Image: Samy Abu-Shawish, his wife Nariman, and their four children: Lulu, Emad, Mohammed, and Adam.

@Samy_abu_Sh

Story by @rumiandroses

This is reality for Samy Abu-Shawish, a nurse in Gaza, whose career has been spent saving lives—yet now, he must face incredible odds to save his own family.

Samy, a staff nurse at UNRWA, and his wife Nariman, also a nurse, are parents to four children: Lulu, Emad, Mohammad, and Adam. They are seeking help—a chance to escape the unfathomable nightmare that over a year of bombings and death and starvation has brought to Gaza.

With the violence escalating by the day, Samy and his family live under constant threat of attack. Samy and Nariman do their best to shield their children from the horrors unfolding around them, praying that the kindness of strangers will allow them to escape to safety—an opportunity the family otherwise cannot afford.

“The cost of leaving Gaza is beyond our means,” Samy shares. “Without your help, our dreams of a safe and peaceful future for our family remain out of reach.”

Currently, the only viable route out of Gaza is through Egypt, but it comes at a staggering price. Adults are being charged $5,000 to $10,000 for safe passage, with children’s fees at roughly half that. For Samy and his family of six, that would be a cost of approximately $40,00.

Despite completing a master’s degree in public health in June 2023 and dedicating his career to the service of others, Samy now finds himself with limited resources after funding his own higher education. The blockade of goods and aid into Gaza have caused the prices of everything—even the most basic of necessities like food, medicine, and clothes—to skyrocket, making basic survival incredibly difficult, and rendering saving for safe passage nigh on impossible.

Samy’s wish is simple: to find safety for his children and give them a future free from fear.

"As healthcare professionals, we have dedicated our lives to caring for others, and now we humbly ask for your help in ensuring the safety and well-being of our own family," Samy writes on his GoFundMe page.

Every donation brings this family one step closer to safety. With your support, Samy, Nariman, and their children can escape the violence and begin to rebuild their lives in safety.

If you cannot donate, please share this post to help Samy find people who can financially assist.

Dear friends, kind hearts, and everyone who has stood with us,

When I first opened my heart to the world and shared our story, I never imagined the amount of love and solidarity we would receive. Thanks to your incredible support, we’ve now reached $12,837—a milestone that brings real light to some very dark days.

From the deepest corners of my heart, thank you.

💔 A Journey of Loss, but Also of Strength

As many of you know, I’ve lost 25 of my loved ones during this devastating war. That grief lives with me every single day. It’s in the silence that once held laughter, in the empty spaces where we once gathered as a family.

But through your help, I’ve also felt something else: hope. And that hope is priceless.

“21/Oct/2023 Before It Reached Us: The Day Our Neighbor’s House Was Destroyed” A quiet moment of fear, filmed just before everything changed.

“22/Oct/2023 The Morning After: Our Family Home in Ruins” This is what was left behind after the bombing of our home.

🌿 What Life Looks Like for Us Now

Despite everything, we’re still here. Still surviving. Still hoping.

But things have only gotten harder.

The war has returned, more brutal than before—and for over a month now, Gaza has been completely sealed off. No food is coming in. No medical supplies. No aid. No trade. No one is allowed to leave, and no one is allowed to enter.

We’re trapped.

🏚 We live with the fear of tomorrow, every single day. Airstrikes, drones, and the uncertainty of what might happen next. 👨‍👩‍👧 Our family is forever changed—we haven’t just lost people; we’ve lost pieces of ourselves. 📉 Basic needs go unmet—even clean water feels like a luxury now. Medicines, if they exist at all, are unreachable.

And yet…

Your support reminds us that we’re not forgotten. It reminds us that someone, somewhere, is still listening. That someone still cares. That we’re not completely alone in this.

Every message. Every share. Every dollar. It tells us: You’re walking this road with us. And that gives us the strength to keep going.

💖 What You Can Do

If you’ve already donated—thank you beyond words. If you can share our story again, it could reach someone who can help.

Even $5 means warmth, comfort, and a chance to breathe a little easier.

✨ Why It All Matters

This isn’t just about reaching a fundraising goal. It’s about surviving war with dignity. It’s about believing in tomorrow. It’s about making sure my daughter grows up knowing that the world did not look away.

Thank you for your kindness, patience, and belief in our humanity. You’ve helped me find my voice—and I will use it to keep hope alive.

🙏 From the Heart: A Quiet Apology

There’s something I need to say—something that’s been on my heart for some time.

When I first began sharing our story, I didn’t know what the right way was. I was scared, grieving, and trying to protect my family in any way I could. I reached out to many people, hoping someone, anyone, would see us. In that process, I now realize I may have overstepped, and I might have made some feel overwhelmed.

If that happened, I am truly sorry.

Please believe me when I say it was never out of disregard or pushiness. It came from a place of fear—fear of being forgotten, fear of not being able to keep my family safe, fear of watching everything I love slip away in silence.

I’m learning as I go. I’ve slowed down. I’m more mindful now, trying to share our journey in a way that feels respectful of the space and hearts of those listening.

