Nostr notes by Nada

Memories are a burning fire… they do not provide warmth, but ...

2026-04-20T08:29:35Z

Memories are a burning fire… they do not provide warmth, but rather consume what remains inside in a slow, unbearable silence.

During the last bombardment that struck our homes, I reached my hand through the rubble, and the first thing I unconsciously grasped was my mobile phone, as if I were saving something ordinary… unaware that I was pulling from beneath the ruins a small curse that would stay with me for a long time, multiplying within me over the days until it became an invisible pain.

When I opened my photo gallery, my eyes fell specifically on this image… and it felt as though it had never been taken at all, but rather born from ashes to reignite everything I thought had already faded.

By nature, I was calm, concealing the turbulence of my soul behind a carefully crafted stillness. And whenever anger intensified within me or tension grew heavy, I did not face the world—I withdrew into my scribbles… into drawing. I used to love sketching cartoon characters with charcoal, letting my lines speak what my tongue could not endure. But this particular image… was the only one I drew with markers, as if I wanted it to be more present, more intense… or perhaps more honest than I could admit.

In the past, I used to think I was suffocating under great matters, carrying burdens beyond my capacity. But today, I realize those “great matters” were nothing but passing details… details that were once called luxury, and later became a luxury even to remember.

Only now have I understood the meaning of stress when it loses its name. It is no longer an emotion released onto paper, nor a black line that calms the heart afterward. It has become a pain that quietly seeps into the body, gnawing at it from within without noise, leaving us exhausted… long before we appear so.

We… are no longer who we were..

#Gaza
#Palestine

Life continues its rituals of breaking us with precise coldness, ...

2026-04-17T11:05:51Z

Life continues its rituals of breaking us with precise coldness, as if it takes greater care in crafting pain than in offering any meaning of mercy. Breaks are born from breaks, and loss drags behind it another loss—heavier, wider, more merciless—until the heart becomes burdened beyond its capacity to endure, exhausted to the point where nothing remains but a fading shadow of a once-living pulse.

Have we carried our souls with enough sins to deserve such a level of fading? Or does pain not need a justification at all, and is our mere existence sufficient to be a silent reason for this endless fracture?

We have drained the road of everything we had left, and even the desire to continue has dimmed. There is no strength to move forward, no energy to endure, as if life has turned into a heavy burden we neither know how to lift nor how to escape.

Are we truly that flawed… or were we simply born into a time that does not resemble our souls, and does not grant us even the right to peace?
#Gaza
#Palestine

War does not kill by bullets alone. Today I was at the hospital, ...

2026-04-16T17:01:13Z

War does not kill by bullets alone.

Today I was at the hospital, and it was an unbearably heavy day. There, it becomes clear that war does not reach people only through missiles and bullets, but slips into them in a far quieter and more merciless way; in bodies exhausted by fear even before illness, in blood pressure rising like an echo of anxiety, and in strokes arriving as the silent ending of stories still left untold.

Every corner there held a suspended story, and every bed carried a pain too heavy to be spoken. As if loss had not been content with what it took, but had returned to root itself within us in the form of illnesses silently consuming us from the inside.

The grief over what we have lost, and what we have become, is more devastating than any visible wound. And so this cursed war continues… not content with breaking the body, but reshaping the human being from within, until nothing remains of the self except what is barely enough to feel pain..

Support link for my family⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://gofund.me/83e09b493

#Gaza
#Palestine

Hello,.. I kindly ask you to share this post and help me spread ...

2026-04-14T16:10:55Z

Hello,..

I kindly ask you to share this post and help me spread it.

I am going through a severe health condition that requires medical follow-up and treatment, and I need support and assistance from anyone who is able. I will undergo a treatment plan lasting one week, and I hope it will succeed and lead to recovery. Otherwise, I may be forced to undergo a third surgery within a very short period of time.

I have been prescribed a treatment that includes antibiotics, vitamins, and painkillers, due to a severe drop in iron levels and all vitamins in my body caused by repeated bleeding. During this period, I will also need intravenous nutritional fluids to help compensate for part of this severe deficiency in my body.

