Assalamualaikum! My name is Casey Franklin. I’m from Cincinnati, OH. This account is for my friend Mohammed Darah and his family, who are living out of a tent in the Gaza Strip. As seen in the pictures above, Mohammed has sustained injuries to his left foot in an attack made by the IDF, making it even more difficult to get the supplies he and his family so desperately need. His father suffers from diabetes. Insulin is hard to come by and expensive. They need funds for food, water, medicine, and other essentials. This family has already lost their homes, their cousin who was pregnant, her children, and are living in conditions many of us couldn’t fathom.

Please, donate what you can; every dollar makes a difference! If you can’t donate right now, please share this campaign on all platforms. I will ensure that every cent is given directly to the family and will be used for food, water, medicine and evacuation. This means so much to them. Thank you for reading. I will give updates and statements from the family as things progress.

UPDATE:

Thank you all for your donations, from the bottom of my heart, I can’t thank you enough for helping Mohammed and his family. Unfortunately, I have some bad news regarding the family. During the bombings in July 3rd, Mohammed’s cousin was critically injured and passed away on July 5th in the early morning. They are in deep mourning for Rajab. Needless to say this has made their situation worse. I urge you to please continue to donate and spread the word.

Finally, I have a letter from Mohammed that he’s asked me to share with you all. Thank you for taking the time to read it.

My father’s insulin and heart medications cost $350 every week, money that no longer exists. The house we rent, cracked and leaking, still demands $500 each month. Food prices have tripled; clean water must be rationed. I have sold everything I own except my hope, yet my family still goes to bed hungry more nights than not.

Each sunrise feels heavier than the last; yet every morning I whisper to my unborn child that the world can still be kind. I want the first story they hear to be one of strangers who chose to care, not of bombs and betrayal. I dream of teaching them to walk on a healed foot along a street rebuilt with hope, not rubble.

I am reaching out, not as a statistic, but as a brother, a son, a father-to-be who refuses to give up. I need help—help to travel for surgery before I lose my foot, help to keep my father alive, help to place bread on our table until peace, at last, is more than a prayer. Your compassion can turn these pages of suffering into a chapter of survival.

— Mohammed