If my words ever came at the wrong time, or in the wrong way, I hope you can understand where they came from—and I hope you can forgive me.

Thank you for seeing past my mistakes. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can ever explain.

Vetted by @gazavetters ( #309 )

My name is Abdelmajed. I never imagined I’d be sharing my story like this, but life in Gaza has become unbearable. I am a survivor of the war here, and in the blink of an eye, everything I once knew—my home, my safety, my community—was ripped away from me.

The war has transformed Gaza into a graveyard of broken dreams. The buildings that once stood as symbols of life and resilience are now piles of rubble. Every corner is filled with the echoes of explosions. Every moment is shrouded in uncertainty. There is no security. There is no stability. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

Basic needs have become luxuries. Food is scarce. Clean water is even scarcer. Hospitals are overwhelmed and under-resourced, and there is almost no medical care to be found. Every night, families go to bed hungry, praying they’ll wake up to see another day. The cost of basic necessities has skyrocketed, and it’s become a daily battle just to survive.

I’ve seen things I never thought possible—standing in long lines for a piece of bread, rationing every drop of water, and watching my people suffer in silence. I have lost everything—my home, my safety, my dignity.

Escape from Gaza is my only hope, but it’s almost impossible without financial help. The cost of evacuation is far beyond my means, and without support, I’m trapped in a warzone with no way out.

I’m reaching out to you now, in the hopes that someone, anyone, can help. I am not asking for luxury. I am asking for a chance—just a chance—to live. A chance to escape this never-ending cycle of fear, destruction, and loss. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere safe, where I can begin again, where I can find hope once more.

Any amount you can give will help me get closer to safety. Even the smallest donation will make a difference—it could be the lifeline I need to survive. If you are unable to donate, please share my story. The more people who hear it, the better the chance that I can find the support I desperately need.

Your kindness and support mean the world to me. You’re not just helping me escape a war; you’re giving me a chance to live, to rebuild, to breathe again.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.

My name is Saja. I’m a wife, a mother, and a woman who once believed her story would be simple. I thought my days would be filled with watching my daughter grow — from her first smile to her first steps — surrounded by the small joys of everyday life.

But life had other plans.

War has returned to our home. Again. And once again, we find ourselves living under skies that never seem to rest.

There was a moment — a fragile, breathless moment — when the bombs paused and the world seemed to remember us. It gave us hope. We thought maybe, just maybe, we could start to rebuild. But now, we are back in the dark — hiding, holding on, praying.

I’m writing this not as someone seeking pity, but as a mother who has no other choice but to speak.

Imagine holding your baby in the middle of the night, not because she cried, but because the world outside roared too loud for either of you to sleep. Imagine whispering bedtime stories not to lull her into dreams, but to keep the fear from settling into her tiny bones.

This is my life.

This is my daughter’s life.

And even now — especially now — I believe in softness. I believe in kindness. Because when everything else is taken from you, hope becomes the most valuable thing you have.

Why I’m Reaching Out Our home has been damaged. Our lives changed. But through it all, my daughter wakes up every morning with a smile. She reaches for me with trust, with love, with faith that I will keep her safe.

That’s why I keep going.

I’ve launched a campaign to ask for help — not because it’s easy, but because silence is no longer an option. I am asking for support not just for me, but for my baby, and for the quiet strength of so many mothers like me who are fighting, every single day, to hold their families together.

How You Can Help: 🤍 Help us restore parts of our home so we can live with dignity 🤍 Support women and mothers in Gaza with access to care and resources 🤍 Keep the light of hope alive for a generation born in the shadows of war

💛 If you can, please support our journey here:

If you can’t give, please consider sharing. Your voice might be the reason someone else hears ours.

From My Heart to Yours Maybe our lives are worlds apart. Maybe you’ve never lived through war. But if you’ve ever held a child and wished the world could be better for them — then you understand more than you know.

I don’t want my daughter to grow up thinking the world turned away.

Please, if you’ve read this far — thank you. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for caring. We are still here. Still hoping. Still holding on to every kind act like it’s a lifeline.

In the blink of an eye, the life we knew disappeared.

My name is Mohamed, and I’m writing this with a heart full of sorrow—but also a quiet flame of hope. Our family home, a place that held generations of memories, was reduced to rubble in an instant. The rooms that once echoed with laughter, the walls that witnessed our stories, and the garden where we dreamed of better days—all of it is gone.

And yet, we are still here.

Still standing. Still believing. Still dreaming.

Before the war, our home wasn’t just a structure—it was everything. It was the heartbeat of our family. We shared countless dinners around a modest table, whispered goodnight to one another across quiet rooms, and celebrated the small joys that made life meaningful. It was a place of love, of safety, of tradition.

Losing it has left a deep wound in our lives. But what we haven’t lost is our will to rebuild.

We are determined not to let destruction be the end of our story. We want to rebuild our home not just with bricks and wood, but with faith, with dignity, and with your support.

I know there are countless stories in the world that deserve to be heard, and I humbly ask that you take a moment to hear ours. We are turning to this community, to the kindness of strangers, because we believe in the power of people coming together to lift one another out of despair.

