Nada EE
I live in Gaza.
I studied Information Technology.
I love reading and writing alongside my studies.
I am a mother and father to my children—their father was injured during the war on Gaza City, and I became responsible for this family amid the complete lack of resources.
My donation link⬇️
https://gofund.me/83e09b493
Nada (npub1n62…4qju)/">https://gaza-verified.org/people/Nada (npub1n62…4qju)/
Here is the link to my blog.⬇️⬇️⬇️
[@selene@blog.gaza.onl](https://blog.gaza.onl/selene/ )

انضم في: 26‏/03‏/2026
Gaza Verified: Nada (npub1n62…4qju)/">https://gaza-verified.org/people/Nada (npub1n62…4qju)/

Last Notes

How do we receive the news of the martyrdom of our beloved ones!!💔💔
Let me tell you today about the first blow life dealt me… or let me describe it more precisely, the first stab: the martyrdom of my brothers.
For two and a half years, my heart has refused to move past that moment. I was displaced in Rafah, renting a house with a group of friends. It was the best option, considering that my husband spent more than 22 hours in the hospital, and on some days he was forced to be away for several days.
I stood on the balcony overlooking a border area, staring at our stolen land, now covered with settlements, while we, unfortunately, lived in utter darkness, and the settlements were lit at night.
That day, I felt an intense pain in my chest. My children had gone to sleep, and it was 7:00 PM, while my husband was in the hospital. It was December 2nd, the second month of the war.
The pain overwhelmed me without warning, and I began to cry uncontrollably, missing my brothers deeply. Memories of the afternoon came back to me; my daughter was telling me that if the war ended and we returned north, she would go stay with her grandmother for two weeks, longing for her maternal uncles.
My brothers were very close to me; the elder was like a second father, and the younger was my closest friend. I prayed and asked God to reunite me with them safely, but the crying continued—perhaps caused by my longing for them. I washed my face over and over, but I could not stop the torrent of tears. I tried calling my mother, but the line was cut off and there was no network. In the end, I surrendered to sleep.
I awoke to movement, grabbed my phone, and saw it was 6:30 AM. I got up to find my husband entering from the hospital. I asked if he wanted a cup of coffee; he said yes, he would take a quick shower and return to the hospital, and the car would come back in half an hour.
I lit a small fire on the balcony and started preparing a cup of coffee that resembled everything but coffee. I looked at the area before me—ominous black clouds sent shivers through my body.
I heard my husband’s phone ring. I thought they had rushed him; often he was forced to return after a few minutes. I carried the cup, and he was speaking strangely, lifting his gaze and turning the phone away from me. I put down the cup after feeling a tremor… his face looked like the Angel of Death, the spirit being taken from him.
I heard him say to the person on the line: “Go down, I’ll talk to you.” I could feel his hands trembling, and his words were broken as he spoke. He hung up. I asked him: “What happened?”
He deliberately avoided looking at my face and said: “I’m hungry, help me get something to eat together.” Even though neither of us eats at this hour.
With words full of fear, I asked: “Is my family okay?” He, avoiding my gaze, replied: “What does your family have to do with this?” Then he added: “A friend of mine from the Gaza hospital, how does he know your family?” He tapped my shoulder and said: “Quickly.”
I was wearing my jacket, my hair loose, and went to the room with my children. I grabbed my phone like a robot and called my mother. I felt my heartbeat race a million times faster. When the line connected, I breathed a sigh of relief… but it wasn’t my mother’s voice. I asked: “Where’s Mama?” Our neighbor answered: “Here, Nada, don’t worry, your mother is fine.” I breathed more easily and felt temporary relief.
I asked: “Is everyone okay?” She said: “I don’t know how to tell you…” I felt as if death had stolen my soul when I heard her words: “Your brothers have been martyred, and your father and mother went to say their farewell.” I hung up without responding and sat on the floor, feeling my legs give way and my soul withdraw from my body.
My husband came to hurry me to prepare food, but he stopped speaking when he saw me like this with the phone in my hand. He asked: “Did you call anyone?” I raised my eyes barely able to see him, held up two fingers, and said: “Both of them, both.” He came closer quickly, held my shoulders, and said: “Nothing for sure, be strong.”
I said: “My mom and dad went to say their farewells to them.” I felt him crying, and I felt that I had lost the ability to see.
He said: “Say, may God accept them, patience comes at the first shock.” Seconds passed, and everyone in the house gathered. I kept telling myself: So it’s true, my brothers have left this life… how is this possible? I didn’t say goodbye, didn’t hold them, didn’t ask them to stay by my side. I just cried… my daughters collapsed after hearing this news. I remained silent except for my tears and memories, like a knife killing inside.
Everyone was around me, and I was in another world, hearing the ache of the soul, but I didn’t know this would truly happen. I truly felt fires that would not extinguish in my chest.
My mother called my husband, and when she spoke, she was firm: “Be strong.” This is what she had written for them since they were fetuses in my womb—that they would die at this moment.
I asked her: “And the only words you spoke, were their bodies whole or dismembered?” She answered: “Whole, Mama, they kissed and said goodbye, they were like the moon.” I felt my mother choking despite wearing her robe of strength. My beloveds were buried in each other’s embrace. I felt I was losing consciousness.
Later, I learned that she had collapsed while speaking to those around her, instructing them about me: “Don’t leave Nada alone, stay with her.” I was denied a proper farewell. I requested photos after their martyrdom, but they refused.
I later learned that the person who called my husband was indeed a friend who had seen the news on television. My younger brother was a university lecturer, and I learned from those at home that they found out the same way. Even now, I feel the burn of that moment and the pain; it refuses to leave me, and I feel the injustice of not having said goodbye.
I will write to you about my first night after their martyrdom
The support link for my family⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://chuffed.org/project/167068-urgent-assistance-for-nada
My blog link⬇️⬇️⬇️
@npub1w95…87kg
#Palestine
#Gaza
https://static.manganiello.eu/manganiello-social-media/047a3696c156746f1ec511c39498dd2551085450f9b3dc9eaa803684a6ee51e2.jpg

