Hello from the heart of the conflict. I’m Moatasim Nashwan, a dentist—for the name remains when all is lost.
Gaza has been my home for the past 27 years. In other words, it has been the only place I have ever known. During that time, I have grown up with the smell of gunpowder and blood.
But the most devastating blow came on October 7, 2023—a day etched in my memory, as the war tore through our lives. It was meant to be the beginning of a new chapter—the week I had planned to inaugurate my own dental clinic.
After that, I was forced to leave my city with my family and head south, walking a distance of 12 kilometers. I was pulling a wheelchair for my 33-year-old disabled sister. We couldn’t take anything with us—not my certificates, not my university documents—leaving everything behind, never expecting I wouldn’t see it again.
At the onset of this war, while scrolling through social media, I saw the building that housed my clinic—the one I had established—had been destroyed. How could I believe it? I wasn’t even given a chance to try it out, to create smiles, or even to capture pictures and memories.
The ironic part of this story is that my new marriage and the joy I felt just a few months earlier, in July before the seventh of October, had filled my heart. I had just finished furnishing our entire home, but I never got the chance to enjoy it.
This war hit me at a pivotal moment—just as I was embarking on my professional and social journey. After working so hard to get to where I am now, everything feels dreadful and miserable. I’ve faced the constant fear of losing loved ones or becoming incapacitated myself. What followed was a period of deep depression, where every day felt like a struggle to survive emotionally.
Unfortunately, I don’t even have time for depression or self-isolation, as I’m preoccupied with caring for my mother—trying to appear strong in front of her and reassure her that everything will be alright, even though I’ve lost hope.
My mother struggled for me and my siblings after my father passed away in 2010. She raised and educated us with unmatched strength. Every day, I watch her cling to hope, believing that one day we will return to our family home. But how do I tell her that everything she worked for—every tree she planted, every corner she decorated—is now reduced to rubble?
After many stages of despair, I turn to you, reluctantly admitting that I’ve finally resorted to seeking your help. I still hold faith in the kindness of people in this world. With a passion for enhancing smiles, I’ve diligently pursued learning orthodontics and prosthodontics. Now, I aspire to pursue a master’s degree in orthodontics and truly make my clinic a reality.
I want to pay it forward by assisting children who cannot afford orthodontic treatment—making their dreams come true.
I ask for your help—not your sympathy. Please take action, whether by donating or by sharing this with anyone who can help.
Please read this with your heart, and take action as if it’s your own family.
Thank you. Moatasim Nashwan
One day I went back to visit my university before the war, to find my picture hanging on the university wall.
Maali #
Mo’s Sister: Every day is the same pain we just hope someone sees her and helps.
Maali is paralyzed and suffers from painful bedsores. We urgently need $150 just for 3 days’ worth of diapers. She also needs nutritious food and, but we can’t even afford the basics.Despite her paralysis and illness, Maali still tries to help today, she baked bread with her weak hands. She suffers daily. Her basic needs include:
🔹 Diapers – $150 every 3 days 🔹 Healthy food
Please don’t forget her. Even a prayer means a lot.
