He was the entire world. Nothing is called a mistake.
On a Friday evening near Hebron, a seven-month-old boy named Sam Fahd Abu Haikal became the youngest face of a conflict that has claimed over a thousand Palestinian lives in the West Bank since October 2023. Israeli soldiers fired on a car they believed posed a threat; the bullet that passed through a father's hand found his infant son instead. The military acknowledged the family were uninvolved civilians, and announced an inquiry — a process that, by the record of history, rarely yields accountability. In the space between a soldier's perception and a child's last breath, an entire world was extinguished.
- A seven-month-old boy, celebrating his monthly birthday, was killed by a bullet that pierced a windshield, passed through his father's hand, and struck him in the face — a chain of violence that took seconds and cannot be undone.
- The Israeli military initially framed the shooting as a response to a perceived threat, then acknowledged the victims were uninvolved civilians, exposing the lethal gap between battlefield judgment and human reality.
- The family's grief is sharpened by a near-certainty of impunity: Israeli soldiers have been indicted in fewer than one percent of complaints involving harm to Palestinians over nearly a decade, according to rights group Yesh Din.
- The mother remains in critical condition with shrapnel lodged near her heart, meaning the death toll from this single incident may not yet be final.
- The shooting unfolded on the same day settlers attacked the town of Huwara and as Hamas negotiators entered ceasefire talks in Cairo — a reminder that this loss is one thread in a widening fabric of violence across the occupied territories.
On a Friday evening near Hebron, Israeli soldiers fired on a car they believed was accelerating toward them. Inside were a university lecturer named Fahd Abu Haikal, his wife, their seven-month-old son Sam, and the child's grandmother. A bullet pierced the windshield, passed through the father's right hand, and struck the baby in the face. Another round hit the hood. When the shooting stopped, Sam — who had turned seven months old that very day — was dead.
The Israeli military later acknowledged the family were uninvolved civilians and said it would open an inquiry. But the father's grief left little room for institutional language. "He was the entire world," he told the Associated Press. At the funeral, he carried his son's small body, wrapped in a Palestinian flag, while men around him knelt in prayer. "At the end they tell you it was a mistake," he said. "Nothing is called a mistake."
The grandmother, Feryal Abu Heikal, recounted how they had stopped when they saw military vehicles ahead, believing at first that the shots were warnings. "The scene was horrific," she said. "What kind of army in the world does this?" The mother remains in critical condition, shrapnel lodged near her heart.
The family's skepticism about accountability is grounded in documented reality. According to Yesh Din, an Israeli human rights organization, soldiers accused of harming Palestinians were indicted in fewer than one percent of cases between 2016 and 2024 — fewer than 27 indictments from over 2,400 complaints. Justice, in this context, is the exception rather than the rule.
The killing is not an isolated event. On the same day, settlers attacked the town of Huwara near Nablus, wounding eight people. Since October 2023, the United Nations reports more than 1,000 Palestinians have been killed in the West Bank and east Jerusalem, among them at least 240 children. In Cairo, Hamas negotiators were simultaneously engaged in ceasefire talks with Egyptian, Qatari, and Turkish mediators. For the Abu Haikal family, those negotiations exist in a different world entirely.
On a Friday evening near Hebron, Israeli soldiers fired on a car they believed was accelerating toward them. When the shooting stopped, a seven-month-old boy named Sam Fahd Abu Haikal was dead, shot through the face. His mother lay critically wounded with shrapnel lodged near her heart. His father, Fahd Abu Haikal, a lecturer at Bethlehem University, had a bullet pass through his hand before striking his son in the back seat.
The Israeli military later acknowledged that the three Palestinians in the vehicle were uninvolved civilians. A bullet had pierced the windshield, entered the father's right hand, and then found the child. Another round struck the hood. When journalists examined the car afterward, the damage was visible and undeniable.
The baby had turned seven months old that very day. His father, speaking to the Associated Press, described what his son meant to him in the simplest terms: "He was the entire world." At the funeral, wrapped in a Palestinian flag, the small body was carried by his father while men around him knelt in prayer. The father's demand was direct and bitter. "At the end they tell you it was a mistake," he said. "Nothing is called a mistake."
