One of our mentors writes about his experience as a coach.

“Will we ever be able to be together again as family?” wonders my friend Sajedah, who is separated from her children–unable to travel.

I see Gaza as a place where people of other nations should long to visit or tread its soil. Those who turn their backs on it will wish they were part of the change.

Childhood in Gaza is not like elsewhere. We spend it waiting.

I have been away from home for five years; I wanted to be a part of my brother’s wedding preparations. Why do I instead have to settle for videos that relatives took?

In Gaza, the desire to travel has become a burn in our stomachs and a pain in our hearts.

It was a beautiful love story, a miracle that brought two lovers together despite all obstacles. Until the reality of borders interceded.

The comfort of sweets can carry you over the rough spots, and in Gaza, the best are at the Honey Bee.

I know I am lucky to have found my way to Turkey, but inside I am still a little girl who misses her parents.

This is my Palestinian story. Like many Palestinian stories, it involves struggle. For Palestinians, there is always struggle.

So many of my English students in Gaza have lost their passion, the ability to dream. I see it as my job to try to awaken it once again.

Parkour is not just a sport to these Gaza youths, it is a philosophy of life that helps them “escape.” And one of them needs our help.