A mother of three children, leaning on pain so she doesn’t collapse in front of them.

A fractured skull, kidney stones, and urgent reconstructive surgery,

and her daily need for treatment and care is $100 — every single day.

Her children don’t understand numbers.

They only understand that their mother is in pain,and that her embrace grows weaker day by day.

$100 may be the price of a meal for some,

but for Diala,

it is a day of life,

and a chance to remain a mother for the children waiting for her.

Help Diala 🤍

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #715 )✅️

This campaign is our only lifeline right now.

If you can donate, please do. If you can’t, sharing this post truly saves lives.

From my heart, thank you to everyone standing with us.

I am asking with a heart full of fear: please help us before the doors close. Any donation, any share, any voice could be the reason my mother lives.

Please… don’t let her be forgotten

£98 ($132.43 USD) / £40,000 ($54,054.78 USD)

Every day here in Gaza feels like a year carved into our chests. The war isn’t like it was in the early days—the sky is quieter, the air carries less smoke, and the nights hold fewer explosions. But the pain… it still lives under the rubble, inside our memories, and in the empty spaces where our loved ones once stood.

I’m writing this today not because the war has completely ended, but because for the first time in a long while, it feels like the horizon is opening a little. A small space where we can breathe, gather ourselves, and try to rebuild what’s left of our lives. Yet every step forward feels like walking on wounded memories, and every stone from our destroyed home whispers stories we never got to finish.

We lived through nights so heavy we thought morning would never come. We lost things that can never be replaced—homes, dreams, pieces of our hearts. But we are still here… holding on, trying, fighting to stay standing despite everything.

And in the middle of this long road… there is a house. A house that once carried laughter, warmth, noise, and life. Today, all that remains is an image holding a memory—and rubble longing for the people who once lived inside.

Today, we are trying to rebuild—not just the walls of a house, but an entire life that was shattered. We are trying to create a new beginning, to live with dignity again, to give our family a sense of safety that we’ve been missing for so long.

We’re not writing this to mourn what was lost, but to ask for a chance to start again. We ask for your support because rebuilding after a war is not something one person can do alone—it is a human effort, a shared act of compassion. We need you. We need your hearts. We need your help to stand again.

Because Gaza has no working banking system, we use my brother U.S. Stripe account to safely process donations for our family. Nothing is hidden — every dollar goes where it should. We are ready to show proof of anything, at any time.

Every contribution—no matter how small—makes a difference. It becomes part of our story, part of rebuilding a home, part of reviving a life that nearly faded.

The war may be almost over… but our journey back to life begins now.