As Dostoevsky wrote in his novel “The Idiot,” “Beauty will save the world” and as Confucious said, “Everything has its beauty, but not everyone sees it.”
Most assuredly, I think that the people of Gaza are living because of our ability to see beauty, which is another way of saying, our ability to have faith and hope.
The daily routine of going to school and meeting our friends, preparing for a family gathering, smelling our favorite perfume on other’s clothing, getting a good morning message, and eating a meal that grandma made — even in Gaza, or especially in Gaza — memories of these details before Oct. 7 are like the sun after rain-pouring days.
The first of October
With my friend Ahmad, I had held the first session of our project, Airport Square, on Oct. 10, 2023. We chose this name because we had been living under siege for 18 years and couldn’t travel and explore the outside world except through books, since we are mostly prevented from traveling due to security reasons. What we could have was also restricted: Israel prevented many items from entering Gaza with the excuse of dual civilian/military usage. And so we are not used to choosing; we just take what is available. If the occupation decided that the banana had to enter the strip without its peel then we bought a peeled banana.
In Gaza City the stores, restaurants, and cafes were increasingly crowded. In an attempt to improve our society, institutions and associations had been trying to launch initiatives that spread awareness and created solutions. Airport Square was supposed to be one such initiative. It was going to be basically a reading/discussion club for youth where we could talk about and address the issues affecting us.
Another concern that the project was intended to address was our lack of historical information about Palestine, because we as a people were worn out with resisting the daily challenges of the electricity cutting off and finding a job that would help the family survive to the end of the month — not to mention seeking new alternatives to serve the neediest. Surviving the aggression was the priority. We neglected all the pillars of society while we were trying to live. As a result, we had lost all of our energy to learn and to read and to know ourselves.
And yet living in an open air-prison made us capable of adapting to the harshest challenges. We were always able to create alternatives. We hated these alternatives but we never had the luxury of choosing.
And so we chose to create this project. But then the war prevented us from having more than that first meeting.
After the seventh of October
In the middle of this genocide, we unconsciously search for the light again. Some people like my friend Roaa find themselves gazing at the stars even though our sky is full of warplanes and drones that always seem ready to bomb us. Others like Yara find the sea astonishing to be close to; they try to forget about that battleship that hunts any fisherman just to humiliate him. Mohammed said to me that he feels great about helping other people during these difficult times. I personally would be elated with hot water to have a shower and to be able to forget about cutting a tree for firewood instead of leaving it stand so a bird can build its nest in it.
We feel responsible for protecting the land — we know exactly what it means to our hearts. For myself, I don’t know if I love Gaza or its inhabitants; I just know that I am committed to help the society, and I cling to tiniest details to stay bonded with it, for example making falafel and hummus for breakfast or decorating the shelters during Ramadan. My family used to drink a cup of a black coffee after lunch, so we still try to enjoy doing so.
Recent hopes
During a week of negotiations, many hands rose to pray and hearts filled with hope that these atrocities would soon end.
We started to plan what to carry with us and what to leave when we returned to the north. My sister decided to throw away all the clothes that she had brought during the displacement days. My father wanted to carry back bags of flour. I tried to hold myself together and just stared at them as they made their plans. Out of nowhere, my brother interrupted us and said, “Why are you excited to go back? What remains is ash.”
But what I was afraid of became true. On May 6, 2024, the Israel Occupation Forces ordered the residents and displaced people of Rafah to leave the city immediately. But where could they go? They were trapped. Khan Younis is destroyed and the north of the strip is still a war zone. What remains is the middle of the Strip, and it is impossible for it to bear any more displaced people. It’s difficult enough to see how people have sought to set up their tents on the beach or on the cliff that may collapse.
I’m terrified by the closing of the Rafah Crossing. Many health care patients are stuck without treatment and many students like myself will continue to be kept from our educations. Affording $5,000 to pay the “coordination fee” to get out of the Strip isn’t easy; many people are obliged to go into debt or must seek donations. But with the Crossing closed, even having the funds is not enough.
There were cheers when people heard the rumors of ceasefire. It felt like a cool breeze was moving through my body. I