Mohammed is about to complete his medical studies. In addition to his coursework, he is engaged in both study and volunteer work at the hospital. 

“Since childhood, my dream has been tied to medicine. It was never just a passing choice, but rather an extension of my father’s dream one he could not achieve because of the difficult circumstances that stood in his way.

He instilled in us, his children, a deep love for knowledge and perseverance in learning. We continued the path he once started, and the support he gave us filled me with strength and confidence, teaching me that success never comes without effort and determination.

To this day, my father sacrifices everything so that I can pursue my studies, and this inspires me to remain committed and diligent.

Over the years, I came to realize that medicine is the path where science meets humanity, where effort turns into hope, and where serving others shapes one’s true self.

I grew up in a family that values education and humanitarian work. My brother Khaled became a nurse, and my brother Ismail became a doctor.

Our home has even become a medical point of reference for people in our neighborhood, and I always wanted to be part of this noble work.

Today, I am in my fifth year of medical school, just one year away from becoming a doctor. For me, medicine is not simply a field of study or a career; it is a message and a great responsibility toward others.
Every patient carries a story and a pain, and I want to be the person who eases that pain and gives them hope and reassurance. The moments I treasure most are when I see patients recovering and praying for me with gratitude reminding me that no effort is ever wasted.

I was born in a city exhausted by war, where I witnessed the daily suffering of people around me. This reality fueled my determination to continue my studies and volunteer in hospital departments, even in the midst of brutal conflict, so I could stand beside people in their most difficult moments. My journey in medicine has not been easy, but it has taught me that patience and perseverance are the true path to fulfilling dreams.

Today, I stand on the threshold of achieving mine carrying in my heart my father’s determination, my family’s support, and my sincere desire to serve others.”

Dr. Ahmed is a passionate pharmacist who graduated in 2024. He volunteers for the International Medical Corps, focusing primarily on child protection and (healthy) nutrition.

“I wanted to study pharmacy because I grew up in a home filled with the spirit of medicine and compassion. My late father worked as a nurse for 37 years at Al-Shifa and Al-Aqsa Hospitals. Two of my brothers became doctors, my eldest sister is a laboratory specialist, and my other brother is a radiology and imaging specialist. Surrounded by this medical atmosphere, I felt it was my duty—and my calling—to complete the circle by choosing pharmacy, a field that beautifully combines biology, chemistry, medicine, and the science of drugs in all their intricate details. I knew it would be challenging, but the joy of learning and helping others always outweighed the difficulty.

For me, being a pharmacist means far more than dispensing medications. It’s about educating patients, giving clear instructions, and ensuring they understand how to use their treatment safely. It’s also about innovation—understanding the process of drug production and dreaming of rebuilding what we once had. In Gaza, we had two pharmaceutical factories that were destroyed during the brutal war, yet we continue to dream of restoring that brilliance, of challenging every hardship with resilience and hope.

The medical sciences are among the noblest fields, not only for their knowledge but for their ethics. It is our duty to build a relationship of love and trust with every patient—to speak their language, understand their pain, and reassure them even in the darkest moments. Every patient carries a story of pain and hope, and through them, we learn to bear our own burdens with grace.

We have pledged to remain forever at the service of the sick and the vulnerable—to save a life, or at least to be a reason it continues.”

“And whoever saves one life—it is as if he has saved all of humanity.”

It troubles my soul to see the ailing,
Who complain of sorrow, pain, and despair.
So I walked the path to turn herbs into healing,
And sought from the depths of seas what lies hidden there.
From the venom of serpents we have taken wisdom—
From every illness, we craft a cure beyond compare

Ahmed Younis Shaheen | Pharmacist in the making

Dr. Ahmed Younes

A medical trainee volunteering at a field hospital. Bara’a is also active in a special “women’s medical tent,” where attention is given to reproductive rights, breastfeeding, and other sensitive and vulnerable issues.

“

I chose medicine because, as a child, I watched my father return home exhausted yet smiling after helping a neighbor ease a patient’s pain. In those quiet moments I realized that life is not measured by money or appearances, but by how much compassion and hope we give to others. From then on, I believed that a doctor is the final guardian of human dignity and I decided to be one of those guardians.

In Gaza, people’s pain merges with our everyday life: the cries of children during airstrikes, mothers’ eyes searching for a glimpse of safety, the wounded arriving covered in dust and blood. Each time I stand before a bleeding patient, I feel that I’m not only treating an injury, but healing an entire story of fear and loss. Sometimes all we can offer is a bandage and a smile, but that is enough to plant the meaning of endurance in a patient’s heart.

