My Father, Bro Between Sick, War Call from the Heart of Pain

In Gaza, where the sounds of bombing mingle with the wailing of the sick, and where survival becomes a daily miracle, I live between two battles whose flames never cease. The first is a war that steals everything from us, and the second is two diseases that are ravaging the two most precious people in my life: my father and my brother.

My father, the man who once supported me, is now helpless in the face of a disease ravaging his body. He needs treatment, but he can't find it in a city besieged by death from every angle. He looks at me with eyes full of patience, but he doesn't hide his pain. I wish I could comfort him, tell him that everything will be okay, but how can I say that when I have no medicine or even a promise of life?

As for my brother, his condition is no better. His weak body is unable to resist, and his illness worsens day by day. I see him suffering silently, trying to be strong so as not to increase my father's pain, but I see the pain in his eyes, in the trembling of his voice, in his gaze searching for hope in a city that has given nothing but despair.

Between war and disease, we are besieged by need. There is no medicine, no cure, not even enough to fight this pain. I try to be strong, to cling to hope, but how can I achieve it when we are stuck in this devastation?

I am not writing these words to complain, but because perhaps they will reach a living heart, a person who still believes that helping others is the greatest thing a human being can do. My father and brother need nothing more than a chance for treatment, a helping hand, a heart that feels what we are experiencing here.

I write these words with a heart filled with fear, but I still believe that goodness has not died, and that there are those who will hear this call and extend a helping hand to us at a time when we need mercy most.