Although it has receded from the headlines due to the U.S.-Israeli escalation against Iran, the horror in Gaza continues unabated. We are in Egypt to meet dozens of Gazans – both witnesses and victims of Zionist Israel – in the hope of amplifying their voices, however modestly. In this column, I will share the stories of the noble women I have had the honor to meet, alongside both their messages and insights from our Ambassador to Egypt, Salih Mutlu Şen, regarding the efforts undertaken for the people of Gaza.

Let me begin with Duha’s mother, Nida, and her daughter, Noor, "Umm Hurayra.” Nida welcomes us with a gentle smile. She once had two sons and two daughters. Now she has one daughter. Her daughter, Duha, was martyred in Gaza. Her sons, along with her husband, who lost his hearing in the bombardments, remain in Gaza. Her husband, we are told, can no longer bear even to look at the photograph of their martyred daughter.

Nida describes Gaza in stark terms: "Life there is nothing but exhaustion, death and fear.” And yet, when asked about the possibility of returning, her answer is unwavering: "Of course. It is our homeland.”

On the day their home was bombed, Noor, now 21, was sitting on a swing with her sister Duha, talking. When a nearby strike hit their neighbors, both sisters were thrown into the air. Duha was martyred instantly. Noor, presumed dead, was nearly taken to the morgue until, at the last moment, someone noticed she was still breathing and rushed her into intensive care. Noor can no longer walk. Burns covered her body, shrapnel fragments remain lodged within her. The trauma to her spine left her paralyzed.

"In intensive care, my two brothers were lying wounded beside me,” she recalls. "I was more afraid for them than for myself. The thought that we might be bombed again, and that I couldn’t even move to protect them, made me feel worse than any illness.”

Once a vibrant young woman, writing and reciting poetry, practicing karate and studying law at university, Noor is now physically immobile, yet embodies a resilience that stands taller than most. In Egypt, she has enrolled at Ain Shams University to study Business and Management.

She recounts her escape from Gaza: "We had to leave my father and brother behind. As we crossed into Egypt in an ambulance, we cried the entire way. We couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them in the midst of fire. I wished to die from the pain. I kept thinking: ‘Duha has gone to paradise and I am left behind incomplete.’ Then I looked at my mother. For a whole year, she cared for me, even when I couldn’t go to the bathroom on my own. I had no right to cause her more grief. That is when I chose to hold on to life. I have no doubt that God wills what benefits us. I want to complete my academic journey and realize my dreams, to be of benefit.”

Before the bombardments, Noor had cats in Gaza. "But they were frightened by the bombings,” she says softly, "so they left me, just like Duha did.” After arriving in Egypt, she immediately adopted another cat, which has since given birth to three kittens. When she is not attending classes in her wheelchair, her greatest joy comes from these small companions.

If only I were a more gifted novelist, I could perhaps describe to you the luminous smile and the eyes that shame one’s own despair. Like the verse in the surah bearing her martyred sister’s name, "Your Lord has neither forsaken you nor is He displeased,” this family clings to faith. Their dignity, their gratitude in every sentence, their quiet composure... There is so much to learn from them.