Jihad & Family

Jihad (23), Badr, Zein, Dia, Nedal, Wissam & Parents

“My name is Jihad. I am asking for help to keep my family alive.”

Jihad’s extended family used to be more than 1,000 people. Today, fewer than 300 are still alive.

They fled their home with nothing but the clothes they were wearing and a few blankets. Since then, they have been displaced nearly ten times — walking for hours, sometimes sleeping in the street. There were days with no food and no clean water. Once, they drank salt water because there was no other choice.

When they returned to what was left of their neighborhood, they found only rubble. Their home was gone. Jihad’s university books were burned and scattered. Everything they worked for — their memories, their plans, their future — disappeared.

My name is Emily. I am writing this because Jihad and his family are not just people I am helping.
They are my family. I love them deeply.

For more than two years we have lived through this together. I know how they sound when they are trying to stay strong. I know what it means when a message comes through saying they are hungry, or that the money is about to run out, or that the cold is becoming dangerous.

We argue. We laugh. We celebrate birthdays over bad internet connections. They panic if they do not hear from me. I panic when I cannot reach them. Every morning we exchange the same words: “I am fine if you are fine.”

This campaign is not about rebuilding their lives right now.
It is about keeping them alive.

There is no reliable income. No functioning infrastructure. No safety. Every single day they are forced to choose between food, medicine, or repairing shelter just enough to survive another week.

Direct support changes what happens next.
It means food today.
Medicine when someone gets sick.
Firewood instead of burning plastic.
A repaired wall that keeps rain out.

Jihad was studying pre-law. Zein was studying pre-medicine. Badr is only 10 years old. Dia loves butterflies and friends. Nedal is engaged but cant afford an engagement present for his bride to be. Wissam, my heart, only 14 at the time, ended up carrying his best friends body back from an aid side after he was shot by the occupation trying to bring food home. They are exhausted — but they are still trying.

I promised them I would keep trying too.

If you can help me keep my family alive, please donate.
If you cannot, please share this until it reaches someone who can.

Sometimes survival depends on whether love travels far enough.

— Emily