With the coming of dusk the rain had stopped, but a mist had risen, creeping knee-high through the trees so that they stood like ghosts, and the grazing horse floated like a swan.
Dear friends, kind hearts, and everyone who has stood with us,
When I first opened my heart to the world and shared our story, I never imagined the amount of love and solidarity we would receive. Thanks to your incredible support, we’ve now reached $12,837—a milestone that brings real light to some very dark days.
From the deepest corners of my heart, thank you.
💔 A Journey of Loss, but Also of Strength
As many of you know, I’ve lost 25 of my loved ones during this devastating war. That grief lives with me every single day. It’s in the silence that once held laughter, in the empty spaces where we once gathered as a family.
But through your help, I’ve also felt something else: hope. And that hope is priceless.
“21/Oct/2023 Before It Reached Us: The Day Our Neighbor’s House Was Destroyed”
A quiet moment of fear, filmed just before everything changed.
“22/Oct/2023 The Morning After: Our Family Home in Ruins”
This is what was left behind after the bombing of our home.
🌿 What Life Looks Like for Us Now
Despite everything, we’re still here.
Still surviving. Still hoping.
But things have only gotten harder.
The war has returned, more brutal than before—and for over a month now, Gaza has been completely sealed off. No food is coming in. No medical supplies. No aid. No trade. No one is allowed to leave, and no one is allowed to enter.
We’re trapped.
🏚 We live with the fear of tomorrow, every single day. Airstrikes, drones, and the uncertainty of what might happen next.
👨👩👧 Our family is forever changed—we haven’t just lost people; we’ve lost pieces of ourselves.
📉 Basic needs go unmet—even clean water feels like a luxury now. Medicines, if they exist at all, are unreachable.
And yet…
Your support reminds us that we’re not forgotten. It reminds us that someone, somewhere, is still listening. That someone still cares. That we’re not completely alone in this.
Every message. Every share. Every dollar. It tells us:
You’re walking this road with us.
And that gives us the strength to keep going.
💖 What You Can Do
If you’ve already donated—thank you beyond words.
If you can share our story again, it could reach someone who can help.
Even $5 means warmth, comfort, and a chance to breathe a little easier.
My name is Mosab Elderawi, and I am a survivor of the war in Gaza. Life as I knew it has been completely destroyed. I have lost my home, my
✨ Why It All Matters
This isn’t just about reaching a fundraising goal. It’s about surviving war with dignity.
It’s about believing in tomorrow. It’s about making sure my daughter grows up knowing that the world did not look away.
Thank you for your kindness, patience, and belief in our humanity.
You’ve helped me find my voice—and I will use it to keep hope alive.
🙏 From the Heart: A Quiet Apology
There’s something I need to say—something that’s been on my heart for some time.
When I first began sharing our story, I didn’t know what the right way was. I was scared, grieving, and trying to protect my family in any way I could. I reached out to many people, hoping someone, anyone, would see us. In that process, I now realize I may have overstepped, and I might have made some feel overwhelmed.
If that happened, I am truly sorry.
Please believe me when I say it was never out of disregard or pushiness. It came from a place of fear—fear of being forgotten, fear of not being able to keep my family safe, fear of watching everything I love slip away in silence.
I’m learning as I go. I’ve slowed down. I’m more mindful now, trying to share our journey in a way that feels respectful of the space and hearts of those listening.
If my words ever came at the wrong time, or in the wrong way, I hope you can understand where they came from—and I hope you can forgive me.
Thank you for seeing past my mistakes. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can ever explain.
Vetted by @gazavetters ( #309 )
With love and endless gratitude,
Mosab and family ♥️
My name is Saja. I’m a wife, a mother, and a woman who once believed her story would be simple. I thought my days would be filled with watching my daughter grow — from her first smile to her first steps — surrounded by the small joys of everyday life.
But life had other plans.
War has returned to our home. Again.
And once again, we find ourselves living under skies that never seem to rest.
There was a moment — a fragile, breathless moment — when the bombs paused and the world seemed to remember us. It gave us hope. We thought maybe, just maybe, we could start to rebuild. But now, we are back in the dark — hiding, holding on, praying.
I’m writing this not as someone seeking pity, but as a mother who has no other choice but to speak.
Imagine holding your baby in the middle of the night, not because she cried, but because the world outside roared too loud for either of you to sleep. Imagine whispering bedtime stories not to lull her into dreams, but to keep the fear from settling into her tiny bones.
This is my life.
This is my daughter’s life.
And even now — especially now — I believe in softness. I believe in kindness.
Because when everything else is taken from you, hope becomes the most valuable thing you have.
Why I’m Reaching Out
Our home has been damaged. Our lives changed. But through it all, my daughter wakes up every morning with a smile. She reaches for me with trust, with love, with faith that I will keep her safe.
That’s why I keep going.
I’ve launched a campaign to ask for help — not because it’s easy, but because silence is no longer an option. I am asking for support not just for me, but for my baby, and for the quiet strength of so many mothers like me who are fighting, every single day, to hold their families together.
How You Can Help:
🤍 Help us restore parts of our home so we can live with dignity
🤍 Support women and mothers in Gaza with access to care and resources
🤍 Keep the light of hope alive for a generation born in the shadows of war
💛 If you can, please support our journey here:
My name is Saja. I am a wife, a mother to a precious 8-month-old girl, and I am writing this in a moment that I wish I didn’t have to live t
If you can’t give, please consider sharing.
Your voice might be the reason someone else hears ours.
From My Heart to Yours
Maybe our lives are worlds apart. Maybe you’ve never lived through war.
But if you’ve ever held a child and wished the world could be better for them — then you understand more than you know.
I don’t want my daughter to grow up thinking the world turned away.
Please, if you’ve read this far — thank you.
Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for caring.
We are still here. Still hoping. Still holding on to every kind act like it’s a lifeline.
Strange, isn’t it, how the greatest disasters in history often feel hollow and abstract, like distant thunder? A single death, wrote one ancient king, is a tragedy, but a genocide can only be understood through statistics.
“All those severe poets talking big about the wages of sin all the time,” Zee added, “but nobody ever brought up the wages of virtue. The toll of trying really really hard to be good in a game that’s totally rigged against goodness.”
prguitarman
janainaart
gummygunk
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
titsay
baratheonpilled
izzy806
