Dear Friend,
My name is Mounir. I’m a husband, father of four, a taxi driver, and for over 20 years, I’ve been part of Combatants for Peace because I believe in nonviolence, dignity, and a future built on shared humanity instead of hatred or domination.
But today, I write to you as a refugee. Again.
In 1948, during the Nakba, my family was forced from our original home in Umm al-Fahm in the north, like hundreds of thousands of other Palestinians. We rebuilt our lives in Tulkarem refugee camp. For more than 30 years, we made a home there. Every corner held part of our life: the smell of coffee in the morning, my children’s footsteps in the hall, my wife’s voice calling them to dinner. These weren't just memories they were our roots.
And now, it’s all gone. This summer, the Israeli army invaded our camp. They surrounded it, cut electricity and water, then sent in bulldozers. Homes were crushed. Streets were torn apart. Soldiers set houses on fire with belongings still inside. More than two-thirds of the homes in Tulkarem are now destroyed. The rest are uninhabitable. Every family, thousands of us, was forced to flee. | 
