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.”

Dr. Mahmoud is a renowned physician and a major medical talent in the emergency departments of two different hospitals. 

“The Doctor — A Dream Born from a Toy and Reborn in a Tent of Hope

In that tent, I was no longer just a doctor. I was a source of comfort, a listener, a healer, and sometimes the only light people could see in their darkest hours.”

Yes — this is who I am.
A doctor whose dream began with a simple toy,
shaped by hardship,
strengthened by compassion,
and reborn in a tent of hope —
serving his people when the world turned away.

Team leader of the emergency department and senior physician in one of the most important semi-functioning hospitals still operating in Gaza. 

“My love for medicine began in childhood. I was always fascinated by the way doctors healed and helped those in need. But as I grew older, that curiosity deepened into something more meaningful. I began to understand what it truly means to be ill—to be at your weakest, most vulnerable point, longing for someone to ease your pain. That realization shaped a quiet but growing conviction within me: I wanted to be that person who brings comfort in the darkest moments.

Today, I work as an emergency physician in one of the busiest hospitals in the region. I face chaos, trauma, and tragedy every single day—but also resilience, recovery, and hope. I treat dozens of injuries daily, often under intense pressure, and have the honor of saving lives on the frontlines. The impact of that is indescribable. It’s humbling, transformative, and deeply human.

Medicine is no longer just a career—it’s a calling. And every shift reminds me why I chose this path: to serve, to heal, and to stand beside people when they need it most.”

Yahia recently graduated as a doctor. He works on a voluntary basis in a hospital in Gaza, runs a field hospital, and is working on establishing a new tent camp with facilities. 

“I wanted to study medicine because I could not imagine myself standing aside when people were in pain. From a young age, I felt a calling every time I saw someone sick, injured, or even just in need of comfort. It was as if their suffering spoke directly to me, asking me to respond.

Medicine, to me, is a way to restore dignity in the middle of chaos. It is a way to give people back a sense of safety when everything else is collapsing. That is why I studied medicine: because I believe every life deserves care, every wound deserves healing, and every patient deserves to be seen and loved.” 

An emergency physician working on a voluntary basis in a hospital in central Gaza. He is specializing to become a surgeon.

“I wanted to study medicine because…

Since childhood, I have always felt drawn to the pain of others not out of sadness, but out of a deep desire to heal. I remember watching my father care for people in our community with kindness and patience, and I wanted to carry that same light forward.

For me, medicine is not just a profession; it is a moral duty and a form of worship. Each patient I meet reminds me of how sacred life truly is fragile, yet immeasurably precious. When I treat a wounded child, an elderly man gasping for air, or a mother clinging to hope, I feel an unexplainable connection as if I am not only treating the body but also protecting the story of a soul.

In Gaza, medicine carries a meaning far deeper than textbooks can describe. It is not merely about diagnosis or treatment; it is about standing between life and death, often with trembling hands but a steady heart. It means offering hope in the darkest hours, when even hope itself seems to fade.

This path has taught me resilience, patience, and compassion. It has shown me the beauty of service and the strength found in humanity’s most fragile moments. Despite exhaustion, danger, and loss, I have learned that every act of healing no matter how small is a victory of life over despair.

I remain proud to be a doctor, not because of the title, but because it allows me to be a voice of mercy in a world that too often forgets what mercy means.”

Dr. Shefaa M. S. Samoud is a physician from Gaza who has continued to provide medical care throughout the war under extraordinarily difficult and dangerous conditions.

Dr. Shefaa M. S. Samoud:

Dr. Shefaa M. S. Samoud is a physician from Gaza who has continued to provide medical care throughout the war under extraordinarily difficult and dangerous conditions.

From the earliest days of the conflict, she worked long hours treating injured patients while hospitals struggled with severe shortages of medicines, medical supplies, and electricity. Caring for large numbers of wounded civilians, including children, women, and elderly people, has been one of the greatest challenges of her medical career.

Alongside her professional responsibilities, Dr. Samoud has endured immense personal loss. During the war, she lost her father and several of her siblings in an airstrike while her family was being displaced. She later separated from her husband and now lives with her young daughter in a tent, facing extreme heat, limited shelter, and severe shortages of clean water.

Despite constant danger, overwhelming psychological stress, and the loss of safety and stability, she has continued to care for patients whenever conditions have allowed, providing emergency medical treatment with the few resources available.

Today, Dr. Samoud remains committed to serving her community. As both a physician and a mother, she continues to face each day with resilience, determination, and hope, refusing to let the hardships of war define her future.