Baha'a A. Mattar Family

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<div><strong>A Message from a Broken, Aching Heart</strong>
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<li><strong>By God, there are no words that can describe what we are living through today. No letters are enough, and no expression can soothe the heart. Each day we wake to a reality more horrifying than nightmares, more brutal than imagination. </strong>
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<li><strong>My little boy cries in front of me, hungry, begging for food. And I am helpless… I look at him, and I have nothing to give. </strong>
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<li><strong>Our days are dark and endless, it seems. Our bodies have turned into skeletons. A piece of bread is now a dream. A cup of tea is a luxury. A cucumber or a tomato? Nearly impossible to get. My family only wishes for something—anything—to stop the hunger. But there's nothing. </strong>
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<li><strong>My wife is pregnant and needs medicine... but there is none. I am a former cancer patient; I had a tumor removed years ago. Never did I imagine I would reach such a level of brokenness and despair. </strong>
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<li><strong>I lost my home, the fruits of a lifetime’s work—everything I owned. All the savings I collected over the years are gone. I lost my job as an electronics engineer at the Palestinian Press House. My manager and my colleagues were killed. My cousins were martyred. My aunts, their husbands, their daughters, my uncle and his children, my grandmother, my uncle—all gone. Even my wife’s family—more than 40 people-erased from the civil registry… as if they never existed.</strong>
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<li><strong>I fled with my family to southern Gaza. We slept in the streets, in the cold and hunger. I searched through morgues for three days looking for the bodies of my cousins. I’ve seen horrors that no film has ever dared to portray. Explosions, rubble, corpses, weeping… every moment here is a silent scream of agony.</strong>
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<li><strong>My parents’ home was bombed. Even though part of it remained, we returned during a ceasefire—only for the war to return again. Now, we’ve been ordered to evacuate once more. On top of hunger, poverty, and despair… displacement repeats. </strong>
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<li><strong>My mother, my siblings, my relatives—they left. But I stayed. I couldn’t bring myself to go. I want to die with dignity—me, my wife, and my son. </strong>
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<li><strong>I can’t take it anymore. I’m completely drained. My soul is extinguished. Death has become more merciful than watching my children starve while I can do nothing. </strong>
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<li><strong>I’m writing this now while the sound of bombs and gunfire echoes all around me. Perhaps there will be no tomorrow. Perhaps the sun will never rise on us again... But I beg you—please don’t forget us in your prayers. Only God truly knows what we are going through. </strong>
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<li><strong>I never thought I’d write such a message. But hope is all I have left—that there are still good people in this world, people of compassion and humanity, who may reach out to help us in this darkness. </strong>
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<li><strong> An Update on My Heartbreaking Losses (5/9/2025 )</strong>
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<li><strong>Tragically, my younger brother Hadi has been martyred; my uncle and grandmother have also lost their lives. father home has been destroyed, and I cannot find the words to articulate the depth of my grief and pain. </strong>
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<li><strong> Every contribution—no matter how small—could mean life for us. </strong>
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<li><strong>We are in urgent need of: </strong>
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<li><strong>* Food</strong>
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<li><strong>* Milk and diapers for my child</strong>
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<li><strong>* Blankets and clothing.</strong>
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<li><strong>* Any humanitarian support to restore some dignity and safety </strong>
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<li><strong>I’m sorry for reaching out to you in such a time of weakness. </strong>
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<li><strong>But from the depths of my heart, I thank anyone who extends a helping hand. </strong>
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<li><strong>You are our only hope after God. </strong>
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<li><strong>May God bless you and reward you. </strong>
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<li><strong>With love, </strong>
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<li><strong>Baha'a from Gaza.</strong>
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Baha'a A. Mattar Family

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