HelpRaghdaFamily

This is an emergency fundraiser for Raghda Mohammed’s family from Gaza, currently trying to move to Egypt when the borders reopen.

Hello! My name is Haytham and I live in FL, US and I am raising funds for Raghda's family, who was fortunate to live in beautiful Rafah before the war broke out. Now, their situation is difficult to imagine, let alone live ,and now, they urgently need your help. Please read further and consider supporting this family's fundraiser campaign.

Raghda is a 25 year old young mother of two , Tia who is 3 and Anas who just turned 1 years old not long ago.

Raghda has completed her studies in Sports Education and was running an activities club for displaced children up until several months ago when she was displaced once again to Khan Younis.

Raghda faced whole set of problems and decided to take the matter in her own hands by making videos showcasing her struggles of having to look after two small children, all under heavy daily bombardment, shelling, famine, irrespective of whether it was hot or cold, day or night.

https://www.instagram.com/rghdtk968?igsh=djd2aGRrcTdla2Vh

For any parent out there, we all know how difficult is to raise a child, let alone two, without any suport system in place or a job.

Raghda hopes, with your help, to raise sufficient funds to move to Egypt and hopefully start a new life, when the border reopens. 

Please read Raghda’s story, in her own words:

My name is Raghda, I’m 25, a mother clinging to hope in a place where hope is constantly buried under rubble. My son was just a month old when the war began—he has never known a single day of peace. I spend every moment worrying if I’ll have enough food for my growing children, or if the next explosion will be the one that takes everything. 

My husband was wounded just weeks ago when a nearby tent was obliterated—he lived, but too many others didn’t. I still thank God he’s breathing, but is this what we now call luck?

Every night, I lie awake listening to the sounds of destruction, holding my babies close, wondering how much longer we can survive. There is no home left to go back to, only ashes and broken dreams. 

I dream not of riches, but of safety—of hearing my children laugh without fear in their eyes. I’m not asking for much, just the chance to give them a life outside this nightmare. 

What do we need?

 • Secure safe passage out of Gaza for my family before the border closes again—every delay puts our lives at greater risk.

 • Find shelter in Egypt, where rent for even a single room is beyond our reach, but essential for giving my children a roof and a sense of safety.

 • Feed and care for my children in a foreign land, where food, medicine, and clean clothes are not guaranteed, and every necessity comes at a cost we cannot meet alone.

 • Begin the difficult journey of rebuilding our lives as refugees, navigating a new country, unfamiliar laws, and the deep emotional wounds of war—with the hope that one day, my children will simply live, not just survive.

PS: something I wrote a few weeks ago, on the 19th of March, one day after the occupation resumed their invasion 

“ Open the crossing, and give us the freedom to get visas and travel.

I’m the first one who wants to travel. I don’t want to stay in this holocaust they call a homeland. I’m the first one who will leave, and in my life, I will never think about going back.

I want to live a normal life—a dignified, normal life.

I want to sleep peacefully without fear of waking up under the rubble or losing someone I love.

I want to sleep without having to cover my face and suffocate myself so the mosquitoes that fill the town with sewage and filth don’t sting me.

I want to wake up, have breakfast, and live a normal life.

I want to live in safety, in every way.

I don’t want to go hungry again.

I don’t want to be displaced.

I don’t want to live in a tent.

I don’t want my human dignity to be violated again.

I don’t want to be deprived of the things I love.

I don’t want to keep living watching prices rise.

I don’t want to keep wondering, “How much flour do we have?” just to know how long it takes us to famine.

I’m only 25 years old, yet I carry the worries of a decrepit old woman.

I want to walk on clean streets—not jump from one puddle of sewage to another, not break my legs after walking through dusty roads.

I want my worries to be silly, trivial, and small.

I want this burden to be lifted from my heart and shoulders.

I want to love life.

I want to live.

I declare my defeat and surrender to everything.

No one should come and tell me how much I can endure, because this isn’t me.

I’m so tired of everything, and I no longer have the energy to bear it.

I have one of two choices:

Hope or despair ... So I chose hope ...