Dear humanity,

My name is Mohammed, and I am speaking to you from Gaza, from a place where life has become dust, fear, and endless struggle. I am writing to you not just to share my family’s pain, but to ask for help, a lifeline that can give us a chance to survive.

Before the war, we were a simple, loving family of six. Life was modest but full of laughter and dreams. My mother, Maha, a widowed woman, worked tirelessly to care for all of us, my brothers and sister: Rafik, Aseel, Ahmed, Youssef, and me. Each of us had our own dream: to build, to create, to live with dignity.

My eldest brother, Rafik, had studied pharmacy and worked in a pharmaceutical company. He used to come home proud, talking about helping people and providing medicines that made lives better. My sister, Aseel, full of passion and words, graduated in English Language and Literature and worked as a translator, a bridge between languages and cultures. My twin brother Ahmed and I studied Mechatronics Engineering, dreaming of building things that could make life easier. And my youngest brother, Youssef, only fifteen, was full of hope, dreaming of finishing school, going to university, and making our father proud.

But on October 7th, everything changed. The sounds of bombs replaced our laughter. The light of our dreams turned into fire and destruction. In a single moment, our home, filled with memories of our father, childhood games, and family dinners, was reduced to ashes. The rooms that once echoed with warmth and stories were swallowed by dust and destruction.

We ran for our lives, carrying nothing but each other. We fled from the north of Gaza, hoping to find safety in Khan Younis, but the bombs followed us. Then we had to move again to Rafah, where we now live in a fragile tent that cannot protect us from heat, cold, or fear.

Life in this tent is beyond words. There is no clean water, no electricity, no medicine. Food is scarce, diseases spread quickly, and every day is a battle to survive. The nights are filled with the sound of drones and distant explosions. The days are heavy with hunger, exhaustion, and the constant search for hope.

Aseel tries to write sometimes, but there is no electricity to charge her phone or laptop. Rafik searches for medicine to help people around us, but there is nothing left. Ahmed and I carry water, fix torn tent sheets, and protect our mother as best we can. And Youssef, he no longer speaks of school. He only asks when we will be safe again.

We have lost everything.. our home, our jobs, our future, yet we still hold on to one thing: the hope that somewhere beyond these walls of destruction, there is a place where life can begin again.

Now, after months of unbearable suffering, we have made the hardest decision: we must leave Gaza. We want to cross into Egypt, to find safety, to rebuild what was destroyed, and to live with dignity once more. But leaving comes with a high cost — permits, travel expenses, and the basic needs to survive in Egypt are more than we can manage on our own.

All we ask for is a chance, a chance to live, to heal, to dream again.

Your support, no matter how small, can change our story. It can allow Youssef to go back to school, Aseel to write again, Rafik to find hope in his work, and our mother to finally rest without fear.

In Gaza, we have lost almost everything. But with your help, we can still hold on to life. Please share our story. Please don’t let our voices fade into silence.

Because behind every number is a family.

Behind every headline is a heartbeat.

And behind this message , we are six souls still fighting to live.