Help Haya's family survive!

Hello,

Up until a few months ago I called Gaza governorate home. Gaza is a place of resilience, where families toiled tirelessly to carve out dignified lives for their loved ones. Since 2007, we've endured a stifling blockade, facing myriad restrictions on mobility and access to goods. Yet, amid adversity, we've always found ways to nurture life from the ashes, finding solace in the simplest joys and sharing what little we have.

In October 2023, our world was upended. War shattered our reality. Each passing day has eclipsed the previous in terms of devastation, loss, and trauma. If we survive, the scars of this ordeal will haunt us for a lifetime. While the world bears witness, you cannot understand the depth of our anguish.

My family and I lived the first days in horrifying fear and worry about our loved ones. We saw destruction everywhere and we continuously heard bombings. We felt that each moment could be our last. The building we lived in, our home, did not stop shaking. We could not eat or sleep.

That terror has haunted us day and night ever since the beginning of the war. After just one week, we had to flee our home. We did not know where to go nor when we would be able to come home. We obeyed orders to “go south”.

The cruel reality is that we'll never return. There's nothing left to return to. Our sanctuary, painstakingly built through years of toil and perseverance, lies in ruins. Home isn't merely walls; it's the repository of cherished memories and familial bonds, now reduced to rubble.

For the past four months, my family and I have been internally displaced, experiencing the darkest days of our life. Not imagining it could get worse and then somehow finding ways to cope when it does.

We have very limited access to basic necessities. On some days, we could not find water or bread to eat. People need to line up for everything in Gaza now, including to get water, food, bread and other essentials. And we consider ourselves fortunate when we come out of the line with something in our hands.

When I look at my hands, I barely recognize them. They might look dirty on the outside, but they are the hands that are continuously working to try to survive.

I do not stop thinking of my sister and her four kids, whom I have barely seen since this nightmare began. My niece gets physically sick when she hears bombing. I wish I could hug them tight and apologize for all that they have been experiencing. I wish I could protect them.

The situation here is terrifying and inhumane in every sense. There is no safe place. We’ve evacuated many times now, running for out lives with our pain and scarce belongings.

We are beyond physically and psychologically exhausted. I am particularly worried about my parents and do not want to lose them. They have chronic diseases and we face huge difficulties in finding medications.

My ability to endure all these hurdles has been crumbling. I am terrified and frustrated. There is a limit to anyone's strength and resilience. It’s been too much.

I just want my family and I to survive. The only way to do that is to leave Gaza.

The only way out of Gaza for Palestinian nationals like me and my family, is through an expensive process in Egypt. We are raising money for my two parents, my three brothers, myself, my sister and her husband and her four children (aged 3, 4, 7 and 10).

Your support sustains our hopes and our very existence.

Thank you for seeing our humanity.