The writer, holding her Qur’an

I had a very beautiful childhood. My parents loved the Qur’an and always encouraged me to memorize it. When I was 4 years old, I listened to them recite from this Sacred Book.

After coming home from school, I’d put my school bag on the desk and listen to my mother say, “Come on, take off your uniform and put on your mosque clothes so you can go and memorize the Qur’an. You are my beautiful, intelligent daughter, and you will help your parents enter heaven by memorizing the Qur’an.”

The sweat had not yet dried on my face after the long walk home from school, but I put on my mosque clothes and walked to the mosque. As I walked in the hot sun, I held the Holy Qur’an in my hands.

I finally arrived at the beautiful mosque with large stone walls and a blue dome that seemed to embrace the sky. The huge door was impossible to forget. As soon as I entered the mosque, my Qur’an teacher hugged me and kissed my cheek and said tenderly, “My distinguished student has come to memorize a large amount today.” She always encouraged me in front of the other students and in front of the Qur’an exam committee.

The Abdullah Azzam Mosque, with its blue dome, prior to its destruction.

The words of my teacher motivated me. I would sit in a corner by myself so no one could distract me. I would lean against the wall of the mosque, which I considered the only support in my childhood. I fixed my eyes on the words in the Qur’an and began to memorize. My friends and I would say we wanted to take a break to drink ice-cold water to quench our thirst. We would wash our faces and hands to cool down from the heat. Then we would sprinkle water on each other. I was in the company of the Qur’an in this great holy mosque. It was the most beautiful feeling, like being in Paradise. 

If we were in the mosque when the Muezzin called for the afternoon prayers, we would pray with the congregation and the teachers. Afterwards, we would sit and listen to lessons about religion, prayer, and worship.

At the end of the lesson, the teacher would ask questions to make sure we had understood. Every time I answered a question, the teacher gave me a hug and some sweets. When the day was over, I didn’t want to leave the mosque. I loved it so much. It was my source of inspiration, my refuge, and my second home.

When I arrived home, my mom and dad would kiss me and give me money to buy whatever I wanted. My father was proud of me for memorizing the Qur’an and praised me in front of my siblings. He gave me gifts to encourage me to memorize the entire Qur’an.

At 14, after a challenging journey, I had finally memorized the entire Qur’an. This was Allah’s gift to me and my beloved parents. I had given them a crown of dignity for them to wear on the Day of Judgment. It was one of the happiest days of my life. I recited the supplication for completing the Qur’an in front of the entire mosque. Everyone hugged and honored me. The mosque director gave me a glass trophy with my name on it.

After memorizing the Qur’an, I went to daily review circles called the Tathbit for strengthening my understanding. I might never again experience such moments of bliss in my life. Every moment with the Qur’an was golden and every minute was blessed.

Since October 7, 2023, everything has changed.

All the places that held our memories have been destroyed. In January 2024, our mosque was bombed. The sound of the explosion blew away my childhood dreams. My memories rose like columns of smoke. They scattered to the ground as if they had never existed.

Since then, I have been reviewing and memorizing the Qur’an in a tent made of wood and nylon. This tent, in the Remal neighborhood, embodies the true meaning of suffering.

There is barely enough air to breathe. We sit side by side inside the overcrowded tent. Our faces sweat from the intense heat and exhaustion. Noise from many students makes it difficult to memorize and review.

Every day we have to master some Qur’anic verses. On exam days, we stand outside the tent under the sun because only the teacher and the student are allowed to be inside. The heat makes us so tired we forget what we have already memorized. On winter days the cold penetrates our bones. When there are strong winds or rain, the tent collapses and we have to set it up again. Sometimes copies of the Qur’an get damaged.

In spite of this, our teachers encourage us to persevere. After every exam, they hold a small party and distribute certificates and simple gifts. This is all they can do to encourage their students living in the midst of a terrifying destruction.

I still memorize and review verses in the Qur’an, a top priority in my life. Nothing will prevent me from achieving my dream—not the wind nor the heat, nor my suffering and grief. The fragile tent is like a place in heaven. I choose to hold onto the light of the Qur’an. My love for this Sacred Book comforts me and helps me to remain steadfast.