Save Anas’s Family from Starvation and Genocide

This Isn’t Life — It’s a Constant Escape from Death

Imagine waking up each day not knowing where you’ll sleep that night.

Imagine being forced to flee your home once… then again… and again… Until the word “home” no longer means anything.

Hello, My name is Anas Sibakhi, a young man from Gaza. I used to study database programming at Al-Azhar University. I had simple dreams: graduate, work, support my family, maybe pursue a master's degree.

But today, I’m not asking for dreams. I'm asking for survival.

It All Started with a Night of Fire

One terrifying night, the sky turned into fire. Missiles rained down. Soldiers stormed homes. We waited for the sun to rise — just to run. Just to live.

We fled with almost nothing: just a few documents, some cash, and our faith. We left behind everything we loved: our home, our memories, our safety.

Endless Displacement

Our first stop was Rafah, where we spent months in tents — freezing in the cold, suffocating in the heat. We cooked over firewood, carried water on foot, washed clothes by hand. Life wasn’t life — it was survival.

Then came the evacuation order. Again, we moved. To Al-Mawasi, then briefly to our destroyed neighborhood — which no longer exists. Just rubble. From there, we were displaced to Nuseirat, and now to Deir al-Balah.

Every time we settle, we're forced to flee again.

No stability. No safety.

We never know where we’ll be tomorrow. We sleep with our shoes nearby — ready to run at any moment.

What We’ve Lost

Our home is gone. My university was bombed. My sister Reem, a computer engineer, lost her remote job. My sister Areej, a student of education, lost her university too.

My mother’s health is worsening — she suffers from chronic respiratory issues, worsened by smoke and dust.

She urgently needs medical treatment abroad.

Why We Need Your Help?

Because life in Gaza is no longer livable. Flour costs over $25 per kilo — if you can even find it. Clean water is scarce. Medicine is nearly impossible to get.

But worst of all:

We are trapped with no way out.

The only open path is through Rafah crossing, but Egyptian travel agencies charge $5,000 per person to leave.

That’s a number far beyond our reach.

We don’t even know how we’ll afford our next meal.

You Are Our Only Hope

I’m not writing this for pity. I’m writing this because your support might be the only thing that can save us.

Every donation — even just $1 — brings us closer to safety, to treatment, to rebuilding our lives.

And if you can’t donate, please share our story.

You might be the reason someone else finds us — and saves us.

From under a tent, from beneath falling bombs, I thank you.

Thank you for reading, for caring, and for giving us hope.

Anas – Gaza