Being a doctor here means giving hope even when you yourself are desperate for comfort. I’ve seen my colleagues continue working under bombardment, teaching me day by day that mercy is stronger than terror and that knowledge without humanity is nothing. Every child who laughs once the pain subsides, every elder who lifts a hand in prayer when his breath returns, reaffirms to me that this profession is not just a choice but a mission.

My love for patients flows from the belief that their lives are a sacred trust, and every moment I help someone reclaim their life is a small victory over the surrounding devastation. Medicine, to me, is not just treatment or diagnosis; it is an act of resistance, a living testimony that life is worth fighting for.

This is why I am a doctor: to prove that hope can be born even under rubble, and that our shared humanity can withstand the fiercest storms.”

Dr. Hassan recently graduated while actively volunteering at a field hospital amid a displacement camp in Central Gaza.

“I graduated from high school almost six years ago, and those moments were miraculous alive with joy, laughter, and boundless hope. After that radiant time, I sat alone with the questions that would shape my life: what I yearn to become, how I will influence those around me, and what I will change in my community.

The first answer that brightened my path was unmistakable: I would become a doctor. Choosing that noble, humane calling would make me the first doctor in my family, a clarity that answered the question of impact I longed to wield to be a guide, a reference, and a steadfast ally for my family whenever they needed me.

That conviction has lingered with me across six years, and I cannot forget how many relatives sought my counsel because I am the family’s sole physician. God be praised, I have stood as their pillar through those hardships.

Yet another, deeper imprint on my mind is the way wars in my country and dwelling place shaped my purpose. The images of medical teams marching through war zones stirred in me a profound reverence for this work and an immense, indescribable capacity to help my people amid ruin, especially given the acute shortage of medical staff. This reality hammered home the necessity of this path and resonated as waves of memory that refused to fade.

When I joined as a volunteer doctor on the seventh day of the last conflict, I revisited that day and the reasons I chose this path, despite the overwhelming pain and sorrow. The loss of thirty members of my family and uncles on day five haunted me, yet a fierce pride rose within me and a voice quiet but insistent told me I had done it, that I had become what I aspired to be. My body carried the weight of hours spent tending the injured, and a small, steadfast voice whispered that I had succeeded: I was becoming a beacon of relief and healing for my family first, and then for my people. I cannot deny the happiness I felt, the pride that walked hand in hand with solidarity toward everyone I served.

Those days and nights were tempered by the encouragement and support of those around me, pushing me to persist in giving.At the end of my university journey, I reminded myself of the choice I made and of the father and family who encouraged and supported me, grateful beyond measure. I want to thank you all for your unwavering support.

Now I am suffused with pride and joy that I chose to become a doctor, and I stand here living the dream I had envisioned.Finally, I am grateful to my brother Mounir, my sister Tjitske and leke, and all who helped us become doctors in the Gaza Strip. Without that support and this remarkable initiative, I would not have finished my studies or continued to realize all I have stated, nor could I have contributed to improving our situation or enabling us. I send you all my love and gratitude, dear ones. I wish I could thank each of you personally for everything, and may you all remain safe, my beloved friends.”

Dr. Mariam works as an unpaid dentist in one of the last dental clinics in Gaza. In addition, she volunteers at a field hospital alongside several other doctors supported by our initiative. 

“I wanted to become a dentist because I saw in the smile a message of life. Since childhood, I noticed how a simple smile could change an entire day, and how dental pain could steal away a person’s ability to enjoy food, sleep, or even moments of joy. For me, restoring a smile was never just a medical act it was an act of humanity that touches the soul before the body.

As the years passed, I discovered that this profession carries a deeper meaning. To be a dentist in Gaza does not only mean drilling, filling, or treating cavities. It means treating people who are exhausted by war, and witnessing entire life stories behind every broken tooth or wounded mouth. Each time I sit in front of a patient, I feel that I am not only fixing teeth, but restoring dignity and bringing back a piece of their peace of mind.

What drives me is seeing hope shine again with every smile that regains its light. For me, dentistry is not just a university degree or a means to make a living; it is an ethical commitment and a human mission. I believe that a doctor does not only restore physical functions, but also a person’s confidence and faith in life.

That is why I chose dentistry because it gives me the chance to be the reason someone smiles again, despite all the pain around them. And in doing so, I feel that I am helping to create hope in the midst of darkness.”

Khader is a doctor in residence who is finishing is clinical rotations in one of the last semi-functioning hospitals in Gaza

“One day, I will become a doctor to make sure no child ever feels the way I did! “

When I was just 10 years old, I became severely ill with hepatitis A. I remember being incredibly weak, barely able to stand. My family rushed me to Al-Aqsa Hospital, hoping for care and relief, but what we found was a system stretched beyond its limits.

