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Help the Displaced Families of Northern Gaza
Today, countless families from the northern Gaza Strip are displaced homeless, hungry, and struggling to survive. They have lost everything: their homes, their safety, and the comfort of knowing where their next meal will come from.
Mothers are searching for food to feed their children. Fathers are doing everything they can just to find clean water. The cold nights and hunger are unbearable.
We want to do what’s right to provide food, water, and basic shelter for these innocent people who have already endured so much pain.
Your kindness can bring warmth and hope back into their lives. Every little act of generosity makes a world of difference. Please, help us feed and care for those who have nothing left. ❤️
In a narrow alley in the Beach Refugee Camp in western Gaza City, Umm Laith sat on a worn-out mat in front of her crumbling house.
The sun had not yet fully risen, but the sound of drones was enough to wake her up—just as it had every day since the war began.
She held her son, Laith, close to her chest. He was barely nine years old—his body frighteningly thin, his eyes sunken deep, as if his face were a mirror of all Gaza’s suffering.
“Mama, I’m hungry...”
The words came out weakly, his tongue barely able to move.
There was nothing left in the house. No flour, no oil, not even salt.
Two days earlier, she had divided the last piece of bread she had into four parts—for herself, for Laith, for his little sister Lynn, and their sick grandmother.
But even that bread… was gone.
The next morning, Umm Laith joined thousands of women standing in a long line outside a UNRWA food distribution center.
She waited five hours under the scorching sun.
When she finally reached the gate, the guard shouted:
“The flour is finished. Come back tomorrow!”
She collapsed to the ground from exhaustion, her heart breaking apart.
In her son’s eyes, she could already see the shadow of starvation.
The famine in Gaza was no longer a headline on the news.
- She was living it every missing meal, every tear of hunger, every gaze at the empty fridge, the bare kitchen shelves, and the suffocating silence inside the home.
That night, she found an empty can of beans hidden on a shelf.
She poured hot water into it and boiled it over candlelight.
She fed her children what she called “the soup of hope.”
It wasn’t food, but it gave them a brief moment of peace.
And that night, she wrote on the wall of her house with charcoal: