Dear Donor and Supporter,

I'm writing to you from the heart of Gaza to share a little about myself, my family, and the years that have changed our lives forever.

My name is Adham Madi. I'm Palestinian from the Gaza Strip, born in 1996. Before the war, I worked as a lawyer. I had dreams, ambitions, and a normal life that I loved. I worked, planned for my future, and lived a dignified life with my family, like any person who hopes to build a life and watch their dreams grow..

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But then the war came and turned everything upside down.

During the early days of the war, while fleeing our home and enduring the hardships of displacement, I suffered a serious injury to my foot that resulted in a fracture..

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Finding proper medical care was extremely difficult under the circumstances. I spent a long time searching for treatment, enduring pain and facing the severe shortage of medical resources before I could begin my recovery. The healing process was long and exhausting, adding another layer of suffering to an already devastating period of displacement, fear, and uncertainty.

We did not only lose our home. We lost a huge part of our lives, our memories, and our sense of stability. Our beautiful home, which held memories from our childhood and youth, was bombed, destroyed, and reduced to rubble.

It was not simply a loss of walls. That place held years of our lives and everything that once made us feel that we had a home to return to.

When we left our home to escape the bombing and fire, we were not thinking about money, clothes, or possessions. We were thinking only about survival.

We left almost everything behind.

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Throughout the years of war, we found ourselves moving from one place to another, living in tents, and simply trying to stay alive.

Before the war, we had almost everything. Then we lost it..

Our home was not the only thing we lost.

I had a car that I worked for years to afford. I paid around $35,000 for it. To me, it was more than just a car. It was part of my life and carried so many memories, some happy and some painful.

One of my last memories with it was hosting the wedding celebration of one of my closest friends inside it.

Then the car was destroyed too, reduced to scattered pieces of metal by the war.

In a short period of time, I lost my home, my car, my belongings, my stability, and so many things I once believed I would keep for the rest of my life.

But the greatest loss was not material.

It was waking up every day without knowing what would happen to us..

My mother Munira, the most precious person in my life

I would like to introduce you to my mother, Munira..

My mother is not simply my mother. She is the woman who devoted her life to me, and she is the closest person to my heart.

She is an educated woman with a master's degree in mental health, and she has always been my source of love and support.

I am her only son, and her beloved child.

Since the war began, my greatest fear has been that something might happen to her.

She once lived a beautiful and stable life, and then suddenly found herself living with me through fear, displacement, cold, and hunger.

If I ever had to choose between my life and hers, I would not hesitate for a moment to give her my life..

All I want now is to give something back to her, even if only a little, after the difficult years she has endured.

I want to see her somewhere safe.

I want her to receive the medical care she needs.

And I want to be able to tell her one day:

"The fear is over. You can rest now."

My father, far from us, but carrying us in his heart every day

My father is another story of the losses our family has carried.

Before the war, my father went to Egypt for medical treatment.

He was a successful trader in Gaza and spent many years building businesses and shops that were the source of income for him and our family.

But the war destroyed his businesses and shops, taking away what he had built through years of hard work.

Yet losing his business was not what hurt him the most.

The hardest part for my father is being far away from us.

He was in Egypt when the war began and was unable to return to us.

Since then, he has lived with the pain of a father who knows that his family is in danger but cannot be there beside them.

My father tried every way he could to find a way for us to leave Gaza. He tried to evacuate us and did everything within his ability to bring us together somewhere safe.

But he could not.

And I know that this hurts him every day.

I know his heart breaks for us.

He wants to be here, to hold my mother, to make sure she is safe, and to be beside me.

But distance and circumstances have been stronger than our wishes.

My mother needs her husband's embrace after everything she has been through.

And I also, despite trying throughout these years to be strong, to help others, and to stand beside those who need me, am still a son who needs his father.

After everything I have seen and lived through, sometimes all I need is for my father to put his hand on my shoulder.

To say to me:

"You have been through so much. Now let me carry you for a while."

I need that embrace.

I need to feel that I do not have to be strong all the time.

And from the deepest part of my heart, I hope the day comes when our family can be together again, when my father can hold my mother, and when I can return, even for a moment, to my natural role as a son, rather than always being the person trying to survive and protect everyone around me.

Years of tents and hunger

For nearly three years, we have lived through circumstances that I would never wish upon another human being.