Your support—whether it’s a donation, a share, or even just a moment of your time—can help lay the first stone of our new beginning.

💛 Every dollar brings us one step closer to safety. 🧱 Every share gives our story a voice. 🌱 Every gesture, no matter how small, is a reminder that compassion can grow even in the harshest soil.

We are not asking for charity. We are asking for a chance. A chance to rebuild our lives, to give our children a roof under which they can dream again, and to find peace after so much pain.

Please, if you feel moved by our story, consider helping us build something new from what’s been lost. Your kindness will be felt not just in concrete and wood—but in every smile, every warm night, and every future moment of joy that your support helps make possible.

From the deepest part of my heart—thank you. For your time, your love, and your belief in us. We will never forget it.

please stop I need your support to stand with my family in this bad situation ‼️

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #523 )✅️

✅️Vetted by @90-ghost

We don't even know anymore. Khaled, my little one, has started pronouncing the word "bombing," and it terrifies me.

I'm Jehad a father of two kids and lost everything because of war here in Gaza. I am now trying to rebuild some of it. With your kidness everything comes true ❤️❤️

We need to raise total of $100,000. Every dollar you contribute will make a tangible difference in our lives.

Please do your best to save my family and students we are waiting for your support. ❤️🙏

I’m not here to beg or list every detail—because even an entire newspaper wouldn’t be enough. The images on TV screens and the stories you see online already tell you so much about what we endure. But no matter how much you see, you’ll never truly feel what we feel. And I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone.

We are victims of conflicts we never chose. We love life—deeply, desperately—as long as we’re allowed to live it. We don’t want war, we don’t want destruction. All we want is a future. A future for ourselves, for our children—a future like every other human being deserves.

Everything is expensive and I need support follow you guys 🙏🙏❤️❤

Every dollar you contribute will make a tangible difference in our lives. Your donations can ensure that this newborn baby has a chance at survival and that  can provide my children with the necessities they deserve.

How You Can Help

In this moment of despair, I reach out to you—not just as a stranger, but as a fellow human being. Our humanity connects us, and compassion knows no boundaries. Your kindness, no matter how small, can bring a glimmer of hope to our lives, shattered by war.

Our baby has been sick countless times, and every evacuation has only made things worse. We need help to survive, to heal, and to dream of a better tomorrow.

Even a Little Means Everything

We appreciate your help, even if it’s just a small donation or simply sharing our story. Every bit of support matters. Together, we can rebuild what’s been taken from us and find hope amidst the rubble.

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts.

My name is Naser. War took everything from me—

my mother, my sister, my home, and the life I once knew.

In a single moment, my world was shattered,

leaving behind only memories and the weight of loss.

But even in the darkest moments,

I refuse to give up. ✊

Because I still have something worth fighting for—

my three younger brothers.

🔹 One dreams of becoming a doctor 🩺—to heal others so they don’t have to suffer like we did.

🔹 Another wants to be an engineer 🏗️—to rebuild what war has destroyed.

🔹 And the youngest? He just wants to be a kid again 🧸—

to wake up in a safe home 🏠,

to laugh, to play, to feel peace.

🏡 We need a home. We need education. We need hope.

Right now, we are not just fighting for survival—

we are fighting for the chance to live, to grow, to dream again.

We are fighting for a future where my brothers

can become the doctor, the engineer,

and the child who gets to have a childhood.

💙 This is where you come in.

I’m not asking for much—just a chance.

A chance to rebuild.

A chance to give my brothers a future beyond war.

Your support—whether through a donation or simply sharing our story—can make all the difference.

Even the smallest act of kindness can create ripples of change. ✨

🙏 Will you help us rebuild?

Together, we can prove that war doesn’t get the final word—

hope does.

My name is Nadin. I never imagined I would write something like this. I’ve always been someone who kept her worries quiet, someone who believed that even the hardest days could be endured with patience and faith. But right now, I am reaching out — not because I want to, but because I need to.

I am a wife, a mother, and one of many women in Gaza trying to survive days that feel like they have no end. There was a short time — a brief ceasefire — where we thought things might start to heal. Where the sound of war faded for just long enough to let us breathe. But that moment is gone now, and the fear has returned louder than before.

My days are filled with uncertainty, and my nights with prayer. We have lost so much. Our home was damaged, our sense of safety taken from us. But through all of this, I try to keep going. I try to hold on to what little peace I can create with my hands, my words, and my love.

I am not asking for much. Just a little help to keep our lives from falling further apart. To fix the small things — a cracked wall, a leaking roof, the pieces of daily life that help us hold on to dignity.

This campaign isn’t just about survival. It’s about holding on to what makes us human in a place that keeps trying to take that away. It’s about showing my daughter — even though I won’t mention her name here — that the world didn’t forget us.

If you’ve ever felt powerless in the face of suffering, please know that even the smallest gesture can carry great meaning. A kind word. A shared post. A quiet donation. These things remind us that we’re not alone.

I am still here. Still holding on. Still believing that people out there — people like you — still care.