It wasn’t the first time she talked about the illness, but it was the first time she allowed herself to think about it. She had lived in denial, continuing life after her recovery as though nothing had happened. But in that moment, the wall she had built inside herself broke. “I went back in time to the days when I used to wander the hospital corridors, looking for a way to escape. But this time, I wasn’t thinking about myself. I was thinking of the children who are still there, living with the same fear and isolation, needing a moment of joy—the kind I once longed for.”
With colorful balloons in hand, Isra walked into the oncology department at Ghassan Hamoud Hospital in Sidon, south Lebanon. The entrance felt less intimidating. It was April 2022, and she was there to organize a small Eid al-Fitr celebration for the children.
At 13, Isra was diagnosed with lymphoma. Her journey involved grueling treatment, a relapse, a bone marrow transplant, and long stays in intensive care. Getting back to school and normal life was a challenge. “Hope carried me through,” she says. “That word is what gave me the strength to survive.”
Even in her darkest moments, she insisted on sitting for her official exams. Eight years later, she realized she had never fully processed her trauma—until she turned her pain into action.
For Eid 2022, she wanted to create joy in the hospital—a joy she had been denied as a patient. She posted a video on Instagram announcing her idea, gathered 20 volunteers, and organized a mini festival with games, snacks, and stories. Parents and staff called it one of the most heartwarming events for the children—Isra hugged them, danced with them, and brought joy.
That day marked the birth of “Voice of Hope.” She created a WhatsApp group by that name and brought in volunteers. The name was inspired by the radio station “Voice of Joy”—she wanted to broadcast her own voice of hope. “I dreamed of a voice that brings joy and hope to patients.”
The idea evolved into a lasting humanitarian initiative. Isra realized that emotional support and words of encouragement are vital to healing.
She worked with a graphic designer friend to create a visual identity—a small bird symbolizing the freedom she felt upon recovery, purple for comfort, and a musical note for optimism.
Isra also volunteered with organizations to help cancer patients in need of blood, having seen children nearly die for lack of a matching donor. In south Lebanon, where volunteer opportunities are few, she chose to become the opportunity herself.
Though she dreamed of studying architecture, health issues kept her from traveling. She instead studied translation, all while keeping her passion for drawing alive by organizing art workshops for kids.
Her initiative soon expanded beyond cancer patients to other marginalized groups. Her team ran programs in schools for children with disabilities—arts, theatre, and language learning—and visited elderly homes.
To fund the work, Isra turned to sports. “Young people pay to play basketball for fun—why not make the games serve a purpose?” She organized tournaments with symbolic entry fees to fund activities and recruit volunteers. “I wanted people to feel that they can make a real difference.” Sports courts became platforms of hope.
At the beginning of her illness, Isra wanted to escape the sterile hospital room. Today, she encourages patients to face their pain. “My illness was a blessing,” she says, “it gave me a new way to see life—through hope.” She concludes: “Face the illness, don’t underestimate it. Better days are coming.” For Isra, the real medicine is the hope we plant with our own hands.