The Story of Israa
Just months after my wedding, while riding public transportation in Iraq, I was kidnapped by a woman. I didn’t know then that I was stepping into a nightmare that would last two years. I was trafficked into sexual slavery, held captive alongside girls as young as nine. We were tortured, raped, and humiliated daily. I saw one girl die from the abuse. I watched a woman burned alive for trying to escape. Every day, I believed I would be next.
One night, after another brutal assault, I escaped. I ran into the street, bleeding and terrified. A stranger offered to call my father. But instead of comfort, I received condemnation. My father said I had brought shame on the family. He and my brothers threatened to kill me if I returned. My husband had already divorced me.
In desperation, my father offered me to the stranger as a third wife, paying him monthly to take me. This “marriage” was another prison. I was locked in a room, beaten, and treated as less than human. My body weakened under the weight of illness caused by years of abuse. My heart was crushed by rejection. I reached out to my family again and again, only to hear threats and hatred. My brother told me my father had died, and that he would kill me if he found me.
Eventually, my husband took me and my daughter to Turkey under the pretense of seeking medical care. I was suffering from diabetes and vision loss—60% gone—requiring costly monthly eye injections. But even in Turkey, I was treated like a burden. A doctor, sensing my despair, gave me money to visit a salon. He hoped it might restore some dignity.
That salon became sacred ground. I met a Christian woman who looked at me, not with pity, but with compassion. She spoke of God’s love. Her words pierced through my darkness. For the first time, I heard that I was not a disgrace. I was loved. I asked her to take me to church. There, I heard the gospel. I wept. I had lived in a lie. Jesus saw me, healed me, and called me His own.
Back in Iraq, I saw a Facebook post from Arab Woman Today’s campaign: It Is Not a Shame. Those words felt written for me. I reached out with trembling hands, and AWT reached back. They connected me with a trusted contact in Iraq who stood by me when I felt completely alone. For the first time, I had a family who believed me, cared for me, and walked beside me.
AWT provided a small grant to help me start a project to support myself and my daughter. When my abusive husband tried to find us, I was terrified. But AWT reminded me: I was not alone. They prayed with me, encouraged me, and reminded me that my worth is in Christ, not in the shame of my past.
When I fled again, I tried to find shelter in a camp for displaced people. I was turned away. But a kind woman offered us a place to stay, for three months. After that, we had nowhere to go. I needed a way to provide for my daughter without depending on others. I needed safety, dignity, and hope.
AWT didn’t just help me survive, they helped me grow. They followed up daily, offering emotional and spiritual support. Their counselor prayed with me every day. They mentored me through Bible studies and discipleship. I taught my daughter to love and praise God. I long to be baptized, to declare openly that I belong to Jesus. Later, AWT helped me flee to Lebanon, where a network of Christian women and a local church welcomed me. They helped me access medical care and find a haven. I am still healing, still rebuilding. But I am no longer defined by my pain. I am defined by His love.
Now I am in Lebanon. I am safe. I am still suffering, my body carries the weight of years of abuse, and my vision is still impaired, but I am healing. Slowly, steadily, the Lord is restoring what was broken. I wake up each morning with a sense of peace I never knew before. Not because my circumstances are perfect, but because I know I am held. I am no longer defined by what was done to me. I am defined by the One who rescued me. Jesus changed everything. He met me in the ashes and gave me beauty. He took my shame and replaced it with dignity. He gave me a new name, a new identity, and a new purpose. I am no longer a victim; I am a daughter of the King.
And now, I share. One day, while receiving treatment in Lebanon, I met a doctor, a kind man, Lebanese by birth and Christian by tradition. He had heard of Jesus, but never truly encountered Him. As he cared for my eyes, I felt the Spirit stir in me. I told him my story, not just the pain, but the healing. I spoke of Jesus, not as a religion, but as a Savior who met me in the ashes and gave me beauty.
The doctor listened quietly, then stepped forward and hugged me. It wasn’t just comfort, it was something holy. In that moment, I felt the presence of God wrap around both of us. The pain, the shame, the years of silence, they didn’t win. Something powerful passed between us: truth, healing, and hope. He asked me to pray with him, and I did. Right there in the clinic, I called on Jesus to reveal Himself, not just to heal bodies, but to awaken hearts.
I never imagined I would be here. I never imagined I would smile again, or sing, or laugh with my daughter. But I do. I never imagined I would speak words of hope to others. But I do. I never imagined I would be trusted, or loved, or called “leader.” But I am. The Lord has turned my mourning into dancing. He has clothed me with joy. And though the road ahead is still uncertain, I walk it with faith. I walk it with purpose. I walk it with others. I am becoming an inspiration, not because I am strong, but because He is. Not because I have survived, but because He has redeemed. My story is no longer a tragedy. It is a testimony.