Save the El Hissi Family!

Our names are Dalia El Hissi, 21, and Aladdin El Hissi, 31. We are siblings and second-generation immigrants from Palestine through our father, Akram El Hissi.

Our family comes from Yafa, what is now called Tel Aviv. Our grandmother, grandfather, and uncle were forced to flee from their home and orange grove in Yafa to Gaza. They were threatened with their lives and persecuted throughout their escape. This was so that Israelis could live in what was once our family home. Our grandfather had to swim 60 kilometers and hide in the water with the house key clenched tightly in his hand, hoping that one day he could return home.

It has now been 76 years, and our family still has not returned. Our father, Akram El Hissi, had to flee his homeland at the age of 23 because he refused to stop fighting. By the time he was 18, he had already been shot in the head twice by the Israeli military. Why, you may ask? He was walking on the street. Just like you, I, and everyone else do every day. With a price on his head, he had to leave everything behind. His friends, his siblings, and his mother. Months of physical and psychological torture, months of pain, and months of death and loneliness are just a glimpse of what he went through. Our whole lives, we grew up with our father’s stories about Palestine. We spoke with our relatives on the phone and sent photos.

Even though we only had the opportunity to visit on rare occasions, a part of us is still there. When we talk to family in Palestine and hear the bombs falling and the children crying, we wish they could hear something different.

We wish they could hear that the world is standing up for them. That we, as people, will no longer remain silent. That we refuse to accept a future where they are forced to live under oppression, in fear, and without freedom.

As children of a Palestinian father and a Swedish mother, we have never felt so torn inside. We are ashamed of how our beautiful Sweden is handling this. Or rather, we are ashamed of how our government is handling this. We are ashamed that we can do no more than scream as loud as we can and pressure those in power. Life in Palestine has always been tough, but it became especially difficult after October 7, 2023.

Months pass. Day in and day out, we hear the screams of children, women, men, and parents, their cries for help. This is live-streamed directly to our phones. The struggle of Palestine is one that never ends. It is a fight that has persisted for generations, a fight for the right to their land, their identity, and their future. Despite facing one of the world's strongest militaries, and despite the silence of the world, they refuse to give up. From the occupied territories to the refugee camps, from children to adults — the Palestinian people.

Do you really think it is right? Seperating families like this? Is it acceptable that so many are murdered, robbed of their childhoods, and even if they survive, are left with so much trauma that living a normal life is barely possible? It is a genocide, and everyone who turns a blind eye to it stands on the wrong side of history. We will not forget, the world will not forget, and the children of Palestine will not forget.

It is easy to feel powerless, that our voices are not heard. But we are not powerless; each of us has a voice, and it is time we use it.

Together, we can make a difference. Together, we can create change. Together, we can win.

Now, it is this generation’s turn, our turn, to continue working for a brighter future. Dad works full-time and very hard. With his income, he has ensured that people around him and in Gaza have a better life.

This year, dad turns 60. For 60 years, he has fought for life and for the future. Dad never wishes for anything more than for the world to live in peace with one another. However, this past year has been particularly difficult for him, as he talks daily with surviving family members in Gaza, calming and comforting them, helping them with whatever means he has. He receives calls about the dead, forwards messages, and acts as a link between families. This year, when dad turns 60, in a month, he has one wish.

The only thing he wishes for on his birthday is that the world finds a way to help the people and especially the children in Palestine (Gaza) to have a better life, so they don’t have to see destruction, terror, and death. He wants them to be able to dream of a better existence, a future where children’s lives are valued, a place where life is celebrated, and where a brighter future is indeed possible.

This is what our dad said: "I want to see a world where Palestinian children do not have to grow up among ruins and wreckage, where their innocent smiles are not replaced by fear and sorrow. A world where mothers and fathers do not have to go to bed each night with their hearts in their throats, not knowing if they will wake up to a new day — or to death and destruction. I want to see a world where parents wake up and see that their children are still alive, a world where they can sit and eat breakfast together and feel full. A world where children can safely go to school or play together in squares and open spaces."

This is why we want to help our dad fulfill his wish through Go Fund Me. We want to help raise money to support our family and the children in Gaza to have a more bearable life. Today, even the most basic goods cost thousands of crowns (hundreds of dollars). Everything is expensive and supplies are scarce. Our family and the children lack most things, and they need materials to build roofs that can withstand warmer and colder weather, warm clothes for the wet and cold winter, shoes to cover their feet, nutritious food to fill their stomachs, and clean water to quench their thirst. Books for the children so that their schooling does not come to a halt. Any form of support that can be provided to make life feel a little better amidst the chaos.

All funds will be sent from us, Dalia El Hissi and Aladdin El Hissi, to our relatives in the Gaza strip via electronic bank transfer, such as Western Union.