Mootasem

❤️ Today was Hamoud’s red day… a small day in its details, but a very big one for us. Hamoud is only five years old, and today he learned about the color red. He searched for it around him, discovered it in little things, and joined in with the joy and curiosity of a child who is still trying to simply live his childhood. To some, learning a new color may seem like an ordinary thing… But for a child who has spent years surrounded by fear, displacement, and war, a moment like this means so much. ❤️‍ For him to hold something red, to smile, to learn, to go to school, and to come home carrying the memory of a beautiful day… These are not small things to us. This is the childhood we are trying to protect. We don’t want Hamoud to remember his childhood only through the sounds of fear and anxiety. We want him to remember colors, laughter, friends, school, and those simple days when his biggest concern was discovering something new. ️ Hamoud, 5 years old… a little boy with a very simple dream: to live like every other child. ❤️‍ So let red be the color of apples, flowers, and happiness today… not the color of fear and blood. May Hamoud, and all our children, have a future filled with colors instead of fear. ️❤️

Two years ago I sat down and wrote the page you are reading now. I want to go back through it with you today, line by line, because almost none of it is still true. I wrote: "currently in a tent in Deir al-Balah." We were in tents, on and off, from December 2023 until February 2025. One of them stood in the street for nine months. About fourteen months of our life were spent under canvas. We are not in a tent now. Since the spring we have been in a small apartment in Al-Bureij. It has walls, and a door that closes. I wrote: "I have carried my children and what's left of my life on my back for 11 long months." That sentence is almost three years old now. Eleven months became thirty-five. We have moved fifteen times. People picture each move as running from a bombing, and most were. One was not. We left a piece of land near the sea in Zawaida because we could not pay for it. That is also what displacement is, and it never makes the news. I wrote: "Winter is here." Two winters have passed since I wrote that. A third one is coming. I wrote a budget for six months. This page has been open for twenty five. I wrote about my wife and my children. I did not write about my parents. My mother died at the beginning of the war. My father died in August. Before he died he had begun to lose parts of his memory, after leaving the house he had lived in for years, and then losing my mother. I wrote: "our daughter, Celine, born in 2018." She is eight now. She was five years old on the day we left our house in Sheikh Radwan. Her brother is five now. He was two years and four months old on that same day, and he barely remembers having a home at all. More than half of his life has been this. When he says home, he means whichever room we are in. I wrote that my goal was to cross the borders when they open, and start over. We are still here. There is one line on that page I would write again exactly as it stands: I was a network engineer manager, and our life was good. I keep that sentence because it is the true part, and because it is the part people forget. We were not born into this. We had an ordinary life, the kind that is boring to describe to a stranger. And there is one thing that is better than when I wrote that page, and I want to end there. On Saturday, Celine and Hamoud started the school year. They walked out of the apartment with bags on their backs. That happened because of people who are reading this, and I am not going to pretend otherwise. Twenty five months. Fifteen addresses. One thousand five hundred and ninety nine of you. Thank you for staying while the page got old. — Mootasem

The first day This morning Celine and Hamoud went to school. They came to the door, waved goodbye, opened it, and walked out. They held hands the whole way down the street. Hamoud is five, and this was his first day of kindergarten. He went into his class. Celine is eight. She went into hers. At the end they turned around and waved again. I said in the last update that I would tell you how the first day went. That is how it went. There is nothing dramatic to report, and that is the report. It was an ordinary morning, and an ordinary morning is not a small thing here. 1,597 of you have given to this campaign. I am not writing today to ask for anything. I am writing because you are the reason there was a school door to walk to this morning, and I thought you should see it. We filmed the walk. It is on our Instagram. — Mootasem

This is how they fell asleep tonight. Hamoud has his blue Spider-Man bag under his arm, his blue water bottle tucked into the side of it. Celine has her purple one, Anna and Elsa and Olaf on the front, her purple bottle next to her hand. They did not let go of the bags when we told them to sleep. They took them to bed and slept holding them, side by side. I told Nagham, look at them. They are excited for tomorrow, each one asleep hugging his bag, waiting for tomorrow. School starts in the morning, Saturday 19 September. They will walk out of our door in Al-Bureij and go. A few days ago people here closed the school fees for this month. I want to be specific about what that turned into, because it is not an abstract thing: it turned into this night, and two children who would not put their bags down. The fees come again next month, one hundred dollars for each of them. If anyone wants to carry one child for one month, that is the whole ask, and it is enough. Tomorrow I will send you an update from the school itself, whatever the day looks like. Thank you for staying with us this long. — Mootasem

The campaign page you are reading still says we live in a tent in Deir al-Balah. That was true when I wrote it in 2024. It is not true now, and I would rather correct it myself than have you find out some other way. Since around March this year we have been in Al-Bureij, in a small and modest apartment. It is the fifteenth place we have stayed since we left our home in Sheikh Radwan in October 2023. That home was bombed and destroyed. The first time we opened the door of this apartment, there was a small area with trees, and room. Somewhere Celine and Hamoud could play. After the tent in the street, the rented room, the warehouse, a bit of shade and a bit of space felt like something inside us could rest. The rent is 600 dollars a month. That is the thing I think about most. In two days, on Saturday, Celine and Hamoud will walk out of this door for their first day of school. I will send you an update from there, whatever the day turns out to be. One small thing: since yesterday, we are three donors away from the five I hoped for. If you can be one of the three, that is enough. — Mootasem

Five of you. That is what we asked for in our update on September 11, and five of you came. Since that post, five new donors have joined this campaign, and the school goal for Celine and Hamoud has been reached. I want to say it plainly: you did this. The people who gave, and the people who shared the post with someone else. Together, you closed this gap. Celine is 8. Mohammad, whom we call Hamoud, is 5. Their first day of school is September 19. I will be honest with you, as I always try to be. The school fees are $100 per child, and they come every month. Next month will come too. But this update is not a request. It is a thank you. On September 19 I will write to you from the school itself and tell you how the day went, exactly as it happens. One small thing: if you shared the September 11 update, please share this one as well, so the people who helped can see that it worked. With gratitude from Nagham, Celine, Hamoud and me, — Mootasem

Dear friends, In four days, Celine and Hamoud begin their school year. Celine is 8 and Hamoud is 5. On September 11, I shared a goal with you for their school fees. School costs $100 a month for each child, so $200 for both of them. Our home today is a small, modest apartment in Al-Bureij, and school is one of the fixed costs we know is coming every month. Since that update, some of you have already given. We are now two donors away from reaching that goal. To everyone who gave, and to everyone who shared our story with someone new: thank you. It means a lot to me that my children can start school with people standing behind them. If you are able, a donation of any amount before their first day would help us close this gap. If giving is not possible for you, sharing this update with one friend helps too. On the first day of school, I will write to you again and tell you honestly how it went, whether we reached the goal or not. With gratitude, Mootasem

Five days before school, Hamoud asked me if the bombing was over. He is five. It came out in one breath: Dad, is there play at school? Are there trips? Will we go to the amusement park and the gardens? Is the shelling finished, will they stop, so we can go to school? The first part I cannot answer. The second I can: 100 dollars a month for Celine, 100 for Hamoud. Rent here in Al-Bureij is 600 dollars. School starts on the nineteenth. I will tell you how that day goes, whether we make it or not.