How will you go on with your day after reading that a father in Gaza, trapped beneath the rubble, begged rescuers not to save him?

Not because he had lost the will to live, but because he could hear the fading breaths of his daughters beneath the debris.

Their tiny hands were holding onto his in the darkness, as if calling for him one last time. He was the father who had always been their safe haven, yet this time he was powerless to pull them from the earth and shattered concrete.

Only his head was visible above the wreckage. He looked into the eyes of the rescue workers with a gaze exhausted by fear and helplessness and said:

"Leave me... my daughters are here. I don't want to come out alone."

What heart can bear such a scene? What language can truly describe a father's agony as he realises he is losing his daughters one by one, while still holding their hands until they grow cold-unable to save them, unable to offer even one final embrace?

How will your day continue after knowing this story? How will you sit at your table in peace, or laugh at something trivial, knowing that a father's last wish was not to survive alone?

And the question that continues to haunt the human conscience remains:

How much pain must the world witness before it hears the cry of a single father in Gaza?

Source: Clara Amarel