As the second Christmas under Israeli bombardment draws near, nearly 1,000 Palestinian Christians are sheltering in the Greek Orthodox Church of St. Porphyrius and the Latin Monastery in the center of Gaza City. For more than a year now, since the beginning of Israel’s assault on the Strip, they have been living in these two churches with hardly any food, water, or electricity.

Among them is 47-year-old Ramez Suhail Al-Suri, a Palestinian Christian from Gaza City. Before the war, Al-Suri fondly recollected, Christmas was a joyous time for him and his family — his wife, Helen, and his three children, Suhail (14), Julie (12), and Majd (11).

“In Gaza during the holidays, we had a Christmas tree [at home], but we used to go to the market and buy new clothes, chocolate, and decorations so that the children would be happy,” Al-Suri recounted to +972. “We also would participate in church celebrations — we had a lot of joy in our lives.”

As soon as Israel began bombarding the Strip on October 7, Al-Suri and his family, along with other relatives, sought refuge in the Orthodox church. “We know that international and humanitarian laws prohibit the bombing of churches and mosques,” he explained.

But it quickly became clear to them that “the bombing was random and very violent.” When a massive explosion rocked Al-Ahli hospital on Oct. 17, 2023, just 350 meters away from where Al-Suri and his family were sheltering in the church, they could feel the impact. “It was a very terrifying and tragic moment — nearly 500 people were killed. We were worried about this indiscriminate bombing, [since] it was so near.”

Sadly, Al-Suri’s anxieties would be justified just two days later. “That evening, we put our children in their places to sleep [inside the church] and left them there,” Al-Suri told +972. “My wife and I went to see my sick father, who is 87 years old, and was sleeping in another building to be cared for and looked after.” 

At around 8:30 p.m., an Israeli airstrike hit the church’s outer building, causing it to collapse and killing 18 people, including Al-Suri’s three children, and wounding several others. “At that moment, I could not believe what I was seeing. I tried to save my children but all three of them were in critical condition and died quickly,” Al-Suri said. “One of my children was lying on the [church’s] fence and I could not carry him, but the rescue teams helped.”

The Oct. 19 strike would only be the first of multiple attacks on Gaza’s churches over the past year, despite their role as shelters for hundreds of displaced Palestinians, including young children, the elderly and the disabled. Less than two months later, in December, Israeli snipers killed mother and daughter Nahida and Samar Anton in the courtyard of the Latin Monastery, also known as the Holy Family Church, and injured seven others who rushed to help them. Then in July, the Israeli army struck the Holy Family School, killing four civilians, and targeted the Greek Orthodox church yet again in a separate airstrike. 

Al-Suri’s children all attended the Holy Family School, “one of the most prestigious in Gaza,” he recalled with pride. “They had dreams for their future: Julie wanted to be a dentist, Suhail wanted to be an accountant, and Majd wanted to study business.” All three of them planned to compete in a bible memorization competition in the West Bank last year. “They memorized the book and were waiting for permits to leave Gaza,” he added. “Now they are reading the book in heaven. 

“On [Oct. 19], I lost my entire life — my life now has no meaning. I lost three children in a few seconds and now their mother and I are alone,” Al-Suri lamented. “This is what the war on Gaza did to me.”

‘We hope that God will respond to us and stop this war’

The Greek Orthodox Church of St. Porphyrius in Gaza City is one of the oldest active churches in the world. Its foundation dates to the 5th century, while the current structure was completed in the 12th century, with stained-glass windows that boast ornate biblical depictions and thick walls that surround the tomb of St. Porphyrius, the first bishop of Gaza. The building is a legacy of Gaza’s colorful history, having witnessed periods of pagan, Christian, and Muslim rule.

Both the Church of St. Porphyrius and the Latin Monastery have also been anchors for Gaza’s dwindling Christian community, whose number hovered slightly above 1,000 before Israel launched its most violent and destructive assault on the Strip to date — and around three times as many prior to Israel’s imposed siege and blockade in 2007. Nor has this been the first year that they have served as shelters: both have historically opened their doors to Gazans of various faiths during the previous four wars Israel waged against the enclave since 2005. During Israel’s 2014 Operation Protective Edge, about 70 Palestinians sheltered in the Orthodox church for days.

