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Never posted this !

Today I read an article by Dalia Abu Ramadan, a young Palestinian writer, published in Truthout. It is a powerful piece about how the Gaza genocide has impacted community and faith practices in these months.

He is only a teenager, not yet a grown adult. He should be able to learn, play, rest, and celebrate in community during this time of year. Instead, he is fundraising for food and medicine and he is so vulnerable to the elements that his life completely shaped by the winter weather.

The occupation made life harmful for him before he was even born. His mother's exposure to toxic gas while pregnant with him resulted in his lifelong disability that impacts his dental health.

He needs to receive dental implants, but the healthcare infrastructure for this does not exist anymore in Gaza.

Ahmed has been trying for a long while to raise the funds to travel somewhere that can treat him, but so far he has only raised 11% of his goal. Worse still, much of the funds that he has raised get spent on food, tent repairs, and medicine just to survive from day to day.

Relief for Rafah is a community kitchen in Rafah that is buying food in bulk and distributing it for free. You can help them distribute food, including clean, safe flour and lentils, to everybody in Mawasi Al-Qarara camp by donating here.

My name is Mohammed, and I’m 35 years old, working as a nurse in a hospital here in Gaza. My wife, Diana, is 27, and together we’re trying to give our two young daughters a safe, stable life in a place that knows so little of either.

Our journey began in December 2023. That was when the military ordered us to evacuate our home in Al-Nuseirat. With only minutes to decide, we grabbed what we could carry, took our little girls, and moved to Khan Yunis, hoping it would be safer.

But our time there was short. We were ordered to leave Khan Yunis, so we packed up again and moved to Rafah. For a moment, we let ourselves hope that this would be the end of our running, that maybe we could start to rebuild. But Rafah wasn't safe either. Another order came, and we had no choice but to return to Al-Nuseirat, despite the dangers.

Today, we're renting a small apartment in Al-Nuseirat. It barely fits us, but it's the only place we can go. We live every day in fear, wondering if the next evacuation order will come. Each move takes away a bit more of the stability we try so hard to create for our girls. Every time we’re forced to flee, it feels like we leave behind pieces of the life we’ve worked to build.

There’s little left to hold on to but each other, and the hope that maybe one day we’ll finally find safety.

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