From Ruins to Hope: Mahmoud's Appeal for a New Beginning

The devastation in Gaza since October 7, 2023 has taken an unimaginable toll on innocent Palestinian families. Many of us watch the suffering and feel powerless to help. This Chuffed fund is one concrete way to make a difference. It is created in memory of a remarkable young woman with PKU, Farah Shaheen, whose life was cut short by this brutal war between Israel and Hamas. I hope it will bring relief to one Gazan family I have known and loved for more than 17 years.

On October 23, 2023—less than three weeks into the war—an Israeli airstrike killed 21‑year‑old Farah, her parents, her siblings, and many members of her extended family. Nineteen lives were lost in a single moment. The grief is immeasurable. Among the survivors are four extended family members whom Farah adored: two aunts and two cousins. They remain trapped in Gaza, and are surviving in horrific conditions, waiting helplessly until the moment they can exit Gaza into Egypt where part of the surviving family were able to escape to some months ago.

This group of seven includes Farah’s Uncle Mahmoud, whose wife and two sons were killed in the attack but who was miraculously able to exit into Egypt with his surviving two daughters. Mahmoud has helped me start this campaign and is coordinating the entire project. (Please see Mahmoud’s Story that follows Farah’s Story, below.)

The goal of this Chuffed campaign is to support all 11 survivors of this horrific attack, those still in Gaza and those now in Egypt, with medical care and medicine for injuries sustained in the bombing, as well as food and basic living expenses. Their homes, possessions, and livelihoods in Gaza have been completely destroyed.

Conditions in Gaza are nearly unlivable. Food is scarce, clean water is difficult to find, sanitation has collapsed, and medical care is almost nonexistent. The four remaining family members are living in in part of a bombed-out house with virtually nothing. Their situation grows more desperate by the day. One aunt lost four of her five children; the other lost one of her two. Their trauma is profound, and yet they must continue struggling to survive in an environment where every day brings new danger, new grief, and new uncertainty.

Your donation—large or small—can directly change the course of their lives. It can mean safety, medical care, and the chance to rebuild after losing everything.

This fundraiser is also a tribute to Farah. She was bright, loving, and full of promise. Honoring her memory by helping the people she cherished is a way to push back, in some small but meaningful way, against the senseless violence that took her life.

While none of us can stop the war or undo the suffering, we can help this family survive it. We can offer them a path to safety, dignity, and healing. Your generosity will make a real and immediate difference.

Thank you for giving, for sharing, and for keeping Farah’s memory alive through compassion and action.

Virginia Schuett, Seattle, WA USA

Farah’s Story

Farah was born with classic PKU, a rare genetic disorder diagnosed at birth. For her first four years, she received the special formula imported into Gaza from the West Bank — the only reason she was spared the severe intellectual disability that untreated PKU causes. Many children in Gaza were not so fortunate. Farah never forgot that she was the only child with PKU in Gaza who received uninterrupted treatment.

Her father, Mohammed, first contacted me in 2006, just as Hamas took control of Gaza and stopped providing PKU formula. I was then a nutritionist and director of National PKU News. That email began a 17‑year journey of problem‑solving, worry, and deep connection as we worked together to keep Farah healthy.

For years I shipped large boxes of formula, low‑protein foods, clothes, books, and small gifts. The Red Cross and later the World Health Organization helped deliver them into Gaza until they no longer could, and then Mohammed found creative ways to bring formula from the West Bank. Every arrival was a celebration. Farah loved the formula that kept her alive, the foods she could safely eat, and the American clothes she proudly wore.

When I retired in 2015, Mohammed and I continued to find ways — often against all odds — to ensure Farah never missed a single day of her diet. He was a devoted father, a middle‑school science teacher, and the steady force who made her treatment possible. She called him “my hero.”

Our bond grew into something like family. From age four, Farah insisted I was her “American mom,” even calling herself “Farah Schuett.” She emailed me almost daily, always opening with “Good morning my beautiful mom” and ending with “I love you.” We shared a long‑running story about a little bird that carried kisses back and forth across the ocean. In her last message on October 19, she wrote, “Don’t worry, I’m okay mom, our little bird will keep me safe.”

