This is me shouting to Rhaenyra that history will repeat itself again

I am writing this while my hands shake uncontrollably, terrified that these words may become the last trace of her existence.

My mother is bleeding… and I can’t stop it.

She is suffering from severe liver disease, and the bleeding from her esophageal varices is getting worse by the hour. Her body is too weak to fight back. Her platelets are dangerously low. Every moment feels like we are losing her little by little in front of our eyes.

She urgently needs a banding procedure to stop the bleeding — but we have nothing. No way to help her. No time left.

I am watching my mother fade and I am completely helpless.

I am begging you — from fear, from pain, from love — please don’t scroll past this.

Donate now.

Your help could be the only thing standing between her life and her death.

We need you now more than ever.

Please donate now and share this post—your support can save our lives.

Please help my daughter's sweetheart alleviate her suffering.

Because of the tent life and the spread of infectious diseases and many epidemics, she deserves a better life like other children; she has the right to play and study.

We cannot afford to buy medicine due to our difficult living conditions. Please save my daughter; every donation makes a difference in Habiba's life.

Every morning, Adam and Habiba dream of going to school, but due to serious financial difficulties, I can no longer afford their education.

Education is their only hope for a better future. Any support or even sharing this message could help keep their dreams alive.

Thank you for caring 🤍

Approved by:

@gazavetters

People are still dying, hunger is growing, and medicine has become almost impossible to find.

We are living day by day in worsening conditions, where even the most basic needs have become a daily struggle.

Insects, rodents, rats, and weasels are everywhere around us, entering where we sleep and where we keep our food, and with them, diseases are starting to spread, with no way to control them.

My father is very sick and urgently needs treatment, but we are unable to provide what he needs in these harsh conditions, and his situation is getting worse day by day.

We are trying to stay strong, but this is becoming more than we can handle.

We urgently need your humanity and your support.

Please donate and share our story.

Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.

I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.

Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.

On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.

We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.

A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.

Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.

Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.

The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.

Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.

We Don’t Know What Comes Next There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.

How You Can Help I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:

Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.

Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.

Also me when Matthew Schaefer does anything: