Help Ashraf and Doaa rebuild their lives

My name is Ashraf, and I am a father of four children: Rimas, Razan, Karim, and Kenan. I never imagined I would write these words—to tell the story of losing everything, to ask for help in rebuilding my life. But war leaves us no choice, and the destruction left by the occupation has taken everything from me, leaving behind only painful memories and ruins.

On October 7, everything changed. I had a home that I built with my own hands, a place I spent five years constructing so my family could have a warm and safe shelter. But in just one moment, it turned into rubble under the bombing. I stood there, looking at it, trying to comprehend the catastrophe, but my tears blurred my vision, and there was no time to grieve.

It wasn’t just my home that I lost—I lost my businesses, which were my main source of income. I worked for years to provide a decent life for my children, to give them a bright future. But in an instant, all my dreams collapsed along with the walls that held them.

We didn’t leave our home voluntarily—we fled under fire, under bombardment that surrounded us from every direction. We had no time to think, no time to pack. We carried only a few simple belongings and left everything behind. We left my children’s toys, their books, our memories—everything we built over the years. But what we mourn the most is our family photo album, the pictures of my children through every stage of their lives—their first steps, their first day of school, their innocent moments that war mercilessly stole.

And so began our journey of displacement—our journey into the unknown. We moved from place to place: from Shuja’iyya to Al-Nasr neighborhood, then to Nuseirat, and later to Rafah. Each place felt like the end, but we forced ourselves to keep going. The bombings followed us wherever we went, explosions echoing all around us, making us feel like death was chasing us every step of the way.

My children lived through the worst days of their lives. They woke up to the sound of warplanes, fell asleep to the sound of explosions, and were afraid to even breathe too loudly. Every moment felt like it could be their last, and every day was another test of endurance and survival.

My eldest daughter, Rimas, is just 14 years old, yet she has never known a life without war. Since the day she opened her eyes to this world, she has heard nothing but the sounds of rockets and airstrikes. Can you imagine that a child this age has already survived seven wars?

2008 - Operation Cast Lead

2012 - Operation Pillar of Defense

2014 - Operation Protective Edge

2019 - Operation Black Belt

2021 - Operation Guardian of the Walls

2022 - Operation Breaking Dawn

2023 - Operation Al-Aqsa Flood

Isn’t this too much? Is this justice? How can a child’s entire life be nothing but war, fear, and loss?

How many times has she asked me:

"Dad, are we going to die today?"

"Dad, why is it only us who have to live like this?"

And I had no answer. How do I explain to her that the whole world is watching us suffer but does nothing? How do I tell her why she has to fall asleep to the sounds of bombs instead of the laughter of her siblings?

Today, I am not asking for much—just a chance. I want to rebuild my life, which the occupation has destroyed. I want to secure my children's future. I want to reach a country where they won’t hear the sounds of explosions, a country that grants them the right to education, the right to residency, the right to a normal life that they have been denied for so long.

These donations will help me rise again, help me rebuild a new life, help me reach a place where my children can have a better future—a place where they can continue their education in a safe environment, where they have the right to dream of a future without war, where they can experience childhood as it should be.

We also need these donations to secure some of our essential needs that will ensure my children can live with dignity—to help us stand on our feet again, to provide for my children, to restore even a small part of what was taken from us.

Today, we have become forgotten. We did not choose to be refugees. We did not choose to lose our homes. We did not choose to live under bombardment. We did not choose to have our dreams shattered.

What happened to us is an injustice forced upon us. The whole world sees it. The whole world hears it. But no one does anything.

Are we doomed to suffer forever?

Do my children deserve to pay the price for a war they had no part in?

You might think your contribution is small, but to us, it means everything.

It is a new hope, a chance for life, a message that we are not alone.

Help me protect my children and secure their future.

Help me, because I have nothing left but this plea.

And this is how my house became after I returned from north to south