u/Mo7ammed_2001

Today marks the thousandth day of the war in Gaza.

A thousand days of fear, hunger, displacement, and waiting.

Has the war ended? Has the killing stopped? Has the hunger ended? Has security returned? Is there anyone who sleeps peacefully without fearing to wake up to bombing or news of another loss?

A thousand days have passed, and we still ask: How long?

If someone had told us on the first day that we would endure a thousand days of this pain, would we have believed them? Could we have imagined all this loss, exhaustion, and despair? And would we cling to life as we do today?

With every round of negotiations, hope is reborn, and we hold onto it with all the strength we have left. Then the negotiations die, and with them, hope dies again. This has happened dozens, even hundreds of times, and yet we still wait.

Perhaps we have learned that hope alone does not end wars, but it is the one thing that war has not been able to completely take from us.

There remains a glimmer of hope in our hearts amidst a barren land, and something still tries to believe that tomorrow might be better than today. Please, don't let hope die within us.

After a thousand days of war, we don't have much left... but we still have hope.

Today marks the thousandth day of the war in Gaza.

A thousand days of fear, hunger, displacement, and waiting.

Has the war ended? Has the killing stopped? Has the hunger ended? Has security returned? Is there anyone who sleeps peacefully without fearing to wake up to bombing or news of another loss?

A thousand days have passed, and we still ask: How long?

If someone had told us on the first day that we would endure a thousand days of this pain, would we have believed them? Could we have imagined all this loss, exhaustion, and despair? And would we cling to life as we do today?

With every round of negotiations, hope is reborn, and we hold onto it with all the strength we have left. Then the negotiations die, and with them, hope dies again. This has happened dozens, even hundreds of times, and yet we still wait.

Perhaps we have learned that hope alone does not end wars, but it is the one thing that war has not been able to completely take from us.

There remains a glimmer of hope in our hearts amidst a barren land, and something still tries to believe that tomorrow might be better than today. Please, don't let hope die within us.

After a thousand days of war, we don't have much left... but we still have hope.

This is a dehumanizing and deeply terrifying act.

An Israeli terrorist group called the "Netzah Yehuda Battalion" has just released this photo of a Palestinian hostage they recently captured in Gaza.

How long will we continue to live in this injustice, with an uncertain future and a painful reality? Please don't forget us and speak out about us so that the day will come when this ends.

We are still being bombed. Despite talk of a ceasefire, the killing machine continues to operate in Gaza. We are still being displaced, and tents are still being bombed with their inhabitants inside.

This bombing happened today in the Mawasi area of Khan Younis, displacing more than 200 families after their tents and everything they owned were destroyed. In a few moments, they lost the meager shelter that protected them, and what little remained of their belongings and their lives.

What are we to do? Where can we go? How many times must we flee? How many times must we start from scratch? There is no safe place left, no home to return to, no tent to guarantee our survival.

Tell us, world, have we become mere numbers added daily to lists of the dead, wounded, and displaced? Has our life lost so much value? Has the pain of our children and the cries of our mothers become commonplace, unworthy of our attention?

We are human beings. We dream like everyone else, and we simply want to live in safety and dignity. But today we are being pursued by death, hunger, and displacement everywhere.

Gaza doesn't need words of pity; it needs this injustice to end, and for its people to be granted the right to life.

While a heatwave dominates the news in Europe, with temperatures soaring above 40 degrees Celsius in some areas, cooling centers are opening, air conditioners are running, and people are being advised to stay indoors and drink plenty of water.

But what about Gaza?

Where will people there flee to, with nothing but the open air?

What about those who don't even have a home? What about those living inside tents that absorb the sun's heat all day long, turning them into something resembling a closed oven?

Look at these tents... how can a nylon sheet protect them? A thin, tattered sheet that doesn't shield them from the scorching heat; in fact, it almost melts and disintegrates under the heads of young and old alike, turning the roof that is supposed to provide shade into an additional source of suffocation and danger.

What about those who have no electricity to run a fan, no cool water to alleviate the intense heat, and no shelter to escape the blazing sun that penetrates the fabric and nylon walls? In Gaza, people don't face the scorching heat as a passing weather event; they face it trapped between the blazing fabric of tents, severe water shortages, complete power outages, swarms of insects, and the struggle to access even the most basic necessities.

When the world laments an exceptional heatwave lasting a few days, remember that hundreds of thousands of families in Gaza endure this daily torment without proper shelter, without cooling, and under plastic sheeting that could melt at any moment.

The heat in the news may be just a number, but in Gaza, it's a searing suffering that people experience moment by moment.

