Friday is here.
And today, I can’t stop thinking about a moment I saw that broke me open in ways I didn’t expect.
A little girl in Gaza… crying.
Not from fear. But from joy.
Someone handed her a tray of eggs. The first time she had seen them in almost two years.
And she just collapsed into tears.
Holding them the way a child anywhere else might hold a toy.
Or a birthday gift. Or something given by a parent she no longer has.
She looked at them like treasure. And in Gaza, they are.
Especially for the children who wake up with no mother to cook for them,
no father to bring home food,
no adult hands left to protect them from winter or hunger.
The orphans who now raise each other in tents and rubble.
Children who have survived on scraps, dirty water, stale bread…
if even that…
finally tasting something soft, something nourishing, something safe.
It is beautiful and it is devastating.
Because no child, especially a child with no parents left,
should ever reach a point where food feels like a miracle.
And yet, here we are.
This is why Friday Giving matters more than ever.
Because every Friday, when the world pauses
to pray, to breathe, to rest,
we have the chance to place food directly into the hands of a child who has no one else left to feed them.
To give warmth and nourishment to orphan households where older siblings act as parents.
Where toddlers share whatever crumbs they can find.
Where children put themselves to bed because there is no one else to tuck them in.
To make sure the next carton of eggs does not feel like a miracle,
but a meal.
This Friday, your giving can mean:
⚪️ A hot meal for an orphan who has not eaten properly in days
⚪️ Baby formula for infants who lost their mothers
⚪️ Clean water they have not tasted in months
Every act of Friday Giving becomes the moment an orphaned child feels full again.
The moment their shoulders drop.
The moment they realise someone, somewhere, still cares enough to feed them.
And maybe, just maybe,
the moment a child cries with relief instead of hunger.
So tonight, as Friday settles into comfort and routine,
I want to ask gently:
Can you give a little, so an orphaned child in Gaza can feel full, not just once, but again and again?
Your mercy becomes their meal.
Your generosity becomes their safety.
Your Friday becomes their lifeline.
Because in Gaza, even one meal, one moment of mercy,
is enough to make an orphan weep with joy.
With a heart that refuses to look away,
Hafsa
