A Tent, A Dream, and Gaza’s Endless Night

Product Description

Palestine, Texas, United States

Supporters

Hello, I am Hassan.

I live in Gaza with my family. We used to be more than 15 members. We have been suffering for over 566 days, and sadly, our suffering is far from over. Since the beginning of the war, we have been displaced more than 12 times, forced to move from the north to the south, and back again — searching for safety that simply doesn’t exist.

We have been living in tents for months, enduring both the freezing cold of winter and the scorching heat of summer. When the sun sets, we are swallowed by complete darkness, as electricity has been cut off throughout the Gaza Strip.

We are starving — eating anything that can fill our stomachs, even animal feed. We no longer have access to even a handful of clean drinking water.

We have been displaced by bombs, genocide, fear, poverty, hunger, cold, heat, and an uncertain fate. We have lost our homes, our jobs, and our dreams.

She is the only girl among her siblings, she is 28 years old. She specialized in obstetrics and gynecology, and she did not work because of her sick mother who is going through difficult circumstances that you cannot imagine, What distracted her from her problems, her mother’s illness, and the great responsibility that fell on her shoulders was her white beautiful cat, which even she was killed in the war.

My name is Hassan.

I’m the one telling this story — not because I want to, but because there’s no one left to speak for us.

I’m 27 years old. I have a bachelor’s degree in journalism and public relations. I used to be someone who loved working, planning, and building. I started small projects — some succeeded, others failed. I managed a chicken farm and poured my soul into it… until it burned down and I lost everything. Still, I didn’t give up. I borrowed money, held onto hope, and tried to rebuild my dream — to build a home, to restart the farm, to live peacefully with my family. But the war didn’t give me that chance. It crushed everything. My dreams are now buried under rubble.

And that wasn’t the worst of it…

I was a husband… I was a father. I had a small home, not much, but it was full of love. My wife, Ruba, was my support, my strength. We had two children — Adam, 6 years old, and Malak, just 3. She used to call me “Baba” with a voice that could melt the hardest heart.

One night during our displacement, I went out to look for food. When I came back… all I found was smoke, fire, and silence. A missile had struck our tent. My entire family was gone. Ruba was gone. Adam and Malak were gone.

All I have left of them is a picture in my memory… and death certificates I can’t bear to look at. Because every time I do, it kills me all over again.

My name is Firas, I am 29 years old and a father of three beautiful children:

Aboud, 5 years old

Lulu, 3 years old

Musk, 1 year old

Before the war, I worked in health and sports clubs as a trainer and athlete. I spent my life building my own private gym — a dream realized after years of hard work. But the war destroyed everything. My gym is gone. I have no income, no support, and no way to feed or treat my family.

Still, my wife and I try to stand firm, holding onto what little hope remains, just to protect our children’s lives.

Aboud, at just 5 years old, should be in school. Instead, he collects firewood and trash bags to help us light a fire to cook — because there is no gas, no electricity.

Lulu, a three-year-old, lives a childhood no human being should experience. The trauma of war has caused her to suffer seizures. She urgently needs medical treatment and oxygen therapy — but we can’t afford it.

Musk, our baby girl, was born during the war. She suffers from severe malnutrition, something even grown adults would struggle to survive. She is fighting to live — to grow, develop, and survive in a world that has erased her future and shattered her beginnings.

His name is Nashat. He is 25 years old and suffers from Type 1 diabetes, a chronic illness that requires constant care — care he simply can’t get anymore. He lives in unimaginable conditions, with no access to proper medication or treatment. Every day is a risk to his life.

Nashat is a university student, studying Computer Information Systems. He has just one year left to graduate — one year away from becoming the engineer he always dreamed of being, from traveling to complete his education, from making a better life for his family.

But the war has crushed those dreams. Now, instead of classrooms, Nashat walks the streets — working as a peddler, barely earning $1.50 a day, sometimes even less, just to survive.

He still carries hope… but hope is heavy when you’re carrying it alone.

This is my brother, Muhammad. He is 24 years old. He studied accounting and used to work as a fisherman, just like our father — both of them loved the sea. Our father had a small fishing boat that meant everything to him… but the occupation destroyed it, crushing not just wood and nets, but the heart of a man who lived for the waves.

But it didn’t stop there. One day, as aid packages were being dropped from the sky, my brother ran to get something — anything — to feed our family. While doing nothing but chasing hope, the occupation forces shot him. He was hit in the foot and collapsed — not as a fighter, but as a young man whose only mission was to bring food to the people he loves.

His name is Bahaa. He is 20 years old. He lost his dream before it even began. He had just started his bachelor’s degree in Information and Communications Technology — he only completed the first year before the war tore everything apart.

Now, instead of studying, he wanders, searching for a place to sleep, collecting firewood to keep us warm, and carrying water for the family. His name, Bahaa, means “handsome” — but behind his name is a story of pain. He lost one of his eyes in a previous war, and he still suffers from pain in it to this day. The only difference now is… we can’t even offer him treatment.

His name is Abdullah. He is 15 years old. He is just a schoolboy — a child who should be thinking about books and games, not survival. Because of the insane prices caused by the war, a kilo of sugar costs $50. And yet, he somehow managed to get it — not for sweetness, but so he wouldn’t die. The moment he held that sugar in his hands, he smiled — a smile that no one could describe. It wasn’t joy. It was relief. It was life.

Abdullah suffers from severe malnutrition and lack of access to medical care. He has almost lost his life more than once. And along the way… He lost his dreams, too.

Your support means more than words can ever express. I am truly grateful for any help you can provide — no matter how small, it could mean a warm meal, a dose of medicine, or a moment of hope.

Together, we can turn this tragedy into a chance for survival, maybe even a new beginning.

Thank you for considering a donation, and for making a real, human difference in my journey to rebuild everything I lost. Your kindness changes the world. Thank you — from the bottom of my heart.

Anonymous

2 days ago

£30

Samer Abdallah

23 days ago

$50

Anonymous

27 days ago

$10

Ibrahim Hussain

3 months ago

$25

hassan hassan

Ibrahim Hussain

Naseerah Mccallum

Samer Abdallah