The Israeli army has threatened to occupy Gaza City, and I now live with my family in a humanitarian catastrophe in every sense. We are being forced to flee once again, heading south with nothing—no shelter, no resources, no safety. The only thing ahead of us is the street… or an empty piece of land under the open sky.
I might lose internet access at any moment, so I’m sending this with urgency.
Please, I’m in desperate need of support to protect my family—especially the children—from this nightmare. If you can help, the fastest and most effective way is through Sovit to my mother’s bank account, so I can immediately secure food, shelter, and basic dignity.
Alternatively, we have a *donation campaign*, but it takes days for the funds to reach us—time we may not have.
Please help us survive this. And if you can’t donate, please share our story. The ethnic cleansing of families like mine must not go unseen.
one childhood. In Gaza, babies starve. In the world, they thrive. This is not just a contrast—it’s a cry for help. Don’t look away. Help us bridge the gap between life and loss.
Imagine turning love into numbers, and hope into receipts.
This is Gaza, where I—just a father trying to keep his two-month-old baby “Wed” alive—had to break $245 into survival crumbs.
30% vanished in transfer fees.
What remained became math and mercy:
A diaper becomes a shield.
Formula becomes a breath.
Dates, cheese, ointment, cotton—become lifelines stitched together with fear.
₪85 left—not for life’s pleasures, but for its next emergency.
I haven’t slept. Not because of noise, but because of silence—when my daughter breathes too slowly in the heat of displacement, and the only fan is my hand.
This isn’t a fairytale. It’s the fantasy of pain that war writes in real ink—on skin, on faces, on children.
If you’re reading this, you can be the rewrite.
Help us survive.
If you can’t donate, share. Let Wed’s name echo louder than bombs.
We Were Not Made of Stone... But War Treats Us Like We Have No Hearts
"My d… Fadi Saleh needs your support for A House Of Rubble... And
Breathing Through the Heat: A Father’s Plea from Gaza
We Were Not Made of Stone... But War Treats Us Like We Have No Hearts
"My d… Fadi Saleh needs your support for A House Of Rubble... And
Since we were forced to flee our home, my family and I have been living under a torn tent, in unbearable humidity and total darkness. My two-month-old daughter, "Wad", cannot sleep. I stay awake all night, fanning her tiny body with a piece of cardboard, trying to help her breathe in the heavy, suffocating air.
There’s no electricity. No fan. No clean water. The heat is relentless, the air thick, and every night feels like a battle for survival.
We didn’t choose this life. We’re just trying to survive it.
Your support—whether through donation or by sharing this story—can help us breathe, live, and hope again.
Red shows the area of the Gaza Strip controlled by Israeli tanks. Green shows the area controlled by warplanes, reconnaissance aircraft, and quadcopters. The entire Gaza Strip is under one of the most violent wars of the century.
Save what's left of us, even with a little support so we and our family can survive the genocide.
A message to the pilots who carry our deferred sustenance in the bellies of their planes:
I write to you from a besieged land, its people subjected to genocide and murder by bombing, hunger, and fear. Its soil is stained with the blood of its children, its people buried in the rubble.
From tents borrowing their shape from the wind, revealing more than they conceal.
From beds built from exhaustion, furnished with fear, and covered with the cries of children suffering from hunger, fear, and illness.
When you fly over us with hope...
Drop down the air your planes carry from a height that respects the hunger of hope and the fatigue of bodies. Do not let hope fall upon the weary, turning our temporary homes into houses of mourning.
Pay close attention to those fragile tents that cling to our hope for a better tomorrow. Do not let a box fall on the body of a hungry child whose mother has barely stolen the fleeting sleep from the jaws of hunger.
Investigate the houses whose form has been stolen by the rubble, rendering them skeletons unfit for human habitation.
Don't over-trust the sea, for the sea is inherently treacherous. The hungry may drown when they rush after a can of beans or a "dry, barefoot, and naked loaf of bread," as if chasing a life that is cruel to them by the number of their breaths.
Drop your food upon us as wishes are cast in the dark, gently, thoughtfully, with a heart that knows that what is thrown from the sky may become a consolation, or it may be a disaster if it is not properly considered.
