<div>Hello everyone,
I’m Adnan Al Ghoul i’m sharing with you the words of my older sister Heba about our suffering in Gaza.

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<div>My name is Heba Alghoul. I am from Palestine, originally from the northern part of Gaza. I lived in Al-Shati Refugee Camp


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<div>As the bombings grew more intense in our neighborhood, fear forced my family and me to flee to the city of Rafah. But my parents—my father and mother—couldn’t bear to leave. They were deeply attached to our home, to the walls that held our memories, and to the neighborhood where they had spent their entire lives. They chose to stay, believing that somehow, everything would be okay.


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<div>Just two days after we were displaced, a relative called us with news that shattered our world. Our home had been bombed. My parents were still inside. They were gone.


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<div>In that moment, it felt like time stopped. We had lost not only our home, but the two hearts that made it feel like home in the first place.


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<div>We were devastated. After a week filled with suffering, sadness, anxiety, exhaustion, and sleeping on the streets, I managed to buy a small tent using what little money I had saved before the war. It was a bittersweet moment—we were relieved to finally have shelter, yet overwhelmed with grief over the loss of our father and mother.


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<div>We had no money, and food prices were unbearably high. To survive, we ate only one meal a day and drank water that wasn’t even safe to consume.


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<div>When the Israeli forces began their assault on Rafah, my family and I made the heartbreaking decision to flee. We returned to our old neighborhood in the Shati refugee camp in northern Gaza—the place where we grew up. There, we pitched our tent once more, clinging to memories of the life we once had.


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<div>And when we back to our neighbourhood the Israeli occupation took my daughter, Sanaa, from me. She was 3 years old. She was only a child—pure, innocent, full of laughter. She was playing in the street with her little friends, unaware of the danger above her, when a bomb struck a nearby house. In an instant, her joy was silenced. Her life was stolen.


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<div>There are no words to describe the pain of losing a child. No parent should have to bury their daughter because of war.


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<div>We are living through unbearable hardship. I have no money left, and the prices of food, water, and basic needs are beyond our reach. My children go to sleep hungry, and I can no longer bear to see the fear and pain in their eyes.


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<div>Please, I humbly ask for your help. Any amount you can give will help me feed my children, care for my family, and hopefully find a safe way out of Gaza. We dream of a life without bombs, without hunger—a life where my children can just be children.


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<div>Your support could mean the difference between despair and survival. Please don’t look away.


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<div>Thank you


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Please help my sister and 2 children in Noord-Gaza

Please help my sister and 2 children in Noord-Gaza

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