We lived in tents through freezing cold, insects and rodents, harsh conditions, lack of privacy, and constant fear.

The tent was an attempt to survive, but it was never a home.

It did not provide safety, warmth, comfort, or privacy..

Then came hunger..

Even obtaining food became dangerous.

During the famine, I had to go to dangerous areas in search of flour and food.

On one of those occasions, I was injured in my hand.

I have a medical report documenting the injury, and I am still receiving treatment. I continue to need painkillers and wound care until the injury heals..

But I did not give up.

I do not know how we made it through those days.

Sometimes I feel that we survived by a miracle.

We survived hunger, fear, displacement, and circumstances that could have ended our lives..

And still, I kept standing.

I did not simply survive. I tried to help others.

After everything I had been through, I could not simply stand by and do nothing.

I found a new sense of meaning in helping others.

I volunteered in humanitarian protection, helping displaced people and vulnerable and marginalized groups through awareness, guidance, support, and assistance in accessing services and safe referrals.

Perhaps because I personally experienced fear, displacement, hunger, and the loss of safety, I became more able to understand what others were feeling.

I was giving people something that I myself needed:

A reassuring word.

Someone who would listen.

And support that could make them feel that they were not alone.

Through my legal background, experience, and training in humanitarian protection, I was able to find a role through which I could help people.

I did not want to be simply someone waiting for his own suffering to end..

Despite everything, I wanted to be someone who could help ease another person's suffering.

Over time, my involvement in humanitarian protection developed into a deeper professional commitment. Through intensive training provided by the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) and the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, I strengthened my knowledge and practical skills in humanitarian protection.

These experiences helped me become a certified trainer specializing in humanitarian protection. I began using the knowledge and skills I had gained to conduct awareness sessions, promote safety and dignity, explain available protection services, and help vulnerable people understand their rights and access support..

Even while facing displacement, personal loss, and the challenges of surviving a war, I continued to dedicate my time and effort to helping others. Becoming a humanitarian protection trainer gave me a greater sense of purpose and allowed me to turn some of the painful experiences I had endured into knowledge and support that could benefit others.

Haboush, my beloved little girl who grew up during the war

There is another person who has become an inseparable part of my life during these years.

Haboush, my beloved spoiled girl.

Her story began with us under difficult circumstances..

Her father was missing, and we later learned that he had been detained.

Her mother was injured and receiving treatment.

Throughout those years, I stayed by Haboush's side, trying to provide whatever food, necessities, and care I could, and to protect her as much as possible from circumstances she never chose..

Haboush grew up during the war.

She grew up while children around her were afraid of the sounds of bombing instead of being afraid only of their little dreams..

Today, she goes to kindergarten.

I buy her supplies, pay her kindergarten fees, and try to help her continue her childhood and education despite everything..

Haboush is not simply a child I helped during the war. She is part of my family and a piece of my heart..

In a world that has taken children's toys, homes, and sense of safety away from them, I want to preserve the simplest right she has:

To be a child.

I want to see her carry her little schoolbag, come home from kindergarten, continue her education, and grow up away from fear.

And I want to live to see her grow up and become a doctor, helping treat the wounds of a people who have suffered so much.

I may have lost so much during this war, but I do not want to lose the people who have become part of my heart.

After years in tents, we finally have a roof

Thanks to our friends and the humanitarian supporters who supported our previous campaign, we were able to rent an apartment.

The apartment is not perfect and needs a lot of repairs, but for us it is far better than the tent where we lived for nearly three years..

After years of cold, rodents, insects, fear, and lack of privacy, having four walls and a roof over our heads became a great blessing.

For the first time in a long while, we have a place we can call home, even if it is modest.

But this roof comes at a cost.

Our rent is currently $900 per month.

With the high prices and shortage of food and basic necessities, covering rent, food, and medical treatment at the same time has become more than we can afford.

I do not want to return to the tent.

I do not want my mother to return to the cold and fear.

I simply want us to be able to preserve this small amount of stability we have reached after years of displacement.

Food, medical care, and daily life

Life is still difficult..

Food is expensive and scarce.

Medical treatment requires money.

I still need follow up care for my hand injury, painkillers, and wound care.

My mother also needs medical follow up and treatment, especially after the eye surgery she underwent. She needs regular examinations and medical care, which is costly and difficult under the current circumstances.

