I write to you as I move through the shattered streets of Gaza—between work meetings and aid distribution points—searching within myself for my sweetest memories in this city. But my heart aches. I no longer recognize the roads beneath my feet, nor the faces around me—only despair and destruction.

I never imagined Gaza would become what people now call a ghost town.
Yes, the bombs have stopped falling momentarily—but a new kind of war has begun.
A war for survival.

There is no life here.
No clean water.
No food.
No shelter.
People have lost everything—their children, their homes, their health, their dignity… even their faith in justice and humanity.

The challenges we face are far greater than we ever imagined.

Yet we are still here, on the ground, working among the rubble— trying to reach the people here, to offer what little we can to ease their pain.

We clear some debris to pitch a tent that will be a point for distributing vegetables and other emergency aid.
We clear roads so water trucks can pass.
We lay pipes in neighborhoods to restore water.
We reopen community kitchens and expand others.
We build ovens to bake bread for the hungry.
We distribute aid in whatever areas we can reach.

We are now creating spaces for learning, for health, for nutrition.
And yes, we even steal a moment now and then—to sing.

In every possible way,
we are trying to hold our people close…
to soothe them…
and somehow,
to plant the seeds of hope again.

Children gather to perform songs

Packing fresh fruit and vegetables to distribute to families in Gaza City

Delivering safe, clean drinking water to families from Jabalia in the north to Khan Younis in the south