Over the past decade and a half, Christmas represented a rare and cherished opportunity for many Gazan Christians to escape the blockaded strip and reunite with family in the West Bank. “We used to obtain approval from the Israeli army to visit the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem,” Al-Suri recounted to +972. “We used to feel the glorious holiday rituals in that city, with its prayers and celebrations.” 

Al-Suri’s family would also visit friends and relatives in Ramallah and Jerusalem, where they would make the pilgrimage to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, believed by Christians to be the site of Jesus’ crucifixion and burial. Al-Suri took great care to organize such visits. “We only got those permits once a year,” he noted. 

This Christmas in Gaza, like all other holidays that are meant to be joyous, is “dull, limited to prayer and supplication only,” Al-Suri observed. Helen, his wife, still struggles to comprehend her children’s absence. “She tries to be strong, but I see great sadness in her eyes, and I cannot blame her,” he said. Helen now suffers from high blood pressure and an enlarged heart muscle, which she manages with medication. To help her cope with the loss, Al-Suri recently enrolled her in online accounting studies at Al-Azhar University.

As soon as he is able, Al-Suri plans to seek asylum for himself, his wife, and his parents — either in Australia, the United States, or Europe. His sisters live abroad and have attempted to help him get out of Gaza, an impossible task since Israel’s closure of the Rafah crossing in May.

“We hope that God will respond to us and stop this war,” Al-Suri pleaded. “What we have experienced of injustice, famine, displacement is enough, and I do not think the Palestinian people are able to bear more suffering.

“I try to help people through humanitarian work in all areas of the Gaza Strip and return to my normal everyday life, but I cannot: my children are in front of my eyes every moment.”

No safe places for worship or shelter

Among the Palestinian Christians who fled Gaza since October 7, 300 have ended up in Egypt. At the beginning of the war, Kamel Ayyad, a 51-year-old Palestinian Christian from Gaza City, was displaced with his family from the western part of the city to its center, and ultimately managed to escape to Egypt in November 2023.

After October 7, Ayyad quickly corralled his immediate family and relatives and, like Al-Suri and his family, took shelter in a house of worship — the Latin Monastery in the Zeitoun neighborhood. “We believed that it was a safe place and nothing would happen to us,” he told +972.

Their problems, however, immediately compounded. “There was no food, no water, and no electricity. The church was trying to provide us with what we needed, but the situation was very bad,” Ayyad recalled. 

Then, in mid-October, the massacre at the St. Porphyrius Greek Orthodox Church sent Ayyad and other Christians who had been sheltering in the Latin Monastery into shock. Many of them arrived at the scene on foot to help with rescue efforts and check on family and friends: “Everyone went out to inspect the place. We found some body parts that we recognized. Among the dead was my cousin Lisa Al-Suri [32], her husband Tariq [37], and her son Issa [12]. An entire family was killed by the Israeli missile.”

For Ayyad, the bombing was a turning point. “It was a great tragedy — sadness spread in the churches,” he recalled. “Everyone became afraid and wanted to leave Gaza. The sight of [bodies] in white shrouds [affirmed that] this is a war that has crossed many lines and spares no one; there are no safe places of worship or shelters for the displaced.” Out of fear for his children’s safety, Ayyad made the decision to leave. 

From Egypt, Ayyad, who used to work in the Holy Family Church, reminisces about past Christmas celebrations in Gaza. “December was considered the happiest month for us. Young people came to decorate the church, and the huge tree sat in the middle of the courtyard. Christians and Muslims shared in the celebration.

“Now the church is sad: the displaced are sleeping in the corridors, most of us have lost our homes and workplaces, and the bombing is still ongoing. Nothing has changed at all.” Despite all this, Ayyad says he still hopes to return to Gaza, one day — to “how it was before.”