Everything used to be so different…
Everything used to be so different. My father was once a very active volunteer for MADA who’d race to the frontlines of any accident or terror attack, but once the second intifada began and terror attacks became our reality, everything changed. The constant exposure to the bloody terror attacks took a toll on my father, leaving him with crippling PTSD and a frequent patient in many psychiatric wards.
With time, my mom began to get worn out from my father’s constant treatments and eventually stopped caring for us. So when my brother would severely beat me, leaving me with a deep scar, no one was left to care for me. Soon enough, I stopped going to school. I wandered the streets and began eating without control. I was headed on a very dark path.
Thankfully, the House of Hope came down to me like a lifeline. There, I was accepted with a big smile and hug and provided a place to sleep and eat. But most importantly, House of Hope provided me with a place for my heart. A place for my dreams, a place to explore the things I love, and a place where I can call home.