No safety. No food. No aid. No water. No healthcare. No education. Is this what it means to live? Is this what world accept as life?
If a group of animals were trapped, starved, and cut off from the world like this, people would be outraged. But because it's us—human beings—somehow, the world looks away.
These are unbearable days. Everything feels heavy. Each hour presses on my chest like I’m being suffocated.
My family needs urgent help.
Basic survival has become nearly impossible. Bread—just bread—now costs over $25 a day to make.
We are not asking for luxury. We are begging for life.
Please, if you’re reading this: help. Reblog this post. Talk about us. Donate if you can. Even a small act can mean everything right now.
My name is Nadin. I never imagined I would write something like this. I’ve always been someone who kept her worries quiet, someone who believed that even the hardest days could be endured with patience and faith. But right now, I am reaching out — not because I want to, but because I need to.
I am a wife, a mother, and one of many women in Gaza trying to survive days that feel like they have no end. There was a short time — a brief ceasefire — where we thought things might start to heal. Where the sound of war faded for just long enough to let us breathe. But that moment is gone now, and the fear has returned louder than before.
My days are filled with uncertainty, and my nights with prayer. We have lost so much. Our home was damaged, our sense of safety taken from us. But through all of this, I try to keep going. I try to hold on to what little peace I can create with my hands, my words, and my love.
I am not asking for much. Just a little help to keep our lives from falling further apart. To fix the small things — a cracked wall, a leaking roof, the pieces of daily life that help us hold on to dignity.
This campaign isn’t just about survival. It’s about holding on to what makes us human in a place that keeps trying to take that away. It’s about showing my daughter — even though I won’t mention her name here — that the world didn’t forget us.
If you’ve ever felt powerless in the face of suffering, please know that even the smallest gesture can carry great meaning. A kind word. A shared post. A quiet donation. These things remind us that we’re not alone.
My name is Nadin I’m a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza who are trying to hold on — to hope, to our families, to any piece
I am still here. Still holding on. Still believing that people out there — people like you — still care.
Please, if you feel moved, consider supporting or sharing this campaign.
My name is Abdelmajed.
I never imagined I’d be sharing my story like this, but life in Gaza has become unbearable. I am a survivor of the war here, and in the blink of an eye, everything I once knew—my home, my safety, my community—was ripped away from me.
The war has transformed Gaza into a graveyard of broken dreams. The buildings that once stood as symbols of life and resilience are now piles of rubble. Every corner is filled with the echoes of explosions. Every moment is shrouded in uncertainty. There is no security. There is no stability. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
Basic needs have become luxuries.
Food is scarce. Clean water is even scarcer. Hospitals are overwhelmed and under-resourced, and there is almost no medical care to be found. Every night, families go to bed hungry, praying they’ll wake up to see another day. The cost of basic necessities has skyrocketed, and it’s become a daily battle just to survive.
I’ve seen things I never thought possible—standing in long lines for a piece of bread, rationing every drop of water, and watching my people suffer in silence. I have lost everything—my home, my safety, my dignity.
Escape from Gaza is my only hope,
but it’s almost impossible without financial help. The cost of evacuation is far beyond my means, and without support, I’m trapped in a warzone with no way out.
I’m reaching out to you now, in the hopes that someone, anyone, can help. I am not asking for luxury. I am asking for a chance—just a chance—to live. A chance to escape this never-ending cycle of fear, destruction, and loss. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere safe, where I can begin again, where I can find hope once more.
My name is Abdelmajed, and I am a survivor of the war in Gaza. Everything I once knew has been taken away—my home, my safety, and the people
Any amount you can give will help me get closer to safety.
Even the smallest donation will make a difference—it could be the lifeline I need to survive. If you are unable to donate, please share my story. The more people who hear it, the better the chance that I can find the support I desperately need.
Your kindness and support mean the world to me. You’re not just helping me escape a war; you’re giving me a chance to live, to rebuild, to breathe again.
