The war had ended, and I returned to my devastated home. As I walked over the rubble, a deep sense of disappointment and heartbreak engulfed me. I wished it were just a brief nightmare that would soon pass, but, unfortunately, this was my reality.

Half of our home was gone, but we managed to arrange the remaining part and live in it. Those were difficult days—seeing so many of my memories buried beneath the debris. But this was the reality for every resident of Gaza. I had to be patient, endure, and force myself to move forward, living only in the present.

The Struggles of Survival

For seven days, I lost all access to the internet and communication. I was unable to take my final university exam, which left me feeling hopeless and defeated. I questioned why I had to endure such suffering. Why did my struggles and hardships seem larger than life itself?

My older brother told me that a camp was being set up for families who had lost their homes in the war. I felt a strong urge to visit, even though it was just a few steps away, separated by a massive pile of rubble and debris.

Upon reaching the camp, I was instantly reminded of the Al-Zahraa Camp, where I had once taught nearly 100 children—their first chance to receive an education after October 7, 2023. I recalled their enthusiasm and joy when I had told them I wanted to set up an educational tent for them.

Returning to Teaching

At that moment, I put aside my own hardships and suffering. I decided to return to what I loved most—teaching children.

Days later, the camp filled with neighbors who had lost their homes. I shared my idea of establishing an educational tent in the heart of the camp, and the parents unanimously welcomed it with joy.

On the first day, 30 students attended. Their numbers quickly grew until I was teaching nearly 100 children. I laid a small tarp on the ground for them to sit on, but we had no desks or chairs. Each child had only one notebook and one pencil.

Writing was difficult because of the stones beneath the tarp, making the surface uneven. Sitting on the hard ground also caused them discomfort. When I played simple games with them, I used my phone to play music—without speakers. I would ask them to remain silent so they could hear it.

I often found myself lost in thought, reminiscing about the comfortable classrooms of the UNRWA schools in northern Gaza, where I had taught before October 7, 2023. I remembered the sturdy desks, the clean notebooks, the educational games I used in every lesson, and the large speakers that filled the room with music during playtime.

Despite our limited resources, the children’s passion for learning and love for the tent encouraged me to continue. One day, I had a severe headache and asked my younger sister, Tulin (11 years old), to tell the students that I had to cancel the lesson. Moments later, she returned—accompanied by my students—pleading with me not to miss class. Their eagerness overshadowed my exhaustion. I quickly dressed and joined them for the lesson. Their love for learning was far greater than my pain.

A New Beginning

At the beginning of February, an organization called Gaza Great Minds reached out to support my educational tent. I eagerly shared the number of students and my enthusiasm for creating a more engaging and comfortable learning environment.

The organization’s director, Mr. Ahmad Abu Rizik, visited my tent. He saw my students scattered around the camp, eagerly circling the tent with excitement. Moved by their passion, he decided to support and adopt the initiative.

A week later, he contacted me with incredible news—he had gathered school supplies for my students: notebooks, pencils, educational games, dolls, decorative items, comfortable chairs, and white tables adorned with the Palestinian flag and beautiful designs. He also brought a large speaker for music.

My heart danced with joy! I could already envision the transformation of my classroom. My students gathered around the supplies, their laughter lighting up their faces, never fading for even a second.

The next morning, I rushed to my tent, ignoring the rubble, stones, and shattered glass that obstructed my path. Every morning at 6:30 a.m., I made my way to my tent. But that day, I arrived an hour and a half early—only to find my students already there, eagerly waiting to see their new classroom.

I asked them to help me set up the space, arranging the desks and chairs in place. We decorated the tent, played music, and organized the learning materials. Their laughter and excitement washed away all my exhaustion and pain.

Rebuilding Hope

The following day, I distributed the school supplies. My students shared that, while they had always loved attending the tent school, the addition of colorful desks, chairs, and games made them even more eager to learn—despite the difficult circumstances and the horrors they had endured during the war.

I no longer dwelled on my hardships—losing my home, missing my university exams, or being cut off from the world. Instead, I focused on the present, pouring my energy into these children and their love for learning.

Now, before planning an activity or game, I consult my students. I listen to their ideas with enthusiasm, feeling as if I have reclaimed a piece of my past life before October 7.

Whenever the music plays and the children start their activities, older students gather outside the tent, asking, “When will we have our own learning space? Will you open a tent for us too?”

I promise them that as soon as we find another suitable location, I will establish a tent for them. I will reach out to Gaza Great Minds to support their education—just as they did for my younger students.

This is not just about rebuilding a school in a camp. This is about rebuilding hope.