help faraj from gaza

Between a tent torn by the wind,

a mother crying over the ruins of her home,

and a child searching for warmth lost to war.

And me… I live between the pain of illness and the ache of longing.

I fight cancer with my body,

and I fight absence with my soul.

I miss my baby, whom I couldn’t hold as I wished…

my father, who left without a final goodbye,

and my brother, who departed in silence, leaving an emptiness that nothing can fill.

Our home turned to ashes… yet it still lives within me every moment.

And despite it all, I still believe —

that God is near,

and that tomorrow might carry mercy, warmth, and salvation.

🌙 Tonight, I ask for nothing but a sincere prayer,

a prayer that brings light back to our hearts,

and opens the door of hope once again.

Hello, culés.

I am Faraj, a Barcelona fan from Gaza, and I am living through one of the hardest times of my life. A few months ago, my home was destroyed by war, and now my family—50 people, including children and the elderly—live in tents with no shelter or enough food. At the same time, I am in Ramallah receiving cancer treatment, far from my newborn son, whom I have only seen through video calls.

I have always believed that Barça is more than a club—it is a family. Today, I need the support of this family. Not just through donations, but by sharing my story so it can reach those who can help.

If you can share this post, it would mean the world to me. I am not asking for myself, but for my family, who are struggling to survive.

In Barcelona, no one is left alone.

I am Faraj Abu Odeh, a new father to a child I have yet to hold, and a cancer patient for over ten years. My life has been a series of battles, but the recent war in Gaza took more from me than I ever imagined.

Our home in Beit Hanoun was destroyed. We fled to Khan Younis seeking safety, but my father was martyred there. Now, my family—50 people, including children and the elderly—live in tents without enough food or clean water.

I am here, far from them, in Ramallah for treatment, but my heart is with them every moment. I hear their suffering in our calls, I see their needs in my child’s eyes when I think of his future. We are not just numbers or passing news—we are human beings, we dream as you dream, we love as you love, and we need you to hear us.

If you are reading this now, don’t let our story go unnoticed:

🔹 Share it, because the world needs to know what’s happening.

🔹 Ask, speak up, be a voice for those who have none.

🔹 And if you can, donate or help us reach those who can.

We are fighting to survive, but we cannot fight alone.

I am Faraj Abu Odeh, a new father and a cancer patient, but my story is not just about me. It’s about my family—50 people, including children and the elderly, now living in tents in Gaza after our home was destroyed in the war.

We were displaced from Beit Hanoun to Khan Younis, where I lost my father. Now, I am far from them in Ramallah for cancer treatment, while they struggle daily for food, water, and safety.

But we have not lost hope.

Together, we can make a difference. We can amplify their voices, share their story with the world, and give them the support they desperately need.

🔹 Share this story—every share can reach someone who can help.

🔹 Donate if you can—any support, no matter how small, makes a difference.

🔹 Talk about Gaza—don’t let this tragedy be forgotten.

If we keep going, we will give them hope.

📍 Follow and support me on Instagram: @farajabuodeh

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On a cold night, under a tattered tent in Khan Younis, my mother holds my younger siblings, trying to comfort them. There’s not enough food, no clean water, and no roof to protect them. We used to live in Beit Hanoun, but the war took our home… and took my father as a martyr. Now, I am far from them, fighting cancer in Ramallah, while my family fights just to survive."

"I am Faraj Abuodeh, and this is not just my story—it’s the story of thousands of families in Gaza. If we continue, we will protect them. If we continue, we will give them hope. If we continue, we will change their reality. Help us give hope and support Gaza.

📌 Donate – Share – Be Our Voice

Every drop of rain is a call from the heavens for resilience, for every person who has lost their home and loved ones, and for those facing hardships that never end. In these nights, we are in greater need of support and solidarity. Gaza needs not only material aid, but also the hope that lights the way to a future.

Let us stand together, extending our hands to those in desperate need. Every step, every word, every action from you brings life back to the hearts of those suffering. If we continue, we will protect them. If we continue, we will build them a future. If we continue, we will restore hope in these difficult times.

Let us be the hope that the people of Gaza need, and let these rainy nights remind them that they are not alone

In a small corner of our troubled world, there is a story about hope, resilience, and love. My family, once living peacefully in Beit Hanoun, northern Gaza, now finds itself displaced after losing our home, my father, and our cherished memories.