There is also Haboush, and I want to continue paying her kindergarten fees and providing the educational supplies she needs.

These things may seem simple in a stable life, but in Gaza today they have become a heavy burden.

We want to leave, but our priority is not simply to escape

Yes, we want to leave Gaza.

We want to reach a safe place, away from fear, bombing, and danger.

According to the information available to us, the current coordination cost for leaving may reach around $25,000 per person.

For a family that has lost its home, business, source of income, and stability, this amount is far beyond what we can currently afford.

But I want to be clear with you:

Our story is not simply the story of people who want to escape.

We want to live.

We want to live with dignity.

We want to have a roof that we do not fear losing.

We want to be able to obtain food without me having to risk my life for it.

We want me to receive the treatment I need.

We want my mother to receive the care she needs.

We want Haboush to continue her education.

We want my father to return one day and hold my mother, and I want to feel that I also have a father I can turn to.

We simply want a gentler life than the one we have lived through these past years.

Why am I asking for your help again?

I am deeply grateful to every person who supported my previous campaign.

Your donations were not simply money.

They helped us move from a tent into a home.

They helped us obtain food, medical care, and basic necessities.

And they reminded us that there are still people in this world who see us, hear us, and care about us.

Today I am asking for help again, not because our suffering has ended, but because we are still trying to rebuild our lives.

We need support to pay our rent, secure food, continue my treatment, support my mother's medical care, support Haboush's education, and cover our basic needs.

And if a safe and realistic way to leave Gaza becomes available in the future, we want to be able to take that opportunity.

To everyone who can help us

I am not asking one person to save us.

I know that what we have been through is too much for one person to carry.

But during these years, I have learned that small acts of help, when they come from many hearts, can make a real difference.

I survived hunger.

I lived in tents.

I was injured.

I lost my home, my car, and so many things from my life.

I watched my family suffer.

And still, I am standing.

I am still working.

I am still learning.

I am still helping others.

And I am still trying to build something from the rubble.

But being strong does not mean that we never get tired.

Sometimes, even the person who helps others also needs someone to help him.

I also need someone to put a hand on my shoulder.

I need to feel safe.

My mother needs her husband's embrace.

Haboush needs to grow up as a child, not as a witness to war.

And my father needs to see his family together again.

So I am asking you to help us continue.

Help us pay our rent.

Help us buy food.

Help me continue my treatment.

Help my mother receive the medical care she needs.

Help Haboush continue kindergarten and her education.

And help us hold on to hope for a safer future.

Every contribution, no matter how small, can make a real difference in our lives.

A $1 donation may seem like a small amount to you, but to us it can mean food, medicine, part of our rent, or one more step toward safety.

Your $1 donation means life to us. ❤️

If you cannot donate, sharing this campaign with your friends and family may help it reach someone who can.

I am not asking you to save our lives on your own.

I am simply asking you to help us have a chance.

A chance for my mother to live safely and receive the treatment she needs.

A chance for me to heal, continue my life, and rebuild my future.

A chance for Haboush to grow up safely, continue her education, and achieve her dream.

And a chance for my father to return one day and hold my mother, while I can also feel that I have a father I can return to.

After everything we have been through, I still believe that we deserve a gentler life.

A life with safety.

With dignity.

With medical care.

With food.

With family together.

And with a chance to begin again.

We do not want to simply survive. We want to live.

From the heart of Gaza, I send you love and hope, and I thank you for every hand that has reached out to us, every kind word, every share, and every donation.

Thank you for not making us feel that we are alone.

Adham Madi ❤️

Regarding the receipt of donations

I would like to be completely transparent with you that the funds raised through this campaign will be received by my dear friend and colleague, the wonderful lawyer Sarah, who has kindly agreed to be the beneficiary of the campaign on my behalf.

Because I am in Gaza and cannot directly receive GoFundMe funds, Sarah will transfer the funds to me periodically, according to the circumstances and available transfer methods.

As I have always done, I will keep you fully informed and transparent about how the donations are received and used, and I will continue sharing regular updates with you about the expenses and the needs that the funds are helping to cover.

I know that trust is a great responsibility. I therefore commit to being clear and transparent with you about everything related to this campaign, just as I have always been with everyone who has supported me and stood beside my family.

Thank you for your trust, your kindness, and your support. ❤️