Destined to Survive Alone: A Child’s Journey Beneath the Rubble in Gaza

When a home is bombed, it’s not just stones that shatter… but entire souls.

My name is Anwar, I’m nine years old, and I’m writing these words from a hospital bed in Gaza City. Just a few days ago, I didn’t know if I’d live to tell what happened. On a loud night — just another night of bombing — our home turned into rubble. I heard only screams and explosions… then a long silence.

“I woke up under the stones, I couldn’t see anything… just darkness and the sound of my broken breaths.”

I wasn’t alone that night. My mother, my two sisters, and my grandfather were with me in the room. My first cries went unanswered — only dust and silence responded. I don’t know how long I lay there, but each minute felt like forever. I was thirsty, hungry, alone… terrified the world would forget me.

Outside, no one knew I was alive. The news reported dozens of victims from our neighborhood, and the bulldozers were clearing the rubble with no hope of finding survivors. But beneath the debris, I — Anwar — was breathing, holding on to life.

“Every time I heard a sound outside, I screamed as loud as I could: I’m here! Please don’t leave me.”

After 72 hours, as the rescue team was preparing to leave, someone heard the faint echo of my voice. They dug carefully and removed the stones until they reached me. I couldn’t believe I was alive. The sun was shining, the air was clean, but my heart was heavy. I had lost my mother… I had lost my grandfather… I wasn’t the same boy anymore.

Those who survive under the rubble don’t just carry broken bodies — they carry wounds that no medicine can heal. Since I got out, nightmares haunt me every night. I refuse to sleep in the dark. I’m afraid to close my eyes. Doctors say I need therapy, but in Gaza, therapy is rare. We are healed with love — not with professionals.

My message? That someone listens. That people know children in Gaza don’t dream of bikes or toys… they dream of staying alive. Of not being bombed in their sleep. Of not seeing their home turn into a grave.

“All I want is to live like any other child… without rubble above me, without rockets around me.”

Anwar is the voice of thousands of children in Gaza. He survived death — but even the survivors are scarred. This isn’t just a story about a missile — it’s a story about childhood when war becomes its shadow. A story we tell so it may be heard… and maybe change something in this silent world.