2026-04-02 01:08:40 UTC

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Thank you, I’m grateful for your support.0

2026-04-01 16:11:19 UTC

Hello my friends,
Today, I would like to take you with me on a journey through my words on my personal blog. At first, I chose to use a pseudonym, feeling a bit shy, but Fabio’s support and encouragement were the light that pushed me to share these stories with you. Before the war, I worked in the field of information technology, and at the same time, I wrote in Arabic. This made me hesitant to publish my real name, fearing that I might not be able to convey the stories as they deserve, especially when translating them into English, just as happened with their original owners
What you will read on the blog is not fiction, but true stories that actually took place during the war. They carry within them all their emotions, every moment of pain and joy, and every small detail that wants to reach you with honesty and integrity
I would be very happy for you to follow the blog, and I am deeply grateful for all your support and care
Blog link⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️
@npub1w95…87kg
My family's support link⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://chuffed.org/project/167068-urgent-assistance-for-nada
https://static.manganiello.eu/manganiello-social-media/5458674ffc469f1eecd538c1b471c8c631eb3cf5e1cc4d5ec0fd977b0175ef14.jpg

2026-04-01 12:29:11 UTC

What it means to be a mother in this war🙍🙍
Being a mother in war is not just a challenge… it is a nightmare that drains your soul every moment. Every passing day feels like an endless test, and every choice seems impossible. Being a mother means carrying everything on your shoulders, protecting your children from a world falling apart around them, even while feeling completely powerless.
I remember days when we had to force ourselves to divide a single loaf of bread into tiny pieces to distribute to our children, trying to trick hunger even for a moment. Sometimes we had to reheat those pieces over and over to prevent them from spoiling, until they turned dark and almost black, and we served them to our hungry children… while we cried in despair and helplessness. But there was no choice; the child needed to eat, no matter how painful the circumstances.
Even worse, we cannot sleep—not just because of the rockets or the buzzing of planes, but from the deep fear that your child might sleep and not wake up because of what they ate. You know it usually doesn’t kill, but your thoughts gnaw at your heart, and despair presses on your chest, leaving you feeling completely helpless
Being a mother in war means living this pain every day, carrying the cruelty of reality in your heart, while at the same time giving your children love and security. It means starting each day with a small hope, even though everything around you is collapsing. Being a mother means being the unknown hero, loving without limits, enduring despite everything, trying to protect their lives even when your heart bleeds from fear helplessness, and painp
Every moment of your life, every tear, every heartbeat screams: “I love them. I will protect them, no matter the cost.” And so you continue standing strong, resilient… even though the war steals everything from you except your love for them
The donation link for my family.⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://chuffed.org/project/167068-urgent-assistance-for-nada
#Gaza #Palestine
https://static.manganiello.eu/manganiello-social-media/54f67339361d936325874c7a9f010468f9df1ac912bd48b53dbf6784bdfb525a.jpg