The hospital was overwhelmed. There were too few doctors, not enough equipment, and barely any beds. I still remember lying on the cold, hard floor of the emergency department because no beds were available. The doctors were exhausted, running between patients, doing all they could, but it wasn’t enough. I didn’t receive proper care, and in that moment of fear and neglect, something inside me changed.

I made a silent promise to myself: “one day, I will become a doctor, not for status or recognition, but to make sure no child ever feels the way I did”.

Years passed, and that promise only grew stronger. I studied with a purpose, driven by that memory, by that night on the emergency floor. And by the grace of God, that dream became reality.

Today, I am a doctor, and not just anywhere, but volunteering in that very same hospital. Every time I walk through its corridors, I remember the child I was. And every patient I see, especially the quiet ones waiting in corners, reminds me of why I started this journey.
I give them my full attention, because I know what it feels like to be forgotten. My mission is not just to treat illness, but to restore dignity and compassion to every patient, especially those who suffer in silence
This isn’t just a profession for me. It’s a personal calling, born from pain, fulfilled with purpose.”

Dr. Khader

“It has always been the dream of every Palestinian father to have a son named Dr. Ali—that child who was born into a poor family before the Nakba, whose parents sacrificed everything they owned just to make him the village doctor.

The character of Dr. Ali in “The Palestinian Exodus” (Al-Taghreba Al-Filastiniyya)—the series that depicts the tragedy of the Nakba and was watched by nearly every Palestinian in the twenty-first century—became the very soul of the story. He was the hero, the doctor, and above all, the embodiment of humanity.

I grew up inspired by that same path. I wanted to be that kind of person—the one who helps everyone, not only through medicine but by easing the burdens of life for many others.

When I entered high school, I printed a small paper with the words “Dr. Ismail Qwaider” written on it. I loved medicine long before I practiced it. My dream was to become a surgeon. I often drifted into daydreams—imagining myself saving someone injured in a car crash, or wounded by gunfire or shrapnel; performing CPR on a cardiac arrest patient; inserting a chest tube in a severe thoracic injury; or placing an endotracheal tube to restore a patient’s breath.

It was a dream, an ambition, a passion—and a love.

I dedicated immense effort to my studies to earn this specialty, to become the “Ali” of my family, the “Ali” among my people.

Today, I am a doctor despite all the hardships I faced during my education. I challenged the impossible until I forced it to become possible.

Everything I once imagined—those medical procedures and more—I now perform skillfully in the emergency department.

The dream became reality, despite the pain. I am proud of myself, and my family is proud of me. I have become the person I always wanted to be.

And so, Ali still lives on. Though the episodes of the series have long ended, we Palestinians have continued his story. Now, instead of one doctor, there are thousands—each with the same purpose: to ease the suffering of our people and to serve our cause in any way we can.”

Works as a doctor on a voluntary basis in a hospital in central Gaza. As the eldest son and breadwinner, he is responsible for an extended family with whom he lives in a makeshift tent camp.

“Honestly I never planned to become a doctor out of big dreams or for reputation. It started from small things.. seeing people around me suffer and wanting to help, even in the simplest way. Over time, that feeling grew stronger until medicine became the only path that truly made sense to me.

For me being a doctor is not about titles or fame. It is about standing beside people in their weakest moments. In Gaza, that often means working under impossible conditions without enough tools, without rest, and sometimes without hope. Still, I remind myself that every life saved, every pain eased, is worth all the effort and exhaustion.

Medicine has taught me patience, humility, and strength. It showed me how powerful a kind word or a gentle touch can be. I’ve realized that healing is not always about treatment, but about reminding people that they are not alone in their pain.

As time passed, my vision grew wider. I began to dream of continuing my studies in public health, so I can serve a larger part of the community, not just one patient at a time. I want to learn how medicine can protect people before illness strikes, and how a stronger health system can give people dignity and hope.

Here in Gaza doctors don’t just heal wounds, they protect what remains of life. We try to keep the community standing despite destruction. And despite everything, I still love this profession, because it gives me meaning and allows me to give something back to my people when they need it most.” 

Dr. Maha and Dr. Abdelrahman are a young couple. Dr. Maha worked as a volunteer doctor in several emergency posts and refugee camps. Dr. Abdelrahman works as a volunteer doctor in a larger hospital in central Gaza.

Dr. Abdelrahman:

“Why did you study medicine?

