Donation Recieved
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My name is Esam. I’m from Gaza, a father of four children—and a brother grieving a loss I can never forget. My brother was killed in this war. One moment he was with us, the next he was gone. There was no goodbye, no funeral, just the sound of destruction and a silence that still haunts us.
Now, I carry the weight of two men—my own responsibilities, and the space my brother left behind. I look at my children and wonder how to protect them in a place where nothing is safe. We live in a tent surrounded by rubble. There’s barely enough food to feed them, and every day I wonder if we’ll have water to drink, or whether the sky will bring bombs again.
Being a father in Gaza right now means living in fear and heartbreak. I’m supposed to provide, to comfort, to guide—but how can I do that when I can’t even find bread? My children ask why their uncle isn’t coming back. They ask why we have no home. I have no answers. I hold them tight and hope they never see the things I’ve seen.
Please don’t forget us. We are not just numbers—we are families, we are parents, we are people with names, with stories, with love and grief and hope. I’ve already lost a brother. I can’t afford to lose my children too. Gaza is in pain. We need food, water, safety—and we need the world to care before it’s too late.
