Hello

I love my work! I really do. But why does it have to be this hard? I love my hospital, yet it sometimes feels unsafe. A place of healing shouldn’t be a place of fear. No doctor should wonder if they’ll survive their shift, haunted by the bombs that struck our hospital and the colleagues we lost.

Today, at iftar time, instead of breaking our fast, we fought to save a young boy who was targeted by a missile. Our plans were for a meal; his was for survival.

We who do not die

The days have wounded us deeply, yet they have also made us feel life more intensely. They have sharpened us at once. Pain has carved its way into our souls, but it has only made us love more.

We are Palestinians; not because we chose to be symbols of resilience, but because we had no other choice. We have taught the world the true meaning of humanity, not through words, but through suffering, through endurance, through the blood we shed. A person may fall, but a Palestinian never truly breaks; for in our hearts, there is mercy, kindness, and love that no force can erase.

Hatred may appear to win, but it never truly does. And love may seem defeated, but it never truly falls. We carry within us a love that cannot be silenced by massacres, a generosity that no siege can extinguish, and a hope that no suffering can destroy. We face death by choosing life, meet despair with resilience, and answer oppression with a love that reaches our to the world, even through our wounds.

The truth is no longer hidden. Injustice no longer lurks in the shadows; it is written on the smug faces of those who hear of leaders who call themselves great while proving themselves to be the lowest of men. The world knows who destroys life and who fights to save it.

To feel nothing in the face of suffering is to betray the very essence of being human. Humanity is not just a word; it is action. It is standing up for those in need, refusing to turn away. To be human is to feel, to care, to reach out, to lift those who have fallen.

In the hospital, where pain is a daily language, we stand on the edge of life and death. Every day we see children bearing wounds they should never have, fear they should never know. We see families arriving, one after another, poisoned by the food they ate because the only other choice was starvation. As if hunger alone were not enough, sickness claims them too. As if life in this land offers nothing but thorns.

We touch bodies emptied by war, drained of every ounce of strength, hollowed by fear and exhaustion, consumed by grief and pain. We look into eyes that have lost all light. And we feel it too, the numbness, the exhaustion, the unbearable weight of it all.

Here, everything hurts. Even hope is exhausting. Even saving others takes a piece of us each time, as if we are caught between two kinds of death: the slow one that eats away at us day by day and the sudden one that can come at any moment.

Yet, we do not surrender. Because we are not just living. We are fighting for something greater than ourselves. We carry more than just hearts in our chests. We carry a homeland, a cause, and a love that refuses to die. Despite the oppression, we believe that love is life, and that even when life seems impossible, we are the ones who create it.

We are Palestinians. And we do not die; even when they think they have killed us.