2026-03-31 15:05:28 UTC

I have often told you about my husband’s injury, but I never shared the details of what happened on April 6th last year. We still owned two houses at the time, and we were sitting in one of them, while my parents had taken refuge with us after being forced to leave their home.
Around four in the afternoon, my husband came to change his clothes before returning to the hospital, and the ambulance was still waiting. He asked me if I needed anything, and I said no. Then he said, “Samer, go to the supermarket and get a few things.” We still had some savings.
My child heard this and shouted, “I’ll come with you to the supermarket!” My husband laughed and said, “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” My child took a little longer, busy putting on his shoes. Seconds later, a massive explosion rocked the area. The smell of gunpowder spread, and I heard the sound of glass shattering inside the house before I regained consciousness.
My daughter screamed “Daddy,” as if something demonic had struck her. I couldn’t understand what was happening. My feet carried me to the room where my daughter stood near the balcony, her face lifeless. My other daughter stood frozen, speechless.
I held my daughter, who could only cry out, “Daddy… Daddy.” In that moment, I realized the magnitude of the disaster. I pulled my hijab, and before I could reach my husband, my son came running in crying. I felt every cell in my body shudder at his fragmented words and sobs: “Daddy… they took him in the ambulance.” I sank into the nearest chair. Moments later, the neighbors filled the place, and the future seemed uncertain.
I left my children and rushed to the hospital, where the tragedy unfolded in all its details: the smell of blood was everywhere, and everyone was in shock. My mother and I asked about my husband’s whereabouts and found his colleagues at work. One of them shouted, “We need blood donors; he’s bleeding!” I felt like I was living in a dream, everything around me invisible. My mother grabbed my hand and said, “Be strong.”
Unfortunately, my husband was hit by shrapnel in his lung and head, and the most tragic was the shrapnel that struck his eye, causing severe bleeding. The bleeding was controlled with great difficulty, and after a few days, an urgent medical transfer abroad was arranged.
Sadly, my husband lost his eye and needs to travel to have the shrapnel removed, relieve the pain, and have a prosthetic eye fitted. His other eye was also severely affected. This marked a turning point in our lives, from bad to worse, and I became a mother and responsible for a family of seven.
Let me tell you: throughout the war, my husband worked tirelessly in the hospital, day and night, and now he suffers excruciating pain amid scarce painkillers and restricted access to treatment. I never imagined that someone who dedicated himself to serving others could be injured and denied care.
This is not an isolated problem—it is the tragedy of thousands of injured people living the same harsh reality. In the incident that injured my husband, 22 people lost their lives, leaving behind indescribable pain and shattered families.
Donation link for my family⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://chuffed.org/project/167068-urgent-assistance-for-nada
#Gaza
#Palestine
https://static.manganiello.eu/manganiello-social-media/bfef06c141dbfd3cc1d9c09cd439bd3dfae6d356f6735a6cb1056c00a558f903.jpg
https://static.manganiello.eu/manganiello-social-media/3a095bd411d703ddb016a5fc794d1e9b17f8ba999342693f272b5af3782db702.jpg
https://static.manganiello.eu/manganiello-social-media/ba129c2c727d7e49a85ff25e3d7f4de4fc714c677555fc1d2bc667e59b44b224.jpg

2026-03-30 14:52:42 UTC

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"I truly value all the efforts you make on our behalf, as they are deeply appreciated. However, the situation requires exploring more effective alternatives, and this can only be achieved through everyone’s cooperation and the unification of all our efforts."💔

2026-03-30 13:15:29 UTC

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I’m not asking for money. What I’m saying is that private messages should be ignored so that their senders stop sending them, as they harm everyone.
I appreciate your opinion and respect it, but I believe you misunderstood what I posted.!!!

