This morning, while most of us were just starting our day, I spoke with Hamza—an English Literature student and journalist—who was sitting in the ruins of his home in Jabalia, northern Gaza. It was afternoon there. The sun was up, but so were the drones.

In the clip you’re about to watch, Hamza describes the night before: one of the most intense yet. A night full of bombing, evacuation orders, fear, and a terrifying question that keeps repeating with no answer: “Where are we to go?”

Hamza’s voice is calm, but behind it is exhaustion. Fear. Determination. He tells me about trying to find a way to get out of Gaza. About how his two-year-old niece Hoffa is the only thing keeping him grounded. How hugging her when he’s scared or sick is a small act of resistance—a reminder of what’s worth fighting for.

His entire extended family—forty people—are sheltering in what’s left of their home. No running water. No food security. No safe place to go. And yet, they’re still there. Still alive. Still loving each other in the middle of all this.

This video is short, but I hope it stays with you. Hamza isn’t asking for pity. He’s asking to be heard—and for his family to have a chance to survive.

If you can, please consider donating to help them. Every dollar helps cover food, water, medical needs, and maybe even the possibility of safety. The link is just below.

Because no one should have to live like this.
And no one should ever have to ask, “Where are we to go?”