Today, we live in a small tent in Khan Younis, struggling to rebuild our lives despite the pain and tears. We are not seeking sympathy but support to restore our humanity.

If we keep going, we will feed hungry children.

If we keep going, we will bring smiles back to faces burdened with pain.

If we keep going, we will build a better future for our children.

If we keep going, we will revive our humanity and change this harsh reality.

Help us spread this message to the world. Together, we can bring life back.

Our story is not just a tragedy but a call to action, to help, and to make a difference.

If we keep going… we will be their support

Help us spread this message to the world. Together, we can bring life back.

Please share and repost my story.

But hope remains alive thanks to kind-hearted people like you. Your support, even with a kind word or a share, can make a difference that gives us the strength to keep going.

If you can help in any way – financially, emotionally, or even by sharing our story – it would have a tremendous impact on our lives

420 days of homeless children, grieving mothers, and families living under the open sky.

420 days of relentless suffering, yet Gaza refuses to break.

Our wounds are deep, but so is our strength.

We will not vanish. We will not be forgotten.

Gaza stands tall, a symbol of resilience in the face of oppression.

"My family lives in hunger.

My family lives in pain.

Not just my family, but my people

Not just my people, but my homeland.

We are all starving, but it’s not just hunger for food.

It’s hunger for dignity, for safety, for the life humanity deserves.

Under a tent thrown in a forgotten corner of the earth, my family isn’t a scene from a movie or a story to pass by.

My family is a reality that sleeps on the dirt, hearing the cold wind as if it were the echo of cries stolen from us.

Our problem isn’t just hunger alone.

Our problem is my mother’s pain as she watches us sleep on the sand, worried that the gas will run out, and she won’t even be able to heat water for us.

Our problem is my little brother, growing up without toys, without a childhood, without hope.

Our problem isn’t just the wars; it’s that the world has decided we’re just numbers.

My family cries out, and the land weeps.

My family calls, while humanity is dying.

We want to raise our voice, not just for my family.

We want to remind you that we are all part of this earth.

And my family isn’t alone.

We are part of a homeland called Palestine, a homeland that must not be forgotten.

If your hearts beat, if your eyes tear up, let your voices rise with ours.

My family, my people, my homeland… We are Palestine

In every inch of this land lies a love story that binds us to it. We cultivate it with our hands, nourish it with our toil, and dream of it as a vibrant, living green. We and our land are two sides of the same coin—a deeply rooted connection impervious to the winds and bulldozers of the occupier.

The occupation came to uproot our crops and demolish the dreams we built stone by stone. The destruction of the land is not just the removal of soil; it is an attempt to erase the memory of a land that narrates our stories. The demolition of homes is not merely the fall of walls; it is an effort to sever the threads of belonging that tie us to our roots.

But what the occupier fails to realize is that our roots are not only in the ground—they live in our hearts and souls. They may cut down a tree, but the forest will grow back. They may demolish a house, but the homeland lives within us. We are a people who have learned to rise from the rubble, rebuild despite the pain, and plant hope amidst the ruins.

Our Message to the World: The land is not just a place where we live; it is our identity, our history, and our future. No matter how long the darkness lasts, we will continue to plant, build, and dream. We are the rightful owners of this land. The olive trees bear witness to us, the stones of old homes tell our stories, and the winds that buffet us carry tales of our resilience to the world.

In Conclusion: Bulldozers cannot break our will, and bombs cannot kill our dreams. We are here to tell the occupier and all who support them: we remain, for our roots are too deep to be uprooted. We will plant again, and we will rebuild, for Palestine is not just land—it is life itself.

The children of my family live a daily tragedy that words cannot describe. More than ten children from our extended family of 50 are suffering due to the lack of food and basic necessities. Since we were displaced from our home in Beit Hanoun after it was destroyed, we’ve been living in tents without the essentials of life.

The children go to sleep hungry, and their mothers try in vain to comfort them. Baby formula is out of reach, and the price of a single pack of diapers has exceeded $150. We see their innocent eyes, heavy with suffering and hunger.

This is not just numbers or distant stories; it’s the reality of the children of my family, who deserve to live with dignity. We call on everyone who can help to look upon the children of Gaza with mercy. My family, like thousands of others here, needs the bare essentials to survive

Imagine waking up one day to find that everything you once called home has been reduced to rubble. Your house, a place that once held your memories and dreams, is now gone. You are forced out, left with no choice but to wander, carrying only the weight of your loss and uncertainty about the future.