Gaza doesn't need pity; it needs the world to see its humanity and hear the voices of those trying to survive under a merciless sun and in conditions that no human being can endure.

Here, life was... streets teeming with people, homes brimming with memories, and children filling the air with laughter and hope. It wasn't just buildings of cement and stone; it was stories, families, and dreams built day by day.

And today... nothing remains but rubble. The familiar landmarks have vanished, and the homes that sheltered their inhabitants for decades have crumbled. What was once vibrant and alive now stands as a testament to the scale of destruction and loss.

Between these two scenes lie years of memories, irreplaceable moments, and souls that this place will never forget. This isn't just a change in the city's appearance; it's a change in the lives of people who once had dreams, memories, and a future.

A while ago, I wrote about Ayyoub, the child who stood in a food line holding an empty container and wearing a broken pair of glasses that had been repaired in a makeshift way, waiting to receive a small meal.

Today, Ayyoub returns in an even more heartbreaking scene, crying intensely after he fell and his glasses broke, believing he would no longer be able to see. He is a child who has lived through war and has never known the comfort or safety that children elsewhere take for granted. Born into hardship, he grew up among tents, hunger, and fear, until he began to think that this is what life is supposed to be like.

Ayyoub does not know that, before the war, breaking a child’s glasses was a simple matter that could be fixed in minutes, and that children would return home, go to school, and play without worrying about food, shelter, or survival.

What moved me in this scene was not the broken glasses, but the tears of a child afraid of losing something so small, because he knows that in Gaza today, replacing it may be nearly impossible. In a place where people are deprived of the most basic necessities, small things have become big dreams, and what the world considers ordinary has become a luxury that many cannot access.

Ayyoub is not an exception; he is one face among thousands of children whose childhoods were taken from them before they even understood what childhood means.

All over the world, Muslims are preparing to celebrate Eid al-Adha…

Sacrificial animals are bought, homes are decorated, lights are hung, and laughter fills the streets.

Children eagerly await their new clothes, mothers prepare sweets, and people exchange greetings and prayers for a joyous and peaceful Eid.

But here in Gaza… Eid comes in a different form.

We don't prepare to buy sacrificial animals; we prepare for another displacement.

We don't hang decorations on the walls because many of the walls no longer exist.

We don't think about what clothes we will wear; we think: Will we be alive by Eid morning?

Every night we fall asleep to the sounds of shelling, to news of martyrs, and to evacuation notices that tell us to flee from one place to another, as if we were created only to flee, to live in fear and exhaustion.

The holiday that others eagerly await with joy, we greet with tears, with blood, with sorrow for our homes reduced to rubble, and for the lives stolen from us three years ago.

Three years we have lived with the same pain… the same fear… the same loss… as if time has stopped here, at this moment of suffering.

We look at the world and ask in agonizing silence:

Do we have the right to live with dignity like other human beings?

Do our children have the right to celebrate the holiday without fear?

Are we destined to remain trapped between displacement, bombardment, hunger, and loss?

Despite everything… we still try to cling to life, to preserve what remains of our souls and our humanity.

But Gaza is weary… so very weary.

All over the world, Muslims are preparing to celebrate Eid al-Adha…

Sacrificial animals are bought, homes are decorated, lights are hung, and laughter fills the streets.

Children eagerly await their new clothes, mothers prepare sweets, and people exchange greetings and prayers for a joyous and peaceful Eid.

But here in Gaza… Eid comes in a different form.

We don't prepare to buy sacrificial animals; we prepare for another displacement.

We don't hang decorations on the walls because many of the walls no longer exist.

We don't think about what clothes we will wear; we think: Will we be alive by Eid morning?

Every night we fall asleep to the sounds of shelling, to news of martyrs, and to evacuation notices that tell us to flee from one place to another, as if we were created only to flee, to live in fear and exhaustion.

The holiday that others eagerly await with joy, we greet with tears, with blood, with sorrow for our homes reduced to rubble, and for the lives stolen from us three years ago.

Three years we have lived with the same pain… the same fear… the same loss… as if time has stopped here, at this moment of suffering.

We look at the world and ask in agonizing silence:

Do we have the right to live with dignity like other human beings?

Do our children have the right to celebrate the holiday without fear?

Are we destined to remain trapped between displacement, bombardment, hunger, and loss?

Despite everything… we still try to cling to life, to preserve what remains of our souls and our humanity.

But Gaza is weary… so very weary.

When the war began, this child had a family, a bed, and a refrigerator stocked with food. He had a life, a neighborhood, a school, and a future.

