As the sun dipped below the horizon, our helicopter soared over glowing villages near Amman. Below us, life unfolded in calm rhythms—unshaken by fear of skies once filled with drones and destruction.

Among the passengers was Safa’a Salha, a mother from Gaza. Unable to speak much English, she lifted her phone with a message typed in: “Oh my God, Jordan is so beautiful.” Her eyes sparkled, mirroring the new beginning she sensed for her family.

Safa’a, her son Youssef, and others had made the treacherous journey from Gaza to the Jordanian border. Now, they were finally in safe air. Another message followed: “We used to see this [helicopter] every day—and it came to kill. Today, it brings life.”

Sixteen-year-old Youssef, bearing a post-surgical scar, was eager to talk—not about bombs, but football. Next to him, frail little Sama clutched her mother’s hand. She has a brain tumour. “I hope she gets the best care here,” said her mother Isra, softly.

On landing, Isra described Gaza: “It’s horrific in ways words cannot explain. Yet people strive to live.”

Only 33 children have reached Jordan so far, out of 2,000 planned. Delays and war have hampered evacuations, though Israel says it’s increasing medical transfers. Aid remains blocked, and Gaza starves.

In Amman, some like young Habiba—who lost both arms and a leg—are learning to smile again. She plays games using her foot and blows kisses with what remains.

“Gaza is still the most precious place,” her mother says. But return feels impossible—for now.