I am the sole provider for my family and for an injured husband, and I now bear full responsibility for my health and life under extremely difficult conditions, after losing my home, job, and everything I owned because of the war.

I kindly ask for your prayers, support, and solidarity.
Every share matters greatly to me.
I am grateful to you all.
Support link for my family⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://gofund.me/83e09b493

#Gaza
#Palestine

So you won’t be deceived. Our smiles may pass across our faces, ...

2026-04-14T09:24:32Z

So you won’t be deceived.

Our smiles may pass across our faces, fleeting, making you think we have grown accustomed to this life, and that we have come to terms with the harsh reality imposed upon us. But what the eyes see is nothing but a deceptive surface—a thin layer hiding beneath it a world of brokenness that no gaze can truly reach.

Do not take a smile as proof of contentment, nor silence as acceptance… for we are still there, suspended in the very first moment when everything began to collapse. We are still standing at that heavy beginning, where falls followed one another—relentless, merciless, without pause.

Since our souls began to fracture even before our hearts, and since breaking became our constant companion, until we were filled beyond what can be endured… beyond what can be told or survived.

We smile… we speak… we appear to be living, but in truth, behind this artificial calm lies an unending pain that seeps deep into us, reaching the farthest corners of the soul—pain that eyes cannot see no matter how close they come, and words cannot explain no matter how hard they try.

We are not living life as it should be lived; we are only existing in its fading shadow… deprived of its simplest details, and of our right to peace and stillness. We take refuge in whatever is available, carry what cannot be carried, and move forward in silence because shouting no longer helps.

As for the pain… it does not pass by like a stranger; it lives within us, slowly seeping in, leaving its mark in every corner of our souls—as if it were an eternal engraving that cannot be erased..

So do not grow weary of us, and do not stop extending your hand to us… you are our support.

A support link for my family⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://gofund.me/83e09b493

#Gaza

#Palestine

Hello, I am writing to you today while going through a very ...

2026-04-13T12:30:08Z

Hello,

I am writing to you today while going through a very difficult health condition. Recently, I have been suffering from repeated fainting episodes, blood pressure instability, along with minor complications that required urgent surgical intervention.

Two days ago, I tried to ask for help to secure essential medication without going into details, but unfortunately I was unable to receive the support I needed. Today, I find myself in urgent need of it again, in addition to my husband’s medication, and basic necessities such as bread and water.

Any contribution from you, no matter how small it may seem, could make a significant difference in this extremely difficult period I am going through.

I am currently living in a tent after losing my home, in conditions that lack even the most basic elements of dignity and stability.

I apologize if my request places any burden on you, but today the need is greater than words, and heavier than I can bear.

Could you please share my post?
Here is the support link for my family⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://gofund.me/83e09b493
#Gaza
#Palestine

Hello I know that we may sometimes weigh heavily on some of your ...

2026-04-11T19:55:22Z

Hello

I know that we may sometimes weigh heavily on some of your hearts. I have tried many times to resist the idea of writing this post and to find any other way that could ease this necessity, but all paths have been closed before me, and I have found no choice but to knock on your door with a quiet voice that carries nothing but hope

My family and I urgently need assistance to secure necessary and immediate medical treatment, at a time when delay is no longer possible and patience is no longer enough

We write to you from a place weighed down with disappointment and exhaustion, carrying in our hearts a deep gratitude for every helping hand, every attentive heart, and everyone who chooses to stand as support in a moment of breaking.
https://gofund.me/83e09b493

#Gaza
#Palestine

🖤 Between Pain and Misunderstanding… A Message from Gaza ...

2026-04-10T16:24:29Z

🖤 Between Pain and Misunderstanding… A Message from Gaza

Could you please share my post, as it is important?

What we are experiencing as people whose accounts have been verified from Gaza is not only about need, but also about a misunderstanding that has affected us all. The actions of a few individuals have reflected on everyone, leaving us facing deep embarrassment and intense emotional pain—without any intention or wrongdoing on our part.

Having a donation link in the bio has unfortunately become a source of confusion, leading to reports and unfounded suspicions. However, we are grateful that there are people who manage these servers carefully, review cases, and ensure that we have not committed any abuse or violations.

