Naamloos @myplatoscave - Tumblr Blog

Olivia Ponton

I no longer know when the war truly ends… because for us, it is still here. The bombing has stopped, but our home is gone. The place that once held our memories, our laughter, and the small details of our daily life has turned into rubble— offering no shelter from the rain, and no protection from the pain. Today, the rain falls on an exhausted city, on destroyed homes, and on families trying to start over with almost nothing. Here, rain is not a symbol of life— it is another harsh test of survival and patience.

The end of the war in the news does not mean the end of its impact on our lives. The suffering continues— in the cold, in the loss of safety, and in the struggle to rebuild life from zero once again. We are not looking for pity, and we are not writing these words to seek sadness. We write because we want a real chance to live with dignity. We want to rebuild a home, to restore a sense of safety, and to give our family a new beginning after everything we lost. Rebuilding life is not easy, but it is possible when we are not left alone. Your support today means a roof to protect us from the rain, a wall replacing the rubble, and hope that tomorrow can be less cruel.

My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.

If you are able to help, your support—no matter how small—makes a real difference in our lives. And if you are unable to donate, sharing this message means more than you may know. From the heart, thank you to everyone who has stood with us, to everyone who supported us, and to everyone who remembers that behind the headlines are people simply trying to survive and rebuild their lives. 🤍

abed-maj

I no longer know when the war truly ends… because for us, it is still here. The bombing has stopped, but our home is gone. The place that once held our memories, our laughter, and the small details of our daily life has turned into rubble— offering no shelter from the rain, and no protection from the pain. Today, the rain falls on an exhausted city, on destroyed homes, and on families trying to start over with almost nothing. Here, rain is not a symbol of life— it is another harsh test of survival and patience.

The end of the war in the news does not mean the end of its impact on our lives. The suffering continues— in the cold, in the loss of safety, and in the struggle to rebuild life from zero once again. We are not looking for pity, and we are not writing these words to seek sadness. We write because we want a real chance to live with dignity. We want to rebuild a home, to restore a sense of safety, and to give our family a new beginning after everything we lost. Rebuilding life is not easy, but it is possible when we are not left alone. Your support today means a roof to protect us from the rain, a wall replacing the rubble, and hope that tomorrow can be less cruel.

My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.

If you are able to help, your support—no matter how small—makes a real difference in our lives. And if you are unable to donate, sharing this message means more than you may know. From the heart, thank you to everyone who has stood with us, to everyone who supported us, and to everyone who remembers that behind the headlines are people simply trying to survive and rebuild their lives. 🤍