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'When education is lost, the future vanishes': Gaza's Youth and Teachers on Two Years Deprived of School.
'We seek action, not sympathy'.
Juwayriya Adwan, twelve, al-Mawasi
For the past 24 months since I entered a proper school. Two years since I listened to the start-of-class signal at Khawla Bint al-Azwar school, took my seat and answered questions during my beloved lesson. Occasionally I still vividly remember the sounds and smells: chalk dust, sharpener leftovers, laughter echoing down the halls. But my learning place was destroyed; it was targeted shortly after the war began. My learning materials incinerated, and companions perished.
I was in the fifth year on 7 October: the concluding day I attended classes. That morning, alert signals sounded through the passageways. Some pupils sobbed, others gripped each other. Our instructor sought to soothe, but even her voice trembled. I remember wishing for a ordinary day; instruction, break time, a verse presentation. Instead, that day signaled the conclusion of my former reality.
Hostilities have claimed innumerable aspects. But the toughest sacrifice of all is schooling, because it represents the forfeiture of tomorrow.
Now I dwell alongside my guardians, two brothers and sister in a packed refuge in Khan Younis. The tent walls move with air currents, failing to insulate. We wait in line for nourishment and hydration. Electricity is a dream and privacy doesn’t exist. Hope feels fragile.
At evening, I look up at the stars through the openings of my shelter and ponder if my companions see the identical heavens. Some reach out when they manage, expressing they yearn for classes and have kept their former exercise books; like treasures from a lost world. I feel guilty because I’ve lost all of mine.
I once dreamed of pursuing pedagogy to help young residents study, even when existence was challenging. Now I dream of being a journalist – to draft, to speak and to demonstrate the world what it means to be a child in this region. I want to tell our stories of fear and hunger, but also bravery. Because even amid these conditions, amid fatality and debris, our expressions persist.
When connectivity is available, I try to study via the web. Other times, I visit a modest shelter where volunteers educate us mathematics and language. The lessons are short – the power fails or the bombing resumes but in these instances, I sense being. I recollect who I was: the girl who cherished arithmetic and verse, who was convinced education could transform society.
Conflict has claimed innumerable things; our residences, schools and families. I mourned my family member, his spouse, and their offspring. I said goodbye to my cherished hometown, that southern city, which is only ruins now. But the toughest sacrifice of all is schooling, because that is the loss of the future itself.
To the world, I express this: keep our hopes alive. Compassion isn't enough, we demand measures. The youth merit literature, educational facilities and safety. Education is not an extravagance, it is a essential privilege. The territory is not merely devastation; it is minors who still dream beneath the drones at evening. It is my account and I will keep drafting, even if my only possessions is a damaged writing tool and a fragment of ripped sheet.
'They message: "are you OK, teacher?"'.
Naglaa Weshah, forty, instructor in central Gaza
I have been teaching in this area for over ten years. Originally in a southern city, then in Deir al-Balah, and presently in the central camp in the heart of the region. Before the war started, I regularly instructed six classes of about fourty pupils per class, almost two hundred forty individuals enthusiastic about knowledge.
Instructing them was my vocation and delight in life, and I still recollect the sparkle in a learner's look when a concept was understood; the kind of moment every educator strives for.
I always believed education should be dynamic. My classroom was a space of amusement, creativity, and motion. We painted maps, performed past occurrences, and transformed instruction into narratives.
Laughter always filled the room as interest displaced apprehension. Indeed, even in earlier times, children in Gaza were always frightened. My learning environment was a secure location but after that day, all was altered.
My learning center became a safe haven for families fleeing the bombs. Not long later, it was targeted and totally demolished. There are almost no educational facilities still erect in Gaza now. For 24 months, nothing has been normal. The war has shattered every part of our reality: safety, residences, educational centers, hopes. Anxiety and sorrow are perpetual experiences.
Many of my students are now deceased – children who mentioned dreaming of physicians, creatives, and instructors. They were refused even the entitlement to survival. Those who are still here experience malnutrition, eviction and fatigue – and however, they still cling to the thirst for knowledge.
At times, when the internet allows, I receive messages from a handful of them. They message inquiring: “Are you OK, instructor?” We communicate concise phrases, abbreviated teaching, small glimmers of interaction amid the disorder. They question if things will ever revert to standard. I tell them I don’t know.
Across this territory, educators, volunteers and non-profits attempt instruction in any feasible location: in shelters, damaged classrooms, or crowded shelters. Learning has become an act of defiance, a way to express: “We are still here.” And so long as we keep acquiring knowledge, we will persist.
Many of us are also parents. I am a parent of {three|several
James Shepherd
A seasoned business strategist with over a decade of experience in digital marketing and corporate growth initiatives.
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