A Mother’s Plea From Gaza to the People of the World
As Ramadan comes to an end, a mother prays that she can safely break her fast with their children, with sufficient food and clean water, without fear of being torn to pieces by bombs.
A displaced Palestinian woman holds her child while sitting in front of her tent on the first day of Eid al-Fitr in Gaza City, on March 30, 2025.
(Majdi Fathi / NurPhoto via Getty Images)
I am a mother of five children, living in a plastic shelter on the ruins of my home in al-Qarara in southeastern Gaza. On February 28, we began observing the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which means we fasted from dawn until dusk. I was grateful because, these days, I can’t feed my five children more than one meal a day. All now suffer from severe anemia and malnutrition.
When Ramadan began, there was a ceasefire, tenuous but still holding, that had put a pause on Israel’s horrific 17-month assault and complete siege on Gaza. We were just beginning to feel safe again, to contemplate the possibility of perhaps rebuilding our home and returning to living something that resembled a normal life. But only four days into March, Israel resumed blocking food and other humanitarian aid from entering Gaza, once again weaponizing hunger against the population.
Then, on the night of March 17, Israel’s military suddenly shattered the ceasefire and reignited its brutal war, raining death and destruction on all areas of Gaza. More than 700 people have been killed since, the majority women and children. Once again, we live in constant fear of violent death, wondering what our fate will be and whether we will be driven out of Gaza completely, assuming we survive.
Each night we break our fast eating the little that we have in darkness. We struggle to find water, and when we do, it’s contaminated. We haven’t had cooking gas for two months. Firewood is extremely difficult to find, even if I felt safe enough to send my kids out to search for it, much less to actually light a fire, knowing that the light and smoke could also make us a target, the way it did my neighbor who was killed while cooking for her family. All night we hear bombs, missiles, gunfire, and quadcopters. One night, I was preparing some food pre-dawn to help sustain my children for the fast ahead when some shrapnel flew through our tent. It was divine mercy that we escaped unharmed.
I have not seen my husband since he was evacuated from Gaza for cancer treatment in December 2023. His health continues to decline, and we have not been permitted to leave Gaza to join him.
My daughter and four sons, who range in age from 5-14, have PTSD. We are trapped in a living nightmare, and they are scared to death of being left alone. Their faces are pale and yellow from fear and malnutrition. My 7-year-old son, Muhammad, suffers from chronic psychosomatic migraines, which set in at the beginning of the war. My 14-year-old son, Mahmoud, lost the ability to hear out of his right ear due to a perforation of his eardrum caused by Israel’s bombing. Yousuf, who is 9, has pediatric hypertension and swollen lymph nodes, a result of malnutrition, chronic stress, infections. My 13-year-old daughter, Lareen, was injured during the war in her leg and can’t walk on it as well.
My son Adam asks me each day for the most basic of necessities: vegetables, fruit, milk, meat. I tell him to remain grateful. We have endured through nearly a year and a half of starvation, siege, bombardment. We survived the destruction of our home. We’ve managed to stay alive, despite lack of access to the medicine I need for my diabetes and for my children. I barely have time or ability to take care of myself; I have lost so much weight I am now just over 100 pounds.
We have been forced to flee for our lives seven times around the Khan Younis area in southern Gaza, before moving back to al-Qarara, on the ruins of our home. I struggle to keep going, and am physically and emotionally depleted; I haven’t slept in over 17 months from the shelling. I have packed our belongings in case we are forced to flee again.
In 1948, my grandparents were driven out of their village of Bir il-Sabi’ and into Gaza during Israel’s establishment and were prevented from ever returning. Now, Israel and President Trump are threatening to expel my family out of Palestine entirely.
Ramadan is drawing to a close. But there is no joy in my children’s eyes again this year, only sadness and fear. We used to look forward to Ramadan with eager anticipation. I would decorate my home with lanterns and break the fast at festive communal gatherings. Though I love life, I find myself constantly imagining death now, as if we are waiting our turn and will all perish—as if it’s only a matter of time.
I’m afraid if I leave my home, I will return to find my children dead. I vacillate between resignation and terror. Some nights, I pray only that my children can see their father again before we are killed.
We need people of conscience all over the world to stand with us and to ensure that all mothers and fathers in Gaza can safely break their fast with their children, with sufficient food and clean water, without the fear of being orphaned or torn to pieces by bombs, and to live in freedom, in their homes and in their homeland.
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