Today, this child stands in a long queue, not waiting for a toy or an outing, but for a simple meal from a charity kitchen. He clutches a small plate as if it holds the whole world in his hand.

He looks around with a silence that belies his age, as if his childhood has been gradually taken away, giving way to something no child should ever know. Yet, he still stands… still trying to cling to what remains of an ordinary day amidst all this cruelty.

This plate is not just food; it is a sign that life hasn't ended, that there are still those who are trying to keep some humanity alive amidst all this collapse.

And though the war has taken so much, it hasn't been able to completely erase this child's desire to eat, to live, and to one day return to the home that was his, and to a childhood that should have been so much simpler.

​

Today, the temperature reached 35°C, and the sun was beating directly onto the tents. We woke up early in the morning because of the intense heat, and by noon the weather had become unbearable, to the point that we were forced to leave the tents and sit outside.

I went and sat under a tree inside the camp, but while carrying water I suffered from heatstroke, and my head is still hurting badly from the front and back.

How long will our situation remain like this? And when will we finally live a dignified life? Our youth is being drained before our eyes, and every day we grow older surrounded by pain and endless suffering. How long will we keep talking about this agony? I used to post every single day, yet nothing changes in our reality. We are exhausted from complaining, exhausted from this life that has become an indescribable hell.

Every day we live the same routine: carrying water, lighting fires, and searching for the most basic necessities of life. Even fire itself has become another form of suffering beyond words.

Today, my mother spent long hours cooking over fire while we could barely endure the heat of the weather itself. I suffered heatstroke from the extreme temperature, so how about my mother, who sat beside the fire all that time?

I swear to God, Gaza has become the greatest prison of suffering in the world. If we were given the choice between what we are living through now and staying inside a prison, prison would feel easier. At least there is water, food, and a place that protects a person far better than a tent. Perhaps there is electricity and bathrooms too. Most importantly, a prisoner lives knowing that one day the sentence will end, counting the days while waiting for freedom.

But we live in continuous torment with no clear horizon and no known future. We live in uncertainty, and death can come at any moment. Bombings and assassinations never stop, and you may die while simply walking down the street without having done anything wrong.

And this is only a small part of the hell we live in, without even speaking about the flies, mosquitoes, rats, bedbugs, and the diseases spreading in ways that cannot be described.

What sin did we commit to deserve this life? Since October 7, we have been living in a real hell.

Will there ever come a day when we are free from all this suffering? Will there come a day when we tell you that we are finally living a dignified life, just as we once told you about this hell?

​

Today, the temperature reached 35°C, and the sun was beating directly onto the tents. We woke up early in the morning because of the intense heat, and by noon the weather had become unbearable, to the point that we were forced to leave the tents and sit outside.

I went and sat under a tree inside the camp, but while carrying water I suffered from heatstroke, and my head is still hurting badly from the front and back.

How long will our situation remain like this? And when will we finally live a dignified life? Our youth is being drained before our eyes, and every day we grow older surrounded by pain and endless suffering. How long will we keep talking about this agony? I used to post every single day, yet nothing changes in our reality. We are exhausted from complaining, exhausted from this life that has become an indescribable hell.

Every day we live the same routine: carrying water, lighting fires, and searching for the most basic necessities of life. Even fire itself has become another form of suffering beyond words.

Today, my mother spent long hours cooking over fire while we could barely endure the heat of the weather itself. I suffered heatstroke from the extreme temperature, so how about my mother, who sat beside the fire all that time?

I swear to God, Gaza has become the greatest prison of suffering in the world. If we were given the choice between what we are living through now and staying inside a prison, prison would feel easier. At least there is water, food, and a place that protects a person far better than a tent. Perhaps there is electricity and bathrooms too. Most importantly, a prisoner lives knowing that one day the sentence will end, counting the days while waiting for freedom.

But we live in continuous torment with no clear horizon and no known future. We live in uncertainty, and death can come at any moment. Bombings and assassinations never stop, and you may die while simply walking down the street without having done anything wrong.

And this is only a small part of the hell we live in, without even speaking about the flies, mosquitoes, rats, bedbugs, and the diseases spreading in ways that cannot be described.

What sin did we commit to deserve this life? Since October 7, we have been living in a real hell.

Will there ever come a day when we are free from all this suffering? Will there come a day when we tell you that we are finally living a dignified life, just as we once told you about this hell?

**"**I'm not like everyone else… Why isn't my body growing like my friends'?"

My brother Musab often asks this question, as if trying to understand something beyond his years.

Musab is 15 and a half years old, but he looks much younger than his peers because of a severe hormone deficiency and significant growth retardation, which has affected him both physically and psychologically in a painful way.

