Help Amal's family to survive

From a Warm Home to a Tent That Shelters Neither Cold Nor Heat.

My name is Amal, a mother of four and a wife, living in Gaza. We are going through a devastating war, with no access to work or income. I kindly ask for your support to help us survive these difficult times and continue our lives with dignity.

We are a family of six. I used to work as an English teacher, and life was moving along peacefully—simple, but full of contentment and stability.

Every morning, I left for work with passion, and every evening I returned to embrace my children and share their little stories. Our modest home was our sanctuary—filled with the laughter of my kids, and years of irreplaceable memories.

But everything changed on October 7.

The war erupted suddenly. It wasn’t our first, but it felt like it was taking the last breath of our souls. The shock was paralyzing. We barely had time to understand what was happening before we were ordered to evacuate our beloved home due to an imminent bombing threat.

Imagine being forced to abandon the place you love—the space where your dreams took shape—without even being able to close the door behind you.

We left everything behind… our clothes, photos, our children’s toys—even the last cup of coffee left half full on the table. We fled with nothing but our children in our arms, and hearts breaking on the doorstep.

Then began our long, painful journey of displacement.

We were forced to flee more than seven times—from one place to another—each time hoping it would be the last, but the hardship repeated itself. We stayed with relatives whose own situation was barely livable, then in a school that offered no dignity, then to the south, to Deir al-Balah, to Rafah… and with each move, we grew more exhausted, and longed for our home even more.

Eventually, we ended up in a tent.

But a tent is not a home. It cannot protect you from the cold, nor shield you from the burning sun, nor preserve your dignity.

There is no clean water, no functioning bathroom, no warm bedding, and no medicine for my children, whose bodies have grown too weak to resist illness and malnutrition. Every day is a battle for survival. And I—once a teacher—am now jobless, with no source of income, no way to feed or educate my children. Schools have stopped. Life has come to a halt.

When we returned to Gaza after months of displacement, we found nothing.

No home. No shelter. We had to move in with relatives again, living under circumstances that are unbearably difficult. We search for a corner to rest our heads, for scraps to preserve our dignity.

But perhaps the most painful part is that my children have lost their right to education.

No books. No classrooms. No desks. No dreams. Their futures have been put on pause since the moment we fled.

From the depths of my heart, I ask anyone reading this:

Please help us, even in the smallest way. We are not asking for luxury—just for the chance to survive with dignity, to give our children a glimpse of hope, and maybe, a path back to life.

We are human beings—just like you. We love life, we dream, we feel, we hope.

Please, don’t withhold your support. In your kindness, there is life for a family that has nothing left but hope.