The grandmother, Feryal Abu Heikal, was also in the car. She recounted stopping when they saw Israeli military vehicles and soldiers in the distance, thinking at first that the gunfire was warning shots. The reality was far worse. "The scene was horrific to see a 7-month-old baby with a smashed face," she said. "What kind of army in the world does this?"
The killing reflects a broader pattern. According to Yesh Din, an Israeli human rights organization, soldiers accused of harming Palestinians have been indicted in fewer than one percent of cases—fewer than 27 indictments out of 2,427 complaints alleging wrongdoing between 2016 and 2024. Accountability, in other words, is rare. The military said it would conduct an inquiry into the shooting, but the family's skepticism about what that process might yield seemed rooted in experience.
The incident occurred as violence across the occupied West Bank has intensified dramatically since the war in Gaza began in October 2023. On the same day as the shooting near Hebron, eight people were wounded in settler attacks on the town of Huwara, near Nablus, struck by tear gas and rubber-coated metal bullets. Israeli soldiers dispersed crowds after what the military described as riots involving rocks and batons, though footage appeared to show a soldier using violence against a Palestinian—an image the military said it was reviewing.
Huwara has endured such violence before. In February 2023, Israeli settlers rampaged through the town, burning dozens of cars and homes, after a Palestinian gunman killed two settlers. The cycle continues. According to the United Nations, more than 1,000 Palestinians, including at least 240 children, have been killed in the West Bank and east Jerusalem since October 2023. The mother's condition—critical, with shrapnel near her heart—means the toll from this single incident may yet rise.
Meanwhile, in Gaza, an Israeli strike on Saturday killed at least seven people, including two women and a girl and her father from the same family, according to Shifa Hospital. The military said it had targeted militants in the area. In Cairo, Hamas negotiators began a new round of ceasefire talks with mediators from Egypt, Qatar, and Turkey, attempting to move past a deadlock. The ceasefire that took effect in October has been fragile, marked by almost daily Israeli fire despite the heaviest fighting having subsided. The core disagreement remains: how to disarm Hamas and establish international stabilization. For the Abu Haikal family, such negotiations feel distant from the reality of their loss.
Citas Notables
He was the entire world. At the end they tell you it was a mistake. Nothing is called a mistake.— Fahd Abu Haikal, the baby's father
The scene was horrific to see a 7-month-old baby with a smashed face. What kind of army in the world does this?— Feryal Abu Heikal, the baby's grandmother
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does the military's acknowledgment that these were civilians matter if accountability is so rare?
Because it removes the possibility of claiming they were a legitimate target. The military can't say the family posed a threat—they've already said they didn't. What remains is the gap between admission and consequence.
The father said "nothing is called a mistake." What did he mean?
He meant that when soldiers kill civilians, the word "mistake" becomes a way to close the conversation without changing anything. It's a linguistic escape hatch. He's saying: call it what it is, or stop calling it anything at all.
The grandmother was in the car too. What does her presence add to this story?
She's a witness to the exact moment, but also a survivor of it. She can describe what they were doing—stopping, waiting, thinking those were warning shots. She can say what she saw in her grandson's face. That specificity matters because it contradicts any narrative that they were fleeing or threatening.
Why mention the Huwara attacks on the same day?
Because it shows this isn't an isolated incident. On one day, a baby is killed by soldiers, and eight people are wounded by settlers. The violence is systemic, not accidental. It's the texture of life in the West Bank right now.
The ceasefire talks in Cairo—are they relevant to this death?
They're happening in a different room, negotiating different terms. But yes, they're relevant because they show that even when there's supposed to be a ceasefire, the killing continues. The talks are about disarming Hamas; the baby was killed by the Israeli military. The two conversations don't touch.
What does the one-percent indictment rate actually mean for a family like this?
It means they know, before they even grieve, that the person who pulled the trigger will almost certainly face no legal consequence. That knowledge shapes everything—how they speak, what they demand, whether they believe anything will change.