Look closely at the earth; you will recognize the sites of hunger by its silence, by the eyes of mothers raised toward you.
by the children who run before the containers arrive, as if anticipating the fall.
You are now the messengers of wheat. So live up to the hopes of those forcibly starving.
In the name of those who wait for food like a cloud,
and in the name of those who died while hoping for a morsel of food that survived the bombing, we write to you... so that the morsel will not fall twice, once from our hearts and once from our mouths.
Drones roam the streets all day, shooting. 1 kilo of flour costs $42, while baby diapers cost $216, while the average daily income does not exceed $10.
There is so much tragedy on this earth.
We Were Not Made of Stone... But War Treats Us Like We Have No Hearts
"My d… Fadi Saleh needs your support for A House Of Rubble... And
Red shows the area of the Gaza Strip controlled by Israeli tanks. Green shows the area controlled by warplanes, reconnaissance aircraft, and quadcopters. The entire Gaza Strip is under one of the most violent wars of the century.
Save what's left of us, even with a little support so we and our family can survive the genocide.
In Gaza, a mother must choose between hunger and risking death.
What used to be a basic right — bread — has become a deadly pursuit. With every step toward a bakery or aid truck, civilians walk through airstrikes, snipers, and chaos.
A simple loaf now costs more than money. It costs lives.
Children wait in endless lines under the sun, hoping for a bite. Some never return. Parents carry empty bags and broken hearts. The prices of food have skyrocketed — if it exists at all.
This is not survival. This is slow suffocation.
We are calling on you — the world — to care, to act, to give. Every donation helps a family eat, live, breathe one more day.
I am a Palestine supporter, but I can’t donate because one, I don’t really have a job and therefore can’t get more money to donate and two, my parents won’t let me because they’ll think it’s a scam. I am still a minor with parents who will think all the people in Palestine that are reaching out for support are scammers. The best I can do is answer their asks in hope someone else who can donate helps them. I’m sorry 💔
Red shows the area of the Gaza Strip controlled by Israeli tanks. Green shows the area controlled by warplanes, reconnaissance aircraft, and quadcopters. The entire Gaza Strip is under one of the most violent wars of the century.
Save what's left of us, even with a little support so we and our family can survive the genocide.
We’ve fled our homes not once, not twice — but *eight times* since the war began. Each time we carry nothing but fear, children in our arms, and a desperate hope that maybe this place will be safe.
But there is no safety.
The cost of moving is no longer just money. It’s broken backs, silent hunger, sick babies, lost memories, and every time, fewer places to run. Transport costs have drained what little we had, and each displacement strips us of more dignity.
We are tired. Gaza is exhausted. We are not statistics — we are families, children, stories that bleed and cry and still believe someone out there cares.
Please, don’t scroll past. Share, support, help. Gaza is screaming.
My name is Mahmoud Jihad Saleh, and I carry a wound no time can heal.
In the heart of Gaza, where bombs fall more often than rain, I lost my father — the strongest man I ever knew. I lost my niece and nephew — two innocent lights extinguished too soon.
My remaining family barely survived, pulled from under the rubble by nothing but love and desperation. Now, they are trapped in the south, broken, hungry, and forgotten. No water. No food. No safety. Just silence… and fear.
I am calling on you — not for myself, but for them. I beg you to help me rescue my family, to bring them to safety, to life, to hope.
🌍 I am trying to bring them to Europe, to offer them shelter, dignity, and a chance to heal.
I can’t do it alone. But together… maybe we can save them.
Young artist Frans Al-Salmi mourned herself in her latest painting, depicting a scene from her final days in the Gaza Strip. A few hours earlier, a café where Frans was sitting had been targeted on the beach.
Who will save us from the death machine?
We Were Not Made of Stone... But War Treats Us Like We Have No Hearts
"My d… Fadi Saleh needs your support for A House Of Rubble... And
Red shows the area of the Gaza Strip controlled by Israeli tanks. Green shows the area controlled by warplanes, reconnaissance aircraft, and quadcopters. The entire Gaza Strip is under one of the most violent wars of the century.
Save what's left of us, even with a little support so we and our family can survive the genocide.
We Were Not Made of Stone... But War Treats Us Like We Have No Hearts
"My d… Fadi Saleh needs your support for A House Of Rubble... And
