Imagine the heart-wrenching desperation of parents turning to the internet for help, only to discover their child's plight has been exploited in a massive online scam that pockets millions while leaving families empty-handed. This is the devastating truth revealed by our in-depth BBC World Service investigation, and it's a story that will leave you questioning the true cost of compassion in the digital age.
Picture this: a young boy, seven years old, staring into the camera with a pale face and no hair. 'I am seven years old and I have cancer,' he bravely says. 'Please save my life and help me.' But behind this touching plea lies a tale of manipulation. Khalil, the boy in the clip, didn't want to film it at all, according to his mother, Aljin. She explains how a crew arrived, shaved his head, connected him to a fake IV drip, and staged a birthday scene. They even handed him a script in English to memorize and deliver, all while placing chopped onions nearby and menthol under his eyes to force tears.
Aljin went along with it because, despite the staged elements, her son's cancer was very real. The crew promised the video would attract crowdfunding donations for superior medical care. And indeed, it worked—a campaign in Khalil's name gathered $27,000 (£20,204), based on records we uncovered. Yet Aljin claims she was informed the effort flopped, receiving only a $700 (£524) payment for the filming day itself. Tragically, just a year later, Khalil passed away.
This isn't an isolated incident. Around the globe, vulnerable families of seriously ill children are falling victim to deceitful online fundraising schemes, as our BBC team has uncovered. Well-meaning donors pour money into these campaigns, believing they're supporting vital treatments. We've connected with 15 families who report receiving little to nothing from the funds collected, and many were unaware the campaigns existed until we told them, despite enduring grueling shoots.
In a particularly egregious pattern, nine of these families—linked to what appears to be the same fraudulent network—say they saw none of the approximately $4 million (£2.9 million) supposedly raised in their children's names. A source within this network, who chose to blow the whistle, revealed they specifically targeted 'beautiful children' aged three to nine who were bald, often due to chemotherapy.
At the center of much of this scheming is an Israeli man residing in Canada named Erez Hadari, whom we've identified as a central figure. Our probe kicked off in October 2023 when a gut-punching YouTube ad captured our attention: a girl from Ghana named Alexandra weeping, 'I don't want to die. My treatments cost a lot.' Her associated crowdfunding page seemed to have amassed nearly $700,000 (£523,797).
We stumbled upon more videos featuring ailing kids worldwide—strikingly alike in their polished production and urgent, emotionally charged narratives. They all created a sense of immediate crisis, tugging at viewers' heartstrings. This prompted us to dig deeper.
The most widespread campaigns bore the name of an entity called Chance Letikva (which translates to 'Chance for Hope' in English), officially registered in both Israel and the United States. Pinpointing the featured children proved challenging, but we employed geolocation tools, social media searches, and facial recognition software to track down their families in places as diverse as Colombia and the Philippines.
While verifying the exact amounts on the campaign sites was tough, we tested by contributing small sums to two of them and confirmed the totals updated accordingly. Additionally, one donor shared how, after giving $180 (£135) to Alexandra's cause, she was bombarded with pleas for more funds, all phrased as if from Alexandra and her dad.
But here's where it gets controversial: are these campaigns genuinely trying to help, or is this a calculated ploy to prey on global empathy? Our findings suggest the latter, raising ethical questions about the ethics of emotional exploitation in charity fundraising. Most people assume online donations go directly to the needy, but what if the system is rigged from the start?
In the Philippines, Aljin Tabasa recounted how her son Khalil fell ill right after his seventh birthday. 'When we learned it was cancer, it felt like my entire world collapsed,' she shared. Local treatment in Cebu was sluggish, so she reached out desperately. A contact introduced her to a businessman named Rhoie Yncierto, who requested a video of Khalil—looking back, Aljin realizes it was basically a tryout for the scam.
Soon after, a man from Canada, identifying himself as 'Erez,' showed up in December 2022. He paid her upfront for the shoot, pledging an additional $1,500 (£1,122) monthly if donations flowed in. Erez oversaw the filming at a local hospital, demanding numerous takes over a grueling 12-hour session, Aljin described.
Months passed without updates. When Aljin contacted Erez, he claimed the video bombed. 'As I understood it, the video didn't generate any funds,' she recalled. But we informed her the campaign had actually pulled in $27,000 (£20,204) by November 2024 and remained active online. 'If only I'd known about the money raised, perhaps Khalil would still be with us,' Aljin lamented. 'I can't fathom how they could treat us this way.'
Rhoie Yncierto, when questioned about his involvement, denied instructing families to shave heads for filming and insisted he got no compensation for recruiting them. He stated he had 'no say' in fund distribution and lost touch with families post-shoot. Upon learning they hadn't received donations, he expressed being 'bewildered' and 'truly sorry for the families.'
Erez's name doesn't appear in Chance Letikva's official registration docs, but two of its campaigns were also backed by another group, Walls of Hope, registered in Israel and Canada. Records there name Erez Hadari as the Canadian director. Online images depict him at Jewish events in the Philippines, New York, and Miami. Aljin confirmed he matched the man she met. We reached out to Mr. Hadari about his Filipino campaign role—he didn't reply.
We extended our investigation to other families connected to Mr. Hadari's operations, including one in a remote Colombian indigenous area and another in Ukraine. As in Khalil's story, local intermediaries offered assistance. Kids were filmed crying or faking sobs for a small fee, yet no further payments materialized.