A profound question whose answer has changed over time. As a person grows older, their thinking matures, their ideas change, and their ambitions expand. From a young age, my mother used to call me “my little doctor,” and I dreamed of studying medicine because my mother wanted me to be a doctor.  I grew up and finished high school, but I loved physics more and wanted to study it. I followed my desire and enrolled in university in the physics department. I studied for about a year, then my father was diagnosed with leukemia and began chemotherapy. I took turns with him at the oncology hospital, seeing the patients and their pain and suffering. I felt sadness and pity for them. I started to think and blame myself: why didn’t I study medicine? Why couldn’t I be that angel who alleviates people’s pain and suffering? Not long after, my father passed away from that accursed disease. He needed radiation therapy, which wasn’t available in Gaza, and he had to travel, but like many Gazans, he was prevented from doing so. He died, and at that moment, I felt like the world had stopped. After that, I made the decision: I wanted to change my major; I wanted to study medicine to help these patients and alleviate their suffering and pain. I began studying medicine with great passion. In my second year of medical school, my mother was diagnosed with a rare disease affecting the nervous system called (

Corticobasal degeneration). She was diagnosed with it and needed a chip implanted in her brain to regulate nerve signals, but unfortunately, the necessary resources were unavailable.  Inside Gaza, I tried to travel with her for such operations, but unfortunately, she was prevented from traveling due to the occupation.

What is her crime?! Why is she being prevented from traveling?! What danger does a sixty-year-old woman pose?! Is treatment a crime?! Isn’t it a right for every human being?! Aren’t we all human beings?!  The illness worsened, and the complications increased day by day. My passion for medicine grew stronger; I wanted to help my mother. I didn’t want to lose her as I lost my father. You are my only remaining hope. I will study and study and study, hoping to find something to alleviate your pain and the complications of your illness. I graduated from university and received my degree, sharing my joy with my mother, who had become bedridden due to the complications of that accursed disease. I told her we would celebrate my graduation together in a week. Her dream was for me to become a doctor, and here I was, the doctor she had dreamed of. But I didn’t know that the specter of death would be swifter and claim her life before she could share my joy. She passed away two days before my graduation. Grief enveloped my heart, and my joy turned to mourning.

I cried a lot and experienced bouts of hallucinations, depression, and denial. But thanks be to God, I gathered my strength and vowed to Him that my knowledge and the medical expertise He had bestowed upon me would be a charitable act on behalf of my father and mother.  I want to be that person who gives hope when people feel weak. I love my field of work and I work passionately to alleviate people’s suffering and make my parents proud. I don’t want them to lose their fathers as I did. And here I am, that doctor who dreams of traveling, completing my specialization, and returning to Gaza to help those patients who have been deprived of their most basic right: treatment.” 

Dr. Maha:

“My journey toward medicine was never just about achieving a childhood dream — it was a calling, a deep desire to bring healing and hope to others. When I was in high school in Taif, Saudi Arabia, my father would wake up for Fajr prayer and often find me studying for my Tawjihi exams. He would kiss my forehead, smile with pride, and say, “I’m sure you will study medicine and become my doctor.”

Our family was waiting for my graduation so we could return to our beloved Gaza, after 20 years of my father’s life abroad. Alhamdulillah, I graduated with a score of *97.11%*, received a scholarship to study in Egypt, and my family returned to Gaza.

I moved to Egypt and lived with my grandfather in Menoufia — a man exiled from Gaza in 1976 by the Israeli occupation. His story of forced displacement only deepened my connection to my roots.

From the first day I entered medical school, I imagined the smiles of patients. I dreamed of becoming a *plastic surgeon*, someone who could restore the faces and spirits of those burned or disfigured by war or accident.”

While Dr. Asma is pregnant with twins, she works in the emergency department where she is training to become a surgeon. In her work as a surgical resident, she witnesses the worst consequences of the Israeli violence. The same applies to her husband, Dr. Mohammed, who, as a forensic doctor, encounters the most brutal causes of death.

“I wanted to study medicine because it stands at the ultimate intersection of human vulnerability and intellectual rigor. My passion for this profession is not merely a fondness for science; it is an unwavering covenant to transform complex knowledge into tangible relief. The dedication I bring is born from the understanding that every diagnosis is a puzzle that demands meticulous attention, and every treatment plan carries immense consequence. To master the ever-evolving complexities of the human body and translate that mastery into a moment of healing—that is the highest professional calling I can imagine.

My love for patients comes from the profound recognition of their innate value, irrespective of their condition. When I think of my patients, I feel an enormous sense of privilege—the privilege of being invited into their most vulnerable moments, seeing past the ailment to the person, the parent, the friend who is trusting me with their future. This trust is what fuels my work ethic. It drives me to be present, to listen without judgment, and to advocate fiercely for their optimal outcome.

For me, the field of medicine means far more than a career; it is a lifelong commitment to service. It is the diligence of working tirelessly to restore not just physical health, but hope, dignity, and potential. It means waking up every day ready to learn more, push harder, and provide the best care possible because, at its core, medicine is the ultimate promise: a dedicated hand reaching out to steady another, offering expertise, compassion, and an unwavering belief in their capacity to recover and thrive.”