Hello, I am Yamen Nashwan, and I would like to share the story of my father, a 68-year-old man, and his suffering in this war.

In a small, makeshift tent, my father sits—silent, broken, and in pain. A man who spent 37 years of his life teaching generations in UNRWA schools, inspiring students with his knowledge of the English language. He wasn’t just a teacher; he was a mentor, a guide, and a father figure to hundreds of students.

Every day, he would return home with a tired yet contented smile, after giving everything to educate young minds and secure their future. He sacrificed so much to provide for our needs, ensuring we had food on the table and could pursue our education My father dedicated his life to helping others build theirs.

But today, the war has stolen everything from him. A shrapnel injury to his leg has left him immobile, bound to a bed he cannot leave. He underwent a grueling surgery, but it wasn’t enough. He now requires another urgent operation—an operation we cannot afford.

What pains me most is seeing him cry silently at night, hiding his tears from us, ashamed that he cannot provide as he used to. He suffers from relentless pain but tries to mask it so we don’t carry the burden of his suffering. My father, who once stood tall and proud, now sits helpless, trapped in this cruel reality.The war didn’t stop at his injury. It took away our home, our dreams, and the life we knew. Today, I struggle even to provide him with proper food—nourishment he desperately needs to heal. It breaks me to see him in this state, unable to help the man who spent his life helping us.

The war has not only destroyed my father’s body but also shattered his spirit and our family’s hope. We live each day surrounded by fear, uncertainty, and unimaginable hardship.

I share this story because my father deserves so much more than this suffering. He is a man who gave everything to others, and now he finds himself forgotten in his time of need.Help me give my father a chance—help me save his life and restore some dignity to the man who gave everything for his family, his students, and his community. https://gofund.me/d84fe805

In an instant, everything disappeared. It wasn’t just walls and a roof — it was a world full of warmth and safety. The bombing forced us into the harsh journey of displacement with no shelter or stability. Our lives became a daily struggle for the most basic needs, and our children, who once played joyfully, now have fear-filled eyes.

The suffering didn’t stop at losing our home; my family was torn apart. Each of us ended up in a different place, far from the warmth that used to unite us under one roof. The hardship of displacement is not only about homelessness but also about the feeling of isolation and being deprived of having our loved ones by our side.

Despite all this pain, we still hold on to hope. We believe this ordeal will end, and one day, we will return to our home and reunite with our family under one roof again. Every donation gives us life and helps us rebuild our lives from scratch. You can support us through this link: https://gofund.me/1222af19.

I was a young man full of ambition, dreaming of becoming an engineer and contributing to building a better future for my city, Beit Hanoun in northern Gaza. I studied engineering with my classmates, and we planned to establish a consulting office to provide sustainable energy solutions. But the war came and took everything. Our four-story house was bombed, and my big dream turned into a nightmare of pain and daily suffering.

My father was severely injured in the attack. He underwent a dangerous seven-hour surgery, but now he is completely paralyzed, suffering from unbearable pain. Every night, I sit beside him as he cries in agony, and I can do nothing but pray and endure. He needs another surgery in Egypt, but the cost exceeds $15,000, and I am working hard to collect this amount.

Now, we live in a small tent with my family—27 people, including women and children. The ground is cold and hard, and the chill seeps into our bodies at night. The children suffer, crying from hunger and cold. Every day, they ask me for simple things, like a piece of candy or a small toy, and I stand powerless, unable to respond. Each time, my heart breaks as I see the sadness in their eyes.

The Israeli siege has turned our lives into unbearable torment. Even the simplest necessities have become luxuries. The price of a sack of flour, which barely lasts us a week, has reached $200. Imagine, $200 for the most basic right a family needs to secure its bread. How can I afford this while working all day distributing drinking water to the displaced, only to return to the tent exhausted and in pain?

Every day brings a new struggle. I work long hours, my back aches, my body is drained, but I endure. I endure because I have no other choice. I must keep going to secure food for my family, to collect the money needed for my father’s treatment, and to hold on to a faint hope that this ordeal will end one day.

Our lives are filled with misery. There is never enough food, no blankets to shield us from the cold, not even a moment of peace. I feel like I am in a constant race against time, trying to achieve the impossible for my family.

Despite all this pain, I will not lose hope. I pray to God that the Rafah border crossing will open soon, so I can take my father to Egypt for treatment. I pray for the tears of my children to stop, and for the day when I can finally buy them the candy they ask for.

I write these words to share a part of our suffering with you and to ask for your support. Every bit of help, every prayer, and every kind word means so much to us. You are the hope that gives me the strength to keep going, despite all this pain.

With no access to electricity or cooking gas, even the simplest daily tasks have become an exhausting challenge. Washing clothes by hand is no longer a choice but a forced necessity. We scrub clothes with cold water and a bar of soap, causing our hands to crack from the cold and fatigue. What a washing machine could do in minutes takes us hours of manual effort.

Cooking has become another daily battle with open flames. Without cooking gas, we rely on wood or anything that can produce a fire. Smoke fills the air, stinging our eyes and throats, while the heat burns our faces. Despite it all, the need to prepare food pushes us to endure. We stay by the fire, stirring pots carefully, watching the food to prevent it from burning.

These are not just daily routines but part of a larger struggle that my family in Gaza faces. Every moment tests our strength and resilience. You can support us and help ease this suffering by donating through the following link: https://gofund.me/1222af19

Every contribution, no matter how small, makes a big difference in our lives.

In a time filled with challenges and pressures, I found myself visiting Khaled and Hamoud today. While life seemed to crowd with difficulties, I felt a sense of peace seeing their smiles as they enjoyed the simplest things. I bought them spinach pastries, a meal that has always been tied to feelings of comfort in my mind. Despite the tough times, it was touching to see Hamoud happily playing, and I joined them in those small moments of joy.

My experience with them today reminded me that life isn't always about major achievements or escaping crises, but about the small moments where we find comfort amidst the chaos. It seems that previous generations went through similar challenges, yet we all learned that, in the end, it is simple love and human connection that give us hope in this ever-changing world.