Help my family evacuate from Gaza

Hello, world, and all who have humanity in this world. I speak to you from inside my tent. Winter has ended, leaving us gnawed and consumed like dogs on dead carcasses, while the summer sun has scorched our skins. This tent cannot shelter animals, yet we are forced to live inside it.

I am Deema Hamad from the devastated city of Gaza. I was studying pharmacy at Al-Azhar University, but unfortunately, I couldn't complete my education due to the war. This war took our dreams and destroyed everything. I had simple dreams, like waking up to have coffee with my family, but even those dreams remained unfulfilled. We survived four previous wars, but not this one.

A picture of our house after being bombed by the occupation's aircraft.

My aunt Hidayah Hamad was the volunteer coordinator at the Palestinian Red Crescent Society, serving all displaced people inside the building. One day, she was going to help a child injured by sniper fire from the occupation, but a sniper pierced her heart with a bullet. She died while trying to save lives, and our hearts broke with her. We belong to a loving and beautiful family, but we lost a beloved member.

This is a picture of my mother with my martyr aunt Huda and my deaf aunt Samah.

My other aunt, who is deaf, suffers greatly from the intensity of the bombings, affecting her ear drums, causing her much pain. We have nothing to help her with, which is extremely painful. My grandmother suffers from hypertension and diabetes, and due to the scarcity of medicines in Rafah, she faints most days. How can one bear all this pain? Must humans live in pain forever?

After fleeing from northern Gaza, we headed to the Palestinian Red Crescent Society in Khan Younis. Not a day passed without airstrikes fiercer than the day before. Until the day when we were besieged inside the building. Tanks were at the building's door, and the sounds of bombing and gunfire were terrifying. We faced death daily until a soldier forcibly evacuated us. This time displacement was amidst tanks, planes, and soldiers by our side. My younger siblings couldn't stop crying; death was always beside us.

This is the grave of my martyr aunt Huda Hamad.

My father's sweat dripped, and his blood drained while building our three-story house over many years. Then the war machines came and destroyed it in a moment. My mother raised us with love, and we lived our best days until the war wiped everything out. We want to live a life free from fear, a life of peace and tranquility. It all depends on your donations. Every dollar donated can make a huge difference, it can save our lives.