Alaa (28), Montasir (35), Hanan (9), Ahmad (7) & Lana (5), a beautiful family from Gaza. 

Here is Alaa's story: My name is Alaa, and I am 28 years old. I got married at 17 before I could even begin to pursue my dreams because my father left my mother when I was a child. I was raised by my father’s wife, who later died during the war from cancer due to the lack of adequate treatment in Gaza. My husband worked in sweets manufacturing and even had his factory beneath our home in northern Gaza, but it was all destroyed.

The most devastating moment of our lives came when the roof of our house was hit by a reconnaissance missile at 6 a.m., without any warning. My husband, our children, and I survived, suffering only minor injuries from the shattering windows and collapsing walls, but the mental and emotional trauma was severe. We fled on foot, running for three hours to my in-laws’ house, our hearts gripped by fear. That day was a dark chapter in our lives. Later, when the occupation forces entered northern Gaza, our house was completely bombed and destroyed, along with the factory my husband had spent his life building. We lost everything—our home, our memories, our livelihood.

Afterwards, my in-laws’ neighbourhood was also ordered to evacuate to the southern Gaza Strip. With no transportation, we were forced to walk. How could a child under five years old walk tens of kilometres? But the warnings, the lack of food, water, and health care, and the white phosphorus bombs dropped on us left us no choice. We had to flee south to save our lives. Along the way, my children saw corpses in the streets, bombed houses, and military vehicles. We ended up displaced in Rafah, living in a tent that was unfit for human habitation, surrounded by insects, foul odours, pollution, and infectious diseases spreading among the displaced. But we had no choice. Then, we started hearing news about evacuations in Rafah, and fire belts were being dropped near us. My husband, who suffers from sinus problems and irritable bowel syndrome, struggled to survive in the unbearable heat of the tent, with no healthy food, no clean water, no fresh air, and no healthcare for the children.

We were forced to leave our tent in Rafah and move to Deir al-Balah. After waiting on the street for 36 hours, we found an unfurnished room with a shared bathroom in a building in Deir al-Balah, renting it for 3000 shekels per month, equivalent to $800. I sold the gold I had saved for my wedding to pay the first two months' rent, but now we have no money left for the third month, and the landlord is threatening to evict us. We can’t return to living in a tent because of the unbearable heat, insects, foul odours, lack of water, and infectious diseases spreading through the camps. According to the Ministry of Health, over a million cases of infectious diseases are reported, with the most dangerous being epidemic hepatitis. I fear for myself, my children, and my husband.

This isn’t the first shock we’ve endured. In May 2023, a residential apartment next to our house in northern Gaza was suddenly bombed. The blast shattered our windows and caused one of our walls to collapse. Will we meet the same fate as so many others here—torn to shreds, left with amputations and permanent disabilities, or condemned to die from diseases with no treatment like my stepmother? We couldn’t leave Gaza due to the high cost of travel, and when our home was bombed, we escaped with our lives, but nothing else. Now, all we want is to leave—me, my husband, and our children—alive and whole from this brutal war. We want to escape this genocide that has claimed nearly 38,000 lives, including over 15,000 innocent children. 

Imagine a world where Hanan, Ahmad, and Lana can grow up without the constant terror of air raids, free from psychological trauma, fear, anxiety, and depression. A world where Muntasir and I can rebuild our lives and chase the dreams that now seem impossible. I feel like I’m racing against the sun from sunrise to sunset, living a life turned upside down by endless anxiety for my three children. My husband and I carry the heavy burden of trying to provide for our family’s needs, struggling daily to find water, food, and medicine, all while humanitarian aid is so scarce. We need to be evacuated as soon as possible. The situation worsens every day—bombs fall, threats are everywhere, and there is no safety. We don’t want to be trapped here, left to die from hunger or bombardment. I shudder when my children hear the terrifying sounds of explosions; they scream and cry day and night. Here, they have no education and no future. What have they done to deserve a life without school, education, or healthcare? You can be our hope. Please light our way with your donations and open the door to freedom for us. Every minute we stay here brings us closer to death. Time is running out; each passing minute could mean the difference between life and death for my family. Please don’t turn a blind eye to our suffering. Your contribution, no matter how small, can make a difference—it can save our lives. Don’t let this war rob my children of their childhood, education, health, and right to live.