Please help Marsel Al-Za’anin and her children survive the genocide and forced starvation
United Kingdom
“I am a mother from Gaza… and this is my voice.”
I am nothing but a mother. I don’t carry a weapon, I don’t speak politics. I only carry my children in my arms and try to save them from a death that lurks every hour.
Every morning, I wake up to the sound of bombing – no alarm clock, only the earth shaking beneath my children’s frightened bodies. We live in the heart of Gaza, in a tent that burns us in the summer and freezes us a thousand times in the winter.
My husband used to work as a driver before the war: a simple, kind man who left every morning looking for work with a smile, despite the exhaustion. But the war left us with nothing. On a tragic day, he went to get a sack of flour from an aid truck. He told me, “I won’t come back without food for the kids.” He did come back – but on a hospital bed. He was injured in his back and is now unable to stand, unable even to hug his children.
Since that day, everything changed. We had no choice. My son Mohammad, only thirteen years old, had to become a man. He carried water and bread on his back. He carried fear, hunger, and the burden of siblings who have known nothing in life but the sound of drones and the color of destruction.
Hunger is merciless. Sometimes, we sleep without food. Mohammad comes back exhausted from his search, his small shoulders swollen from carrying water. His eyes are tired, but he doesn’t complain. He only asks me, “Mama, when will this war end?”
How can I answer him? How do I explain that the whole world sees… yet does nothing?
Every day I look at him and ache – not just from hunger, but from the injustice of having childhood stolen from a child.
My children wake to bombs, sleep without dinner, and dream of a piece of bread, a cup of clean water, or just… a toy.
I don’t ask for a miracle. I only ask for a simple life for my children, for my husband to heal, and for Mohammad to return to school, not to carry life on his back. We are a family worn down by war, but we haven’t lost our humanity. We only hope the world hasn’t lost its own.
Please help us. Give us a chance to survive.
Anonymous
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$20,000.00
Funding Goal -
$0.00
Funds Raised -
0
Days to go -
Campaign Never Ends
Campaign End Method
Product Description
United Kingdom
“I am a mother from Gaza… and this is my voice.”
I am nothing but a mother. I don’t carry a weapon, I don’t speak politics. I only carry my children in my arms and try to save them from a death that lurks every hour.
Every morning, I wake up to the sound of bombing – no alarm clock, only the earth shaking beneath my children’s frightened bodies. We live in the heart of Gaza, in a tent that burns us in the summer and freezes us a thousand times in the winter.
My husband used to work as a driver before the war: a simple, kind man who left every morning looking for work with a smile, despite the exhaustion. But the war left us with nothing. On a tragic day, he went to get a sack of flour from an aid truck. He told me, “I won’t come back without food for the kids.” He did come back – but on a hospital bed. He was injured in his back and is now unable to stand, unable even to hug his children.
Since that day, everything changed. We had no choice. My son Mohammad, only thirteen years old, had to become a man. He carried water and bread on his back. He carried fear, hunger, and the burden of siblings who have known nothing in life but the sound of drones and the color of destruction.
Hunger is merciless. Sometimes, we sleep without food. Mohammad comes back exhausted from his search, his small shoulders swollen from carrying water. His eyes are tired, but he doesn’t complain. He only asks me, “Mama, when will this war end?”
How can I answer him? How do I explain that the whole world sees… yet does nothing?
Every day I look at him and ache – not just from hunger, but from the injustice of having childhood stolen from a child.
My children wake to bombs, sleep without dinner, and dream of a piece of bread, a cup of clean water, or just… a toy.
I don’t ask for a miracle. I only ask for a simple life for my children, for my husband to heal, and for Mohammad to return to school, not to carry life on his back. We are a family worn down by war, but we haven’t lost our humanity. We only hope the world hasn’t lost its own.
Please help us. Give us a chance to survive.
Anonymous
| ID | Name | Amount | |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1244 | Listing Agent | [email protected] | |
| 1215 | Listing Agent | [email protected] |
