From Safe Life to Scattered Rubble

In one of Gaza City’s once-vibrant neighborhoods, we—an educated and close-knit Palestinian family—lived a peaceful life. Our family of six included my husband Ibrahim, a dedicated and successful accountant in his forties, myself, a respected university lecturer, and our four children, whose laughter and dreams filled our home. We enjoyed a stable life—a warm house, a car, respectable jobs, and high hopes for our children’s future. Everything was moving steadily in the right direction... Until the Israeli occupation decided to silence our dream—with a missile. In an instant, our home was bombed. Years of effort and stability turned to ashes. We weren’t even given a chance to run. Three of our children were seriously injured—wounds, fractures, and deep bruises. To this day, they continue to suffer from the physical and emotional scars. We lost everything: our home, our source of income, our car, our memories... our sense of safety. All that remains is pain, fear, forced displacement, and hunger. Despite our education and social standing, we now live with no work, no income, no roof over our heads. Our children—once full of bright hopes—now battle pain and loss in a reality stripped of even the most basic forms of care. Today, we lack the most fundamental human necessities: No shelter, no medical care, no education, no food, no clean drinking water, and no source of income. We survive by struggling through each day, facing a cruel and unforgiving reality. This is not just a story… It is a cry from beneath the rubble, calling for justice, mercy, and help. Is anyone listening?