Before the war, I had just graduated from dental school. My family believed our future was finally beginning. None of us imagined that within months, we would lose our home and be forced to live in a tent.

I never imagined that survival would become my full-time job instead.

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My family was proud of everything we had achieved together.

My father worked as a medical radiographer, helping patients every day.

My mother cared for our family despite living with heart disease.

My younger brother dreamed of studying medicine.

My little sister Meera filled our home with laughter.

We weren’t rich, but we had everything that truly mattered: a home, hope, and dreams for the future

Then everything changed.

Our home was destroyed.

The place where we celebrated birthdays, shared meals, studied, laughed, and built memories became nothing but rubble.

In one moment, we lost everything we had spent our lives building.

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Like thousands of other families, we were forced to flee.

We could only carry what our hands could hold.

Everything else stayed behind.

Every displacement meant starting over again with almost nothing.

Everything my family owned was reduced to a few mattresses, blankets, and bags loaded onto a truck.

That truck carried what remained of our old life.

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Today, my family of six lives in a small nylon tent in northern Gaza.

This tent has become our home.

It offers little protection from the heat of summer or the cold and rain of winter.

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When it rains, water floods the camp.

The ground turns into mud.

Simple things that most people never think about—sleeping, cooking, staying dry, finding clean water—become daily challenges.

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My Family

My little sister Mira is only ten years old.

Instead of going to school every morning, she has spent her childhood living through displacement and uncertainty.

Despite everything, she still smiles.

Her smile reminds me why I must never give up.

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My younger brother Anas suffered a serious eye injury during the war.

He urgently needs specialized treatment to protect his eyesight.

Watching someone you love face that uncertainty is painful

My father lost his job after the hospital where he worked was damaged.

My mother continues to live with heart disease while access to medicine and healthcare has become increasingly difficult.

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Even in the hardest moments, we try to hold on to our humanity.

Sometimes we cook together.

Sometimes we laugh together.

These small moments remind us that hope is stronger when it is shared.

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I also began writing “Laughter Over the Rubble” to preserve our memories and tell the world what life in Gaza truly looks like.

Not only the destruction…

But also the resilience.

The kindness.

The humanity that still survives.

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How Your Donation Helps

Your support helps my family with:

* Food

* Clean water

* Medicine

* Shelter

* Continuing my education and rebuilding my future

* Helping my family recover and rebuild

Every donation, no matter the amount, brings us one step closer to stability and hope.

If you cannot donate, sharing our campaign with others can make a life-changing difference.

Thank you for taking the time to read our story.

Thank you for seeing us as a family—not as numbers.

With gratitude,

Belal