An Open Letter to the Precious Children of Gaza - You Are Not Alone.

A promise of love and solidarity from a world working for your safety and future.

This letter began as a comment under the Substack of

Mosab Abu Toha

, a Palestinian poet and writer. He has invited us to write to the children of Gaza — those who have survived for two long years, what should never have touched them — a genocide. This comment very quickly became a letter that my heart refused to shorten. It is for every child in Gaza who has been made to feel invisible to the world that should have protected them.

Please read Mosab’s original note below, and if you can, leave a message for these precious children:

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**Caregiver Note**

This letter witnesses the children of Gaza, who have lived through a genocide. It avoids graphic detail and centers safety, validation, and hope. Read in short sections, pause for feelings, and stop if a child seems distressed. Thank you.

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Hello my sweet, beautiful little angels,

I am so honored to finally be able to write to you. Though I may be a stranger to you, you are anything but that to me. For two long years, my heart has sought you out. Your beautiful faces have stayed with me, day and night. I have prayed for your safety, for your laughter, for your dreams.

I have watched you survive what would break even the strongest among us. What our world did to you — to your lives, your loved ones, and everything you held dear — should never have happened. Not even for a second. Let alone for two years.

Yet, in the midst of it all, I have seen your spirit shine. I have seen you smile, even when all comforts you were used to, were gone. I have seen you play by the sea. I have seen your eyes dance as kites soared in the sky.

I have also seen you cover your ears when the sounds were too loud and too close. I have watched you take a brave breath and say, “I’m okay, it was just so loud”, trying to help your body feel safe again. And maybe even to comfort the loved ones watching you.

I have witnessed your profound generosity — how you immediately offered something back when someone gave you anything at all. I have seen you soothe your brothers, sisters, and friends with gentle hugs, and share what little you had with people you did not even know.

And I have heard your questions. The brave, honest ones about what comes next, and the innocent ones that reveal the pureness of your heart — like asking whether the people doing this to you have children of their own.

My heart has ached, watching you try to be so strong, so responsible, when you should only have to think about play and dreams. You have had to learn new words, not for joy, but to tell the world of your basic needs. The cruelty of those moments did not go unnoticed, my loves. It was felt — deeply.

I know how devoted your families are to you, how much they love you, and how much they provided for you before all of this began. I can only imagine how degrading it must have felt to force a smile just to receive a little food. If you ever felt you had to be cheerful, so that people would help you, please hear this: Your needs matter even when you are sad. You are worthy of help even when you are quiet. You deserve care even when you are too tired to ask.

Your voices were heard, sweet angels. You have nothing to prove to me, or to the world. It was never your job to convince anyone — it was our job, as grown-ups, to protect you.

I know that too many of us have made you feel as if witnessing suffering was harder than enduring it. For the silence that met your screams, I am so deeply sorry. But I do not expect your forgiveness. You owe the world nothing.

You deserve a safe home — not terrifying journeys that only led to places that were just as unsafe as your home. You deserve warm, home-cooked meals — not walking long-distances on a hungry stomach. You deserve a feast — not lining up for hours, just for a bite to eat.

I will not call you heroes — not because you are not incredibly strong, but because you should never have had to be. You did not choose this suffering; you simply survived it. Through it all, you have remained dignified, and I deeply honor that. But that does not change the truth: you are children. You are entitled to your innocence. You should not have to be strong every moment. And I refuse to allow this world to normalize what was forced upon you.

The lost look in your eyes reflects how deeply the world has failed you. It shows the sense of safety that was taken from you, not the strength of your spirit, which still remains so strong. But you do not have to carry the burden of strength alone, my loves. It is a weight that should never have been placed on you.

You do not need to justify your anger, your sadness, or your fear to anyone. Your feelings are real, they matter, and you are safe to name them.

When someone you love is gone, things do not go back to the way they were. When you feel that crushing sadness or anger that they were taken from you, know that grief is not a weakness. Anger is not a flaw. They are the signs of a love that was deep and true — a love that remains alive within you.

Nothing that happened is your fault. The burden of guilt is not yours to carry. They would want you to live. They would want you to find joy again. Do not let this world rob you of that future.

It is okay if you feel happy one moment and sad the next. It is okay if you laugh and then remember something that makes you cry. Your hearts are big, and hold many feelings — and all your feelings belong.

You are still children. You are allowed to play, to ask for hugs, to want stories before bed. Do not let anyone tell you that surviving is enough. You deserve to live, to laugh, to dream, to learn, to grow, to walk under open skies without fear.

And if you have been left with no one to provide this for you, please know that the love and safety you deserve did not vanish.

Think of the doctors, journalists, and aid workers who were so brave. They saw you. They chose to stay and help, even when it was dangerous, because they knew that you matter. Their sacrifice is proof of how precious you are. They wanted the world to see you and keep you safe. They did not want you to be forgotten.

So when you feel scared or alone, remember their brave choices show that you are loved. And you can carry that love inside you. No one can take it away from you.

One day, my words to you will be light and joyful. But today, I must honor the weight you have carried. I must acknowledge the profound losses borne by you and your ancestors.

Trust that what was taken from you will return in ways you cannot yet imagine. You will laugh again, dream again, rebuild again. And when you tell your stories — not only of loss, but of hope, success, and adventure — the world will listen. You will always stand as proof that even the darkest night cannot extinguish the light — that if anything, adversity only makes it shine brighter.

I will end this letter with much still unsaid. Please know that you are held in the hearts and prayers of millions across the world. Your courage, your faith, and your resilience have changed us forever.

Though the help reaching you may feel frustratingly slow, a community of compassion is working tirelessly for your safety and your future. You are so deeply loved. You are not, and will never be, alone.

May God protect you and bring you peace, healing, and comfort. And when you are older, I know you will help lead us all toward a brighter world.

Simply by being who you are.

I love you all so very much. I stand with you, always.

All my love,

S

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Read my letter to Gaza here:

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