Her biological mother, Mesta, welcomed our connection, grateful that Farah had someone always watching over her. The family even celebrated my birthday each year with a cake and a phone call from Gaza.

Farah grew into a remarkable young woman — disciplined, brilliant, kind, and fearless. She never strayed from her strict diet and kept perfect metabolic control. She excelled academically, winning every school competition and becoming the top student in her Doctor of Pharmacy program. She dreamed of helping people and was preparing to become part‑owner of a new pharmacy.

All of that ended on October 23, 2023, when an Israeli airstrike destroyed the house near Rafah where the family was sheltering. Farah, her parents, her four brothers, her grandfather, and many cousins were killed — 19 family members in all. Eleven survived. Farah was 21.

Both she and Mohammed had often said that in times of violence they wished the family could either all live together or all die together. I never imagined that wish would come true in such a horrific way.

I miss Farah beyond words. Writing about her helps mend a small part of my broken heart. She longed for the day we would finally meet in person. I never imagined I would be the one left behind.

I hope you will consider donating in Farah’s memory and to support her surviving family members.

Mahmoud’s Story

I am an architect from Gaza, as was my beloved wife, Heba. Together we ran a successful design office, and I also managed a popular Facebook page that provided our family with a good life — until the war destroyed everything.

On October 23, 2023, I lost my wife, Heba, and our sons, Tarek and Abdullah. My brother Mohammed — Farah’s father — lost his wife and all five of their children, including Farah. My father was killed, as were nieces, nephews, and in‑laws. Nineteen members of our family died; only eleven survived. Today, four relatives remain trapped in Gaza: my sisters Rania and Nesreen, and their sons Yousef and Alaa. They are the ones I am fighting to rescue.

In the week before the war, our family was celebrating the wedding of Farah’s oldest brother. Those were days filled with joy, dancing, and laughter. Farah was the light of the celebration — my angel, the one who shared every detail of her life with me.

Everything changed on October 7. We woke to explosions and fled our homes, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood as evacuation orders came. Eventually we were told to go to Rafah, where a friend offered us shelter. Life there was full of fear, scarcity, and exhaustion. Still, I tried to keep everyone’s spirits alive — especially Farah’s — even as food, water, and fuel became nearly impossible to find.

On October 23, my nephew Ahmed and I walked miles to find food. I was overjoyed to bring back grapes, pomegranates, and bananas — Farah’s favorites. Minutes after we returned, Israeli warplanes launched a “fire belt” strike. We gathered in a small room, praying it would pass. Instead, a one‑ton bomb hit the house directly.

The building collapsed. Heat and fire tore through everything. Buried under rubble, I screamed for my family. One by one, their voices faded. With my bare hands, I dug until I found a small opening and pulled out my nephew Yousef, then my daughters Sama and Haya. I kept digging, desperate for any sign of life.

Then I heard Farah.

I reached her, brushed the dust from her face, and lay beside her. She was trapped by the reinforced concrete and knew she would not survive. She asked me not to lie to her. She asked me to tell everyone she loved them — especially her parents. She didn’t know they were already gone.

We talked, even laughed, remembering her brother’s wedding. I tried to keep my tears from her. I stayed with her until her final breath.

Rescuers eventually pulled me out. I woke in a hospital to learn the full scale of our loss. For 32 days we slept on the floor, without painkillers, food, or clean water. After being discharged, we moved from place to place with nothing — no clothes, no money, no home. Five months passed in tents, hunger, and fear.

Through a GoFundMe campaign, I raised enough to evacuate only part of the family. My sister Alaa and her children left first because they needed medical care, as did my daughters and I. I reached Egypt, but my heart remains in Gaza with those still trapped.

Our homes are gone. Our family is shattered. But I am determined to save the survivors.

This is why I created a donation link — to bring the rest of my family to safety. I knew, Virginia, that you would not abandon us, for the sake of Farah’s memory. Your support gives me hope that one day I will sleep knowing my family is finally safe.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.