Hanan Alsallout

Three years have passed, and with every winter, the suffering of families and children in Gaza repeats itself, as tents are flooded with rainwater and the cold and winter become an endless nightmare. In every winter that has passed, you have been our support and a balm to our wounds. Thanks to you, we were able to repair our tent dozens of times, buy a new one whenever necessary, and even rent an apartment when things became difficult. But this winter is different. We are facing it having lost the support we had grown accustomed to. Updates that once brought dozens of donations now barely raise even $30. I don't know what has changed, or why we have begun to feel that we have lost the solidarity and love that used to fill our hearts with reassurance and give us the strength to carry on. It hurts to enter this winter without having you stand by our side as you did before. "We still need your kind hearts by our side."

As you return to your home and your warm bed, thinking about the details of your life and work, remember that there are people who cannot even find a place to sleep. Imagine having a tent as your last shelter after your home has been destroyed, only for the winds to tear it away and the rain to flood it, leaving you helpless as you watch the last thing you have left in life disappear before your eyes. How cruel this world we live in has become. We are drowning in our tents, our children are shivering from the cold, and everyone watches, then carries on scrolling through their phones as if nothing has happened. Yesterday, a group of children were pulled from beneath sand dunes. They lost their lives, buried alive after heavy rain caused the sand to collapse on top of them while they were fast asleep. Can you even imagine what their final moments were like?! Think about others. Don't forget the people living in tents.

I wonder bitterly: How could our pain become so easy for you to bear?! What made the hell of Gaza seem normal to you?! What hurts us most is that you have become accustomed to our suffering and left us alone to face all this pain. My mind still refuses to comprehend how the world has become accustomed to our hell in Gaza, and how the images of destruction, hunger, and torn tents have become nothing more than passing news. The greatest pain is not death alone, but being left alone on the margins of life, as if we no longer deserve to live a normal life like everyone else. Gaza today is no longer a city as we once knew it, but a huge graveyard. There are no homes to shelter us, no streets we recognize, and no place where we feel safe. Try sleeping just one night in a torn tent, in the midst of this unbearable heat that turns it into an oven, with no home to protect you, no clear future for your children, and none of the most basic necessities of a dignified life… Then tell me: How can the heart endure all this anguish? Entire days pass without any help or donations. Days when we cannot even find a loaf of bread, and cannot afford milk for my newborn baby, who has done nothing wrong except being born in Gaza. Two days ago, I walked nearly 3 kilometers under extreme heat, simply to collect one container of milk for my baby from one of the organizations. When I arrived, the baby formula had already run out. We are not suffering because food does not exist in the markets, but because its prices have become beyond what people can afford, especially after more than 90% of people have lost their jobs and monthly sources of income. The food is there… but people are hungry because they simply cannot afford it. We have lost our homes, our jobs, our security, and so many things we loved… But we have not lost our souls, and we have not lost our humanity. So please, my friend, do not lose your humanity either. Here is a Palestinian family simply trying to survive. Here are young children who do not dream of a luxurious home or a perfect life… All they dream of is to survive, to have food and milk, and to live for just one day without fear. Do not let Gaza become just another story you have grown accustomed to hearing. We are still here… and we still need you.