In Sucre, northwest Colombia, Sergio Care initially declined help after his eight-year-old daughter Ana was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. But a woman named Isabel approached him at the hospital, promising aid, accompanied by a man claiming NGO ties. Sergio's description of the man lined up with Erez Hadari, and he recognized him from a photo we provided. 'He instilled hope in me... I had no funds for what lay ahead,' Sergio said.
The demands persisted beyond filming. Isabel repeatedly called for more hospital photos of Ana. When Sergio ignored her, Isabel messaged Ana directly—voice notes we've reviewed prove it. Ana explained she had no photos left. Isabel responded sharply: 'This is very bad Ana, very bad indeed.'
In January, now-recovered Ana inquired about the promised funds. 'That foundation vanished,' Isabel claimed in a voice note. 'Your video was never posted. Nothing happened with it, you hear?' Yet, we confirmed the video was uploaded and had garnered nearly $250,000 (£187,070) by April 2024.
By October, we got Isabel Hernandez on a video call. She revealed an Israeli friend connected her to 'a foundation' aiding cancer kids, though she wouldn't name her employer. She believed only one campaign she assisted with went live and flopped. We showed her proof of two uploads, one raising over $700,000 (£523,797). 'I must apologize to the families,' she stated. 'Had I known the truth, I couldn't have participated in this.'
In Ukraine, the person recruiting was actually staff at the filming location. Tetiana Khaliavka arranged a shoot for five-year-old Viktoriia, battling brain cancer, at Angelholm Clinic in Chernivtsi. A Facebook post tied to Chance Letikva depicted Viktoriia and her mom Olena Firsova on a bed, captioned: 'I see your efforts to save my daughter, and it deeply moves us all. It's a race against time to raise the amount needed for Viktoriia's treatments.' Olena insists she never wrote or uttered those words and was clueless about the campaign's existence. It reportedly collected more than €280,000 (£244,000).
Tetiana reportedly handled advertising and communications at Angelholm. The clinic informed the BBC it hadn't authorized the filming, adding: 'The clinic has never participated in or endorsed any fundraising by any organization.' They've since fired Tetiana Khaliavka.
Olena shared the contract she signed. Besides the day's $1,500 (£1,122) fee, it promised $8,000 (£5,986) upon hitting the goal—but the goal amount was blank. The document listed a New York address for Chance Letikva, with another in Beit Shemesh, Israel. We visited both and found no trace. Chance Letikva seems part of a web of such entities.
The filmmaker of Viktoriia's video told our undercover producer (posing as a friend of a sick child) he worked for similar groups. 'Each time, it's a different organization,' he said (introducing himself as 'Oleh'). 'I hate to say it, but they operate like an assembly line.' He mentioned 'about a dozen' requesting content, naming Saint Teresa and Little Angels, both US-registered. Their docs again featured Erez Hadari's name.
And this is the part most people miss: where does all this donated cash actually end up? Over a year after filming, Olena called Oleh (also known as Alex Kohen online) for answers. Soon, a Chance Letikva rep contacted her, claiming donations covered ads. Mr. Hadari echoed this to Aljin when she confronted him, asserting 'advertising costs' caused losses, without proof. Experts in charity work advise ads shouldn't exceed 20% of funds raised.
A former recruiter for Chance Letikva, speaking anonymously, detailed the selection criteria: visiting oncology wards to find 'beautiful children with white skin,' aged three to nine, articulate, and hairless. They'd request photos to vet with Erez, who forwarded them to an unnamed Israeli contact.
As for Mr. Hadari, we searched two Canadian addresses unsuccessfully. He responded to one voice message about crowdfunded money by claiming the organization 'has never been active,' vague on which one. He ignored further inquiries.
Shockingly, campaigns for deceased children like Khalil and a Mexican boy named Hector still solicit donations. Chance Letikva's US arm links to a new group, Saint Raphael, producing more campaigns—evident from Angelholm's recognizable decor and uniforms in at least two videos.
Olena, facing another brain tumor diagnosis for Viktoriia, is appalled. 'When your child is clinging to life, and someone profits from it... it's disgusting. It's money stained with blood.'
We contacted Tetiana Khaliavka, Alex Kohen, and the organizations Chance Letikva, Walls of Hope, Saint Raphael, Little Angels, and Saint Teresa for responses—no replies. Israel's Corporations Authority notes that if evidence shows entities mask illegal acts, registration could be denied and founders banned from the sector. The UK's Charity Commission urges donors to verify registrations and consult regulators if unsure.
Additional reporting by: Ned Davies, Tracks Saflor, Jose Antonio Lucio, Almudena Garcia-parrado, Vitaliya Kozmenko, Shakked Auerbach, Tom Tzur Wisfelder, Katya Malofieieva, Anastasia Kucher, Alan Pulido, and Neil McCarthy.
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If you have any information to add to this investigation, please contact simi@bbc.co.uk.
What are your thoughts on this heartbreaking exploitation? Do you believe stricter regulations could prevent such scams, or is it ultimately up to donors to be more vigilant? Perhaps some might argue these scammers are providing a 'service' by raising awareness—even if funds vanish—but does that excuse the deceit? Share your opinions in the comments below and join the discussion!