Still, we are sometimes subjected to harsh and unintended insults, being labeled as “beggars” or “scammers,” while in reality, those who are truly in need are often denied support because of actions that do not represent everyone.

Please… stop overwhelming people here. Each person here evaluates cases and determines who truly deserves support in a fair and organized way.

Do not overload their posts with repeated requests for help, and do not flood them with messages. Everyone here needs space, respect, and a balanced way of receiving support.

If you see someone who has supported others, please do not contact them directly or pressure them, as this may lead them to stop helping altogether.

I can endure days without food or medical care, but what I cannot endure is the feeling of being rejected or judged without reason.

Unintentional offense is painful, yes… but I also understand that those who block or ignore often do so because of the constant pressure and repeated disturbance they face daily.

Please do not embarrass those who helped create this space for us, and do not harm those who granted us verification and visibility.

Finally, among us are educated and thoughtful people who are trying to build genuine human connections with others and prove themselves in professional spaces like Mastodon, which brings together respectful and intellectual communities.

But this simple life we aspire to is weighed down by urgent need—the kind that remains constantly with us, as we try only to keep our families standing in the hardest of times.

I am truly grateful to you all

✒️ Nada
#Gaza
#Palestine

Good morning from Gaza… A morning draped in both sorrow and ...

2026-04-09T10:10:55Z

Good morning from Gaza…
A morning draped in both sorrow and hope, from a land soaked in the blood of its beloved, a land that carries pain in its silence and cradles its wounds as the sun cradles the setting horizon. Here, every corner tells a story of resilience, and every stone whispers the memories of those who have departed and those who endured despite the darkness.
A morning from a sky that wept with the tears of the people of this land, a sky that carried their cries, witnessing the longing for lost safety, the heart-wrenching moments of loss, and a will that refuses to break no matter how fierce the winds. A sky that reflects every tear, every hesitant smile caught between pain and hope, and every fleeting illusion of survival amid the surrounding silence.
And a morning from the heart for everyone who stood by us when the ground collapsed beneath our feet, for those who helped us rise from the rubble, for those who believed we could keep going despite the sorrow laid before us, for those who gave us a ray of hope when it seemed the world had forgotten this land. You are the ones who make Gaza a place of life, who turn pain into a space for hope, and who transform every tear into the beginning of new strength.
Good morning to you, who carry determination and hope in your hearts. Good morning to every hand that reached out to support us, good morning to every soul who wished to see Gaza rise despite everything, good morning to those who give life meaning amid the ruins, good morning to those who plant hope in us when the night seems endlessly long
Link to support my family⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://gofund.me/83e09b493
I certify that I live in Gaza and am from its people.⬇️⬇️
Nada (npub1n62…4qju)/">https://gaza-verified.org/people/Nada (npub1n62…4qju)/
Link to my personal blog⬇️⬇️
https://blog.gaza.onl/selene/
#Gaza
#Palestine

I live the war… and scream in silence Since this war began, I ...

2026-04-05T16:58:43Z

I live the war… and scream in silence
Since this war began, I have been living with a sorrow that devours every part of me.
I put on a smile for everyone, while inside me, I burn—every day, every hour, every moment.
I am expected to be strong… the mother, the friend, the refuge, the protector… while my body aches, and my heart screams in silence.
I try to continue my purpose in life, but the war has turned love and mercy into a merciless hell, into a pain that kills me silently.
The deepest pain is being forced to hide your tears, to appear invincible, while inside you crumble.
Sometimes I feel my body refuses to go on, yet I am not allowed to cry… so that no one around me collapses.
I wear the mask of strength, walking as if everything is normal, while each day steals a part of my soul, my life, my very self.
Every moment is filled with fear, sorrow, and loneliness… yet despite everything, I remain here.
I breathe, I fight, I love, I sacrifice, I endure… I remain for my children, for my purpose, for those I love, for survival.
Even if the cost is my entire soul, I will continue to live, resist, and endure.
But the truth that no one knows… every day I stand wearing the mask of strength is a day I kill myself inside, a day I die in silence, a day I scream without a sound.
My body collapses, surrendering, while my spirit clings to life, to love, to hope… despite all the hell surrounding me.
💔💔💔💔

You can help support me through my family’s support link.⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://chuffed.org/project/167068-urgent-assistance-for-nada

The link to my blog⬇️⬇️⬇️

#Gaza #Palestine

Thank you for being here, my friend. I’m deeply grateful from ...

