There are some truths too painful to bear, yet too dangerous to ignore. In Gaza, children are being killed — by bombs, by siege, by a world that has decided their lives are expendable. Behind the numbers are tiny bodies, lifeless in rubble. They are dreams shattered before they began, futures erased with the press of a button.

These children are not soldiers. They carried schoolbooks, not rifles. Their only crime was being born in a place where war is a constant, and where even childhood is seen as a threat.

And yet, they die by the hundreds with hospitals overwhelmed, schools flattened, and their homes turned into graves. Their parents dig through the ruins with bare hands, searching for a body to bury something, anything, to hold onto in their grief.

But amid this horror, there is another kind of........

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