Stand with Rewaa: From horrible War to Hope

Hello .. My name is Rewaa.

Content Specialist

Over 190 days ago, I was unaware of the significant change that would occur in my life, and unfortunately, it wasn't the positive change I had hoped for. The last thing I remember is my determination to take a break from work to rest and recharge my energy to continue pursuing my goals, which have become distant dreams in the face of the unknown future I'm facing.

I used to work in a field full of creativity and innovation, writing content to achieve various goals for companies and individuals. I didn't know that one day, I would be writing about the worst disaster ever made by humans: war.

It all started with a massive explosion that shook every corner of the house insanely, causing extensive destruction and casualties.

My hands were injured, but I didn't feel them amidst the overwhelming fear that engulfed me.

Many voices were searching for their missing children, others were crying for their husbands and children under the rubble, and some were screaming in anguish. I bandaged my wounds quickly and went out to check on people's conditions, but it wasn't enough for the occupying force. Another explosion followed two days later, resulting in the martyrdom of over 100 members of my family and injuring dozens more, leading to the separation of family members.

Some of us had to seek refuge in southern Gaza, while others sought shelter in another area. As for me and my family, we had to evacuate to the schools.

We spent over a month in extreme suffering, filled with fear, anxiety, and the lowest living standards, not to mention the cramped space inside the school storeroom filled with books, school supplies, and hygiene items.

There wasn't enough room to sit, as there were nine of us plus another family of four in the same place. Here at the school, I felt the magnitude of the danger we were facing as if I had slipped into a dead-end path with no end in sight.

What am I going to talk about here? The shared bathroom for over 4000 people inside the school, the terrifying spread of diseases, insects, and rodents around us, or the terrifying planes flying wildly overhead?

Should I talk about the long nights when I didn't sleep at all, the sound of bombing, the fireworks, and the various types of missiles everywhere?

Or the day the school was directly bombed?

I don't know how many rockets were fired over our heads, but the screams and intense fear made me hug my family, waiting for imminent death.

My father went to check the door, but the planes didn't spare anyone they saw. We waited for calmness, but it didn't come. We had to all leave the same room, and we were 14 people, including four children. We ran, with the sounds of rockets chasing us in the streets, surrounded by martyrs, injured people, and blood everywhere.

After the bombing, we spent nights filled with terrifying nightmares and no safe place. The hardest part was when my family and I were separated again because there was no place that could accommodate us all.

Thus began a journey of displacement and homelessness, moving between more than 10 shelters, including houses, schools, universities, and building entrances, searching for a safe place in a city with no safety.

These were not the first times we survived bombing raids; they were followed by more raids, and more raids, and more. Glass shattered in our faces, fragile walls collapsed over our heads, and the smoke smell choked us, while the sound of bombs shook the little remaining hope inside us to live. I cannot recall a single peaceful night, nor a comfortable night, nor a reassuring moment.

Every day, I hear about a new number of martyrs from my acquaintances, losing loved ones who are entirely innocent.

In one tragic day, I lost 10 of my cousins and their children in a bombing that destroyed their home.

They were the only ones left of our family in northern Gaza after everyone else had been displaced to the south.

We lost them all, and the fear multiplied, the longing grew day by day, and fatigue and exhaustion cannot be described.

For over 190 days, I slept on the ground without a pillow or comfort, with severe back and neck pain, chronic headaches, and a lack of privacy. Every day, I inject myself with doses of optimism and hope, waiting and waiting, the hardest part of all, especially waiting for the unknown.

After seven months of war, I can no longer ignore the feelings of longing for a normal life, for a family gathering at a peaceful table, for meeting friends after a challenging week filled with challenges, difficulties, creative ideas, and goals that must be achieved. I cannot overcome the difficulty of the feelings of loss, nor can I hear the sound of rockets without being alarmed. I cannot live with a view of garbage, rubble, and destruction where many bodies still lie underneath.

After seven months of enduring unimaginable hardships and facing the horrors of war, I find myself unable to bear the weight of this suffering any longer. Each passing day brings more pain, more loss, and more uncertainty about what the future holds. But amidst this darkness, there is still a glimmer of hope—a chance for a new beginning.

I humbly ask for your support, your generosity, and your compassion. Please consider donating to help me and my family survive and evacuate to safety. Your contribution could mean the difference between life and death, between despair and hope. Together, you can help us start a new life, away from the devastation and destruction, before we lose any more beloved ones.

Please, let's join hands and make a difference. Your kindness and generosity can bring light to our darkest days and pave the way for a brighter tomorrow.

Thank you for your consideration and for standing in solidarity with those in need.