At just nine years old, Maha Mehanna's life has been irrevocably shattered. Her childhood innocence, once untouched by the harsh realities of the world, was stolen in a single night of devastation. "It feels like a dream," she whispers, recounting the moment that an Israeli airstrike took her father, her uncles, and her leg. That night, Maha's world in the Nuseirat refugee camp turned into flames, marking the beginning of a harsh new reality where survival feels like a distant hope.

Her grandmother is now her sole guardian, the only remaining thread of family for Maha and her siblings after unimaginable loss. In her hospital bed, clutching a small doll, Maha revisits the painful memories of her rescue from beneath the rubble. Strangers carried her fragile body, tied her leg to stop the bleeding, and waited with her until an ambulance arrived. Transferred from one hospital to another, she now receives treatment for her burns and infections at Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Gaza’s central region.

Her leg is gone, and with it, so much more. "I want to move again," Maha says softly. Her dreams are heartbreakingly simple: to walk, to return to school, to live like other children. She longs for a prosthetic leg, for the chance to escape the endless siege and seek treatment abroad. Yet these basic rights seem as unattainable as the childhood she’s lost, stolen by war and the indifference of a world that looks away.

Maha’s story is one of thousands. According to recent data, more than 11,000 amputations have been recorded in Gaza since the start of the war, with 4,000 of them affecting children. Gaza’s besieged health system lacks prosthetic limbs, while Israeli restrictions block patients from seeking medical care outside the strip. Children like Maha are left to endure their trauma in silence, denied even the possibility of healing.

The psychological scars run as deep as the physical ones. Dr. Arafat Abu Mshaikh, a mental health specialist in Gaza, explains that children of amputees face immense emotional suffering, often asking, "Will my leg grow back?" The journey through trauma is long and fraught, often beginning with denial and rarely reaching full acceptance. The lack of mental health resources in Gaza only worsens this crisis, leaving children like Maha to navigate an unbearable reality with little support.

Maha’s simple wishes stand as a poignant reminder of the resilience of Gaza’s children, even in the face of unimaginable hardship. Yet their cries for help remain unheard by a world that has yet to answer their pleas.