On the morning of October 7th, I stood by the window watching my son Mohammed wait for his school bus in his neatly pressed uniform. It seemed like a normal, peaceful moment — the last we would know. Since that day, our lives have become a painful journey of displacement.

My name is Sufian, a father of eight. We lost our home, our $30,000 life savings, and everything we spent years building. Today we live in a tent, where my children suffer from painful skin diseases. My wife has severe rheumatoid arthritis, and without warmth, blankets, or proper clothing, the cold has made her pain much worse.

Survival is now a daily struggle. Without cooking gas, I risk my life searching for firewood or pay prices we can barely afford. Cooking over open fire fills our lungs with smoke. Every day we stand for hours in long lines at public kitchens just to get a simple meal for our children.

One day, while trying to get flour, I found myself face to face with a tank, surrounded by people who had lost their lives. My only thought was bringing bread back to my hungry children.

I am not asking for luxury. I need $95,000 to buy a small home — solid walls to protect my family from disease, freezing cold, and fear. I want my children to sleep safely again. Every contribution brings us closer to warmth, dignity, and stability.