Losing a home is not just about the physical structure; it’s about losing a sense of safety and identity. A home is where you build your life, where your family gathers, where children laugh, and where you find solace. Without it, every aspect of life becomes a struggle.

Now imagine the pain of losing loved ones along with your home. The grief of seeing your family torn apart, losing parents, siblings, or children in the chaos. The emptiness is overwhelming, and the trauma lingers, making it difficult to move forward.

When they take everything from you—your home, your loved ones, and even your basic needs like food and safety—they strip away your humanity. It is not just destruction; it is an attempt to erase your existence, to break your spirit. Hunger gnaws at your body, and the lack of shelter leaves you vulnerable to the elements. Every moment becomes a fight for survival.

Yet, despite this unimaginable suffering, the human spirit finds ways to endure. The determination to survive and rebuild becomes a source of strength. The hope for a better future, no matter how faint, keeps people moving forward. This resilience is a testament to the power of faith, love, and the unyielding desire for justice and dignity.

No one should have to live without a home, without family, without safety. The world must listen to the voices of those who have lost everything and take action to ensure that such tragedies are not repeated. To lose a home is to lose a part of oneself, but to ignore this suffering is to lose our shared humanity.

In the midst of the difficult circumstances we are living through, we have come to depend entirely on the support you offer, and you have become the hope that keeps us alive. Our homes have been destroyed, we have lost many of our loved ones, but we still hold on to life thanks to your presence with us.

With the crossings closed, our suffering increases, and we need your continuous support to survive. We no longer only ask for food and water, but we need humanitarian aid that preserves our dignity.

Every word of support and every action from you represents a new hope for us, and gives us the strength to continue facing this hardship.

Thank you to everyone who stood by us and supported us during this difficult time.

I am Faraj Abuodeh, a father to a newborn child whom I have not yet seen or held due to undergoing cancer treatment outside Gaza. While I battle my illness, my family endures an unimaginable humanitarian crisis.

My family was displaced from Beit Hanoun in northern Gaza after our five-story home was destroyed. We sought refuge in Khan Younis in southern Gaza, but the suffering did not end there. Just two months after our displacement, my father was martyred, adding to our pain and sorrow.

My large family consists of 50 members, including my married siblings, their children, and my married sisters with their husbands. We are all living together in makeshift tents that provide no protection from the harsh cold of winter or the scorching summer heat.

Among us are 13 young children who desperately need milk and diapers, but we are struggling to provide them due to a severe lack of resources. The family faces hunger daily, often surviving on nothing but thyme and dried herbs, which has led to a deterioration in our health. Today, my sister was admitted to the hospital due to infections caused by consuming unhealthy food.

My 54-year-old mother suffers from high blood pressure and heart disease. For months now, she has been unable to walk due to a cartilage problem and urgently requires medical care and surgery, but the dire circumstances prevent us from seeking proper treatment.

Our urgent and essential needs today include:

Nutritious food and clean water for all family members.

Milk and diapers for the young children.

Winter clothes and warm blankets to protect us from the severe cold.

Tents and tarpaulins to improve our temporary living conditions.

Cooking utensils and gas for heating and preparing meals.

Basic medicines and medical supplies for the sick and injured.

Solar-powered lighting due to the constant power outages.

Hygiene supplies to prevent the spread of diseases in these unsanitary conditions.

I call upon people of goodwill and humanitarian organizations to lend a helping hand to my family, which is facing hunger, cold, and a slow death. Gaza is crying out for help, and my family is just one of many enduring unimaginable hardships.

https://gofund.me/c0774e2f

Hello everyone,

My name is Faraj, and I am from Gaza. In these challenging times of war and displacement, I am facing an even greater challenge, as I am battling cancer while living in extremely harsh conditions with my family.

We have lost our home, and more than 300 members of my family, including my father, in this ongoing conflict. What makes this situation even harder is that I couldn’t be there for my wife when she gave birth to our first child after nine years of waiting. Right now, we are living in a tent with no safety or stability.

I need your support—not just through donations, but also by sharing my story and helping get our voice heard. Any help you can offer will bring us hope in these difficult times.

I have started a fundraising campaign to help cover our daily needs and medical treatment, and any support from you will make a huge difference in our lives.

If you can help or even share this post with others, we would be extremely grateful.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/3a68q6-help-a-family-evacuate-gaza

Every word of support, every donation, and every share means the world to us in these tough moments. We believe that hope is still alive thanks to your support.