My name is Mustafa Okasha, and I am the eldest brother of a family of ten struggling to survive in the heart of the ongoing devastation in Gaza. Since the war began, everything has changed. Our home was completely destroyed in a direct strike, and with it, we lost our memories, our safety, and everything we owned. We were left with nothing.

We fled under bombardment, carrying only our exhausted bodies and fearful hearts. We now live in a school turned shelter — a place barely fit for survival. There is no clean water, no electricity, no food, no privacy, and no warmth. We sleep on the ground, trying to cover the children with anything we can find, desperately attempting to soothe their constant cries from hunger and fear.

Five of my siblings are young children. They don’t understand what’s happening. They ask, “When will we go back home?”, “When will we eat?”, “Where is Dad?” Questions I stand helpless in front of. I try to be strong, to appear as if I have the answers, but the truth is, I’m just as afraid — and far more exhausted than I can describe. We suffered a sudden loss of a beloved family member in the bombing, and that pain still hangs heavy over us. But there’s no time to grieve when there’s nothing to feed those who remain.

All I want now is to provide my family with the bare essentials of life: a bite to ease the children’s hunger, clean water to quench their thirst, blankets to protect them from the cold, and milk for the infant who cries all night on an empty stomach. We have nothing left, and there is no way to buy anything. Everything around us is destroyed. Each day is just another attempt at survival.

I started this fundraiser out of desperation — from the depths of hardship — praying that someone out there might help. Every donation will go directly toward securing food and water first, then basic essentials for the children: milk, diapers, medicine, clothing, hygiene supplies. We’ll also try to improve our temporary shelter, even just a little, to give my siblings some sense of safety and warmth.

I’m not asking for much. I’m only asking for what can help me protect my family from hunger, illness, and emotional collapse. This campaign is our only hope right now. Every donation, every word of support, every share of this link could be the difference between one of my little siblings surviving — or not.

From my broken heart, I write this plea, and I hope our story finds a place in yours. We need you. You are our only hope left.