He weighs no more than 28 kg and is only 141 cm tall. While he watches those around him grow normally, he feels helpless and different. What hurts him most isn't just the illness itself, but the stares and bullying he endures, which break something inside him every day.

Musab needs treatment and regular hormone injections. The treatment is available, but our living conditions and financial situation after the war have made it completely beyond our means. Before the war, despite the hardship of life in Gaza, we tried to seize any opportunity to treat him and monitor his condition, hoping that we could help him regain his normal growth. But the war has taken almost everything from us. We lost our livelihoods, and even the simplest daily needs have become a heavy burden.

The hardest thing of all is watching someone you love wither away before your eyes, knowing that treatment is possible, yet you are powerless to provide it. And as time passes, their chances of a normal life diminish more and more.

Musab is not just a medical report or a case of illness… he is a child with simple dreams. He just wants to live like other children and one day feel normal like everyone else.

"I'm not like everyone else... Why isn't my body growing like my friends'?"

This question torments him every day, and the pain of asking it surpasses even the pain of war and siege.

My brother, Musab, is 15 and a half years old, but when he stands among his peers, he looks like a child no older than 10. Musab suffers from severe hormonal deficiencies (hypogonadism) and low levels of pituitary hormones (FSH and LH), resulting in severe stunted growth.

The suffering behind the numbers:

• A weary body: He weighs no more than 28 kg and is only 141 cm tall, placing him well below the minimum normal growth curve for his age.

• Unbearable bullying: While his friends have begun to show signs of puberty and manhood, Musab continues to suffer from the bullying stares that follow him everywhere, breaking his spirit and plunging him into bitter psychological isolation.

• Missing Treatment: Musab urgently needs regular hormone injections (Epigonal 75 and Epifasi 5000), which are expensive and extremely difficult to obtain.

Our Reality in Gaza:

Due to the ongoing war, we lost our livelihood and now live in a tent lacking the most basic necessities. We are completely unable to afford these injections, which represent Musab's only hope for a normal life and regaining his self-confidence.

We appeal to compassionate individuals and relief organizations:

Help us save Musab's future. Hormone treatment cannot wait, and every day that passes without it reduces his chances of normal growth.

For assistance, inquiries, and to view all medical reports:

Contact me:

"And whoever saves a life, it is as if he has saved all of humanity."

Share this post; perhaps it will reach a kind hand that will wipe away Musab's tears.

To donate, I will post the donation link in the comments:

For three years we have been fighting for survival.

My name is Mohammed, I am 25 years old. I was studying software engineering, but I had to stop my studies because of the difficult circumstances in Gaza.

Every day that passes leaves painful memories of a reality imposed upon us. We live in constant suffering in the simplest details of life. Even things that might seem ordinary to you have become unattainable for us due to the lack of resources and opportunities.

There are no job opportunities, and no stable source of income to provide even our daily sustenance. We rely on soup kitchens as our primary source of food.

I am sharing this video with you, and behind every scene in it is a story of endless pain. We are living a harsh reality that exceeds human endurance, amidst the rubble of homes and the cries of children.

We appeal to your consciences… Your help today is not just charity, but a lifeline that gives us the ability to continue.

Any donation, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in providing food or medicine for my family.

Don't leave us alone in this darkness.

Please support us or even just share this post. I will put the donation link in the comments.

Safety is no longer a reality in Gaza; death now comes from unexpected quarters.

In this video, people are seen sitting on a street, talking about their daily lives and the hardships they face in Gaza. They share their suffering and simple hopes, while their families wait for them at home.

But tragically, that moment ended abruptly. They were suddenly killed while sitting and talking, murdered in cold blood by airstrikes a scene that reflects the harsh reality we live in Gaza.

We are not just living in tents… we are living on top of rodent burrows.

Right beneath us, they keep digging without stopping, to the point where the ground is starting to sink from all the tunnels. Sand rises up into our tents, as if we are living on unstable ground that could give way at any moment.

There is no safe food. Everything we have is at risk of being ruined or eaten by these rodents. We go hungry, and then we are afraid to eat what’s left. We question every bite, wondering if rodents have already touched it.

The real fear begins at night. When we try to sleep, we cannot rest. We hear them, we feel them, and sometimes they walk over our bodies… over our faces. Yes, over our faces while we are asleep.

The children have not been spared. Bites have become a reality, and the fear that another child could be next never leaves us.

We no longer feel safe, not while sleeping, not while eating, not even inside our own tents. Our lives have turned into constant anxiety and unease.

This is not a life. This is suffering forced on us every single day.

How much longer?