals. And so it took weeks of phone calls just to understand really well, or at least part of it. what it really means and does to someone's mind to be inflicted to this kind of horror on a daily basis for two years, nonstop and not having the space to heal or to grieve or just have enough time to process what's happening.

In one of my interviews in the story, one of the therapists told me about a frequent case that they have been seeing over the past few weeks. It is a girl who's no longer than 14. so she's basically a child who went out for a few moments to grab something from outside the shelter it was a house

and this young girl went outside the house to get something and she came back to see the entire house was leveled it was bombed and her entire family was gone and now she's seeing the therapist and she's only asking for her family back therapists around her trying to offer some comfort and some spiritual engagement and some practical drawing games and and and healing and therapy sessions for her but she has been

reporting a very very difficult psychological toll she's living in despair she's desperate she's experiencing very severe symptoms of a continuous traumatic stress disorder, which is the case we could safely say across Gaza. It is widespread because there is no post for the trauma there. It is something that people have had to live with over the past two years, and they're not having any safe place to turn to or any security. And so these people are trying to live with the fear and not get rid of it because there is no way to escape what is happening at the moment.

Do you expect to return there one day? Well, I have the hope to return to Gaza at some point and also have the chance to visit where my grandparents lived one day in Yaffa and also where my parents had a place in Ashkelon. It's part of the legacy that we're from a bunch of places, but we belong nowhere. It's part of the emotional toll that it takes on me as a Palestinian journalist and writer to keep thinking of those voices and those places and those people,

those family members that we have lost, the friends and colleagues who trusted me as a writer with their stories and voices to keep moving forward. But it's very difficult to keep on doing that, David. It's the same reason that brings me down is writing. It's the same reason that brings me up sometimes and keep it. keeps me holding and pushing forward for someday a change to, you know, look at a glimmer, a glimpse of hope along that line. Mohamed, thank you so much.

Thank you so much for having me, David. It was an honor. You can read Mohamed Mahesh's article Treating Gaza's collective trauma at New Yorker.com. And of course, you can also subscribe to the New Yorker at New Yorker.com as well. I'm David Remnick, and that's our program for today. Thanks for joining us. See you next time. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker.

Our theme music was composed and performed by Merrill Garbus of Tune Arts, with additional music by Louis Mitchell and Jared Paul. This episode was produced by Max Balton, Adam Howard, David Krasnow, Jeffrey Masters, Louis Mitchell, Jared Paul, and Ursula Summer. With guidance from Emily Boutin and assistance from Michael May, David Gable, Alex Barish, Victor Gwan, and Alejandra Deccett. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Cherina Endowment Fund.