I love that ZIM enthusiastically participates in class. I always forget him going to skool is a part of his reconnaissance of Earth and a method of information gathering.
I thank everyone who came across my story, everyone who read my words, shared them, or tried to help me. Your presence and concern meant so much to me, even though I wasn't able to raise the funds I hoped for. I'm from Gaza, and I lost my leg in the war. All I ever dreamed of was a chance to get a prosthetic leg so I could walk and live again. I wrote hoping to find someone to help me, but it seems the path is harder than I expected. Despite that, I'm grateful to everyone who stopped to see my pain. I may feel some despair today, but I still believe that goodness exists in this world. Thank you to every kind heart that passed by here.
Vetted! #23 on @/gazavetters vetted list, shared by @/gazavetters
Help Ahmed Nasr Walk Again: A Urgent Call for Support
My name is Ahmed Nasr, a young manā¦ Ahmed Nasr needs your support for Support me so I
Today, the Ministry of Health contacted me and asked me to prepare to travel to Egypt to receive the necessary treatment for a prosthetic limb. I felt both happy and sad at the same time. I don't have a passport and I can't afford to travel because I need $700 to cover the costs of the treatment, and I don't have the money. Please help me, even with a little.
Hello, my name is Nadin. Iām from Gaza. Iām a graphic design graduate, a wifeāand now, a mother.
I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.
Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.
On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husbandās family home, killing 25 membersāhis mother, siblings, nieces and nephewsāentire branches of our family in seconds.
We were displaced twice. Everything was goneāhome, safety, routine, rest.
A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebrationānot even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadnāt felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.
Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.
Today, Israelās government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forcesānot Israelābut with no clear path to peace or normalcy.
The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.
Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.
We Donāt Know What Comes Next
Thereās no clear path forwardāonly uncertainty for our daughterās life and our ability to survive another day.
My name is Nadin, and Iām a mother from Gaza.
How You Can Help
Iām asking for supportānot for comfort, but for survival:
Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.
Support us as I try to stand again on my own feetāeven a glimmer of stability matters.
If youāve read this far, thank you. If you can giveāthank you. If you canātājust sharing this post is a lifeline I will never forget.
Everything changed the day Amira was born.
The world outside was collapsing ā bombs, dust, screams, and fear. Yet inside a small room, by the dim light of a single candle, a new life began.
While others were running for shelter, I was holding my newborn daughter, trembling, crying, trying to believe that something so pure could still exist in a place like Gaza.
I named her Amira, because I wanted her to feel like a child of life ānot a child of war.
Ā
A year has passed since that night, but nothing has really changed
Our house is still rubble, our streets still carry the smell of smoke, and the sky still echoes with sounds that make Amira flinch in her sleep.
She has just turned one.
Sheās learning to walk, holding my finger with her tiny hand, laughing at the smallest things ā as if she doesnāt see the destruction around her.
She doesnāt know the word āloss.ā
She never met her father, but when she smiles, I see him there.
Sometimes I watch her sleeping, and I wonder what kind of world she will grow up in ā whether she will ever know what peace feels like, what home smells like.
And yet, when she opens her eyes in the morning and says āmama,ā everything becomes bearable again.
I want to rebuild our home.
Not just for the walls ā but for her future.
For Amira to have a small room, a safe place to dream, a life that belongs to her, not to war.
Iām not asking for much. Only for a chance to give her a beginning filled with warmth instead of fear
My name is Saja. I am a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza trying to hold on ā to hope, to my family, and to a life that no
Ā A Motherās Message
To everyone reading this ā thank you for listening to our story.
Your kindness means more than words.
Every share, every message, every donation ā it all helps me rebuild not just a house, but a future for Amira.
From the heart of Gaza, from a mother learning to hope again ā
we will live. And I will make sure my daughter grows up in a world that knows love more than war.