2026-03-30 10:31:33 UTC

The problem of private messages and mentions—
Could you please share your opinion with me?
✉️✉️✉️✉️✉️
⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️
I would like to raise an important topic and hope you will share it.
Recently, the issue of private mentions has emerged, causing the suspension of many accounts. In addition, general mentions—combined with some bad luck I encountered—also led to the suspension of my account. I had to look for a safe refuge until I moved my account to Fabio’s server, who kindly hosted me.
My question is: why do donors often respond to private messages more than others, even though the content of private messages is usually similar to that of public messages?
To be honest with myself and with others, there was a period when I sent private messages to those we follow, but in a very cautious and simple way. I am not an angel; I am a human being full of flaws like everyone else, and I make mistakes like anyone else.
My other question is: why aren’t private messages and their senders ignored until they give up sending them? This way, everyone is not disturbed, and donations can be distributed fairly according to what the donor deems appropriate, without any pressure.
The problem is not in giving… but in the lack of fairness in directing it.
What truly hurts is that there are those who suffer in silence and receive nothing, while support keeps going repeatedly to the same people.
This is a painful reality. It may be misunderstood if spoken about openly, but ignoring it is no less cruel than its existence.
All I hope for… is that help reaches those who truly deserve it, fairly, and that there is a better way to ensure donations are distributed justly—so that good intentions are not lost along the way.
I am merely raising inquiries, but I see that the main reason is the response to private messages. This creates a clear imbalance in distribution; some people earn more than $1,500 weekly, while others’ balances remain at zero.
I hope this topic can be an opportunity for open and constructive discussion so that we can all understand the situation and find fairer and more transparent solutions
#Palestine
#Gaza
https://static.manganiello.eu/manganiello-social-media/f8b566eb37e9a70baee119ce1e6cf4909be204d2758e0d8c905265c23db7460d.jpg

2026-03-28 13:28:08 UTC

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Thank you, my friend, for your constant support.🙏🏻

2026-03-27 17:28:11 UTC

I was visiting Mama in the southern part of the Gaza Strip after our house was demolished. My family in the north had to leave and move south.
And when I returned to the north, I no longer returned to a familiar place, but like someone coming back burdened by a long path of pain—a path that brought me back to the last vivid memory I had with my siblings.
Memory led me to that last time… when we went together to the Rafah crossing to welcome acquaintances who had come to visit Gaza—Gaza, which, despite everything it had been through, was beautiful in an unforgettable way.
Oh, how wonderful those days were… and how heavy this longing is that weighs on my heart now.
I miss my siblings so much… they were not just brothers, but my true support in this life.
My eldest brother, a university professor, carried in his soul the wisdom of a lifetime.
And my other brother, a public relations director in one of the ministries, his mere presence could fill a place with strength and reassurance.
I remember the details of that trip as if it were happening now…
They were tired from work, yet they asked me to accompany them.
They didn’t know that until five in the evening, I had been immersed in preparing the graduation ceremony for the high-achieving students…
Yet I did not hesitate. I drove them myself, because they didn’t want to drive while exhausted.
I remember…
I had taken off my shoes while driving, and my brother lightly tapped my head as he laughed:
“Foolish girl, are you driving without shoes? Let me take a picture for your manager who’s so proud of you!”
Then he continued joking:
“Who’s the idiot that let you teach university students while you’re just a little fool?”
I smiled… and didn’t tell him I had been on my feet since morning.
As for my younger brother… he came closer, put his hand on my shoulder, and said with unforgettable tenderness:
“My sister… the most beautiful and smartest fool in the world.”
Oh God… how much comfort I felt with them around.
I wasn’t afraid of the days, as long as they were by my side.
But, even if this painful reality was forced upon us…
why can’t the memories be erased too?
Why do they remain alive with such depth, bringing us back to loss every time, as if the wound is never satisfied with us just once?
I cried a lot… I miss them to the point of pain.
My siblings were martyred… on the same day.
On that trip… I told them it was my first time visiting Rafah.
And Gaza… was stunningly beautiful.
I was proud of belonging to this piece of land.
I did not know… that one day I would arrive in the southern Gaza Strip as a displaced person, homeless…
Nor that I would return to the north…
With my heart burdened by all this loss, and all this relentless longing.
#Gaza #Palestine
https://chuffed.org/project/167068-urgent-assistance-for-nada
https://static.manganiello.eu/manganiello-social-media/6bbe0b2f5a0d5cac88c39aa7cefb96baf4f8c2d7528c025e9088267df2155044.mp4

2026-03-27 11:12:07 UTC

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Thank you, I thank you from my heart.
I thank you all.🙏🏻🙏🏻

2026-03-27 08:43:21 UTC

I am Nada from Gaza City, and I previously had an account on Mastodon:
nada_eid_88@mastodon.social
Unfortunately, my account was closed for technical reasons, and I am now trying to transfer it to this new account after Fabio kindly hosted me on his private server.
My heart is deeply grateful to Fabio and Aral for everything you have done for me—for all the support and the sense of security you have given me, and for every moment you made me feel that there are people who stand by me and support me.
@fabio
@npub1p09…m5vl