2026-04-04T07:14:22Z

In reply to nevent1q…ya48
_________________________

Thank you for being here, my friend.
I’m deeply grateful from the bottom of my heart for every moment you spend with us—following what we write, checking on us, and caring about the details of what we are going through.

Your effort and dedication in helping our voices be heard and showing what we endure is not something ordinary—it reflects a sincere heart that does not turn away.
You are truly wonderful, my friend.

I am grateful to you… for your heart that stands by our side, and for the humanity we feel in every word and every gesture.

Our Experiences in War – From the Heart💔💔 Before the war, ...

2026-04-03T12:19:21Z

Our Experiences in War – From the Heart💔💔

Before the war, I dreamed of a simple moment… drinking tea over a wood fire, the smell of cheese-toast baking over flames, the warmth of the fire that comforts the soul.
I heard about it often and imagined how it would taste, and how it would fill the house with warmth and comfort.

But after the war, with the gas cut off, everything changed. Everything related to fire and wood became a source of hatred and fear.
The task of lighting the fire fell on the women. You start as if it’s a normal task, and it ends with a wave of coughing that pierces your chest, leaving you covered in soot, as if you were a person in an explosion.

You’re forced to use whatever comes to hand: paper, empty bottles, cardboard… anything except wood, because of its high price.
Your hands, your face—everything is blackened, and even the mirror reflects only a stranger you don’t recognize

Often, a wave of laughter overtakes me… at my soot-stained appearance… and then it turns into deep crying. I sit on the floor of my tent, crying, looking around, asking myself: Where am I? Who am I now? How did all this happen?

I once had a home, an electric stove, a microwave, an ordinary life full of safety…
Now I have returned to the primitive age. I have lost everything: my home, my work, my car, my savings. I try to breathe… I try to find food that resembles food, a drink that resembles a drink, a life that resembles life… but the truth is bitter, the reality is painful

And so, this harsh reality was imposed on us.
But the question that always haunts me: Why didn’t it come with a complete erasure of our memories?
All this pain, all this loss, all this devastation… and why have our memories remained trapped between destruction and ashes?
My family’s support link⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://chuffed.org/project/167068-urgent-assistance-for-nada
#Gaza #Palestine

How do we receive the news of the martyrdom of our beloved ...

2026-04-02T09:14:23Z

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⬇️⬇️⬇️
Selene (npub1w95…87kg)
#Palestine
#Gaza

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

2026-04-02T01:08:40Z

In reply to nevent1q…3dey
_________________________

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

Hello my friends, Today, I would like to take you with me on a ...

2026-04-01T16:11:19Z

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⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️
Selene (npub1w95…87kg)
My family's support link⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://chuffed.org/project/167068-urgent-assistance-for-nada

What it means to be a mother in this war🙍🙍 Being a mother ...

2026-04-01T12:29:11Z

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

I have often told you about my husband’s injury, but I never ...

2026-03-31T15:05:28Z

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

"I truly value all the efforts you make on our behalf, as ...

2026-03-30T14:52:42Z

In reply to nevent1q…2h29
_________________________

"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."💔

I’m not asking for money. What I’m saying is that private ...

2026-03-30T13:15:29Z

In reply to nevent1q…8zx3
_________________________

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.!!!

The problem of private messages and mentions— Could you please ...

2026-03-30T10:31:33Z

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

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

2026-03-28T13:28:08Z

In reply to nevent1q…r6w3
_________________________

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

I was visiting Mama in the southern part of the Gaza Strip after ...

2026-03-27T17:28:11Z

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

Thank you, I thank you from my heart. I thank you ...

2026-03-27T11:12:07Z

In reply to nevent1q…wtxz
_________________________

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

I am Nada from Gaza City, and I previously had an account on ...

2026-03-27T08:43:21Z

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
Aral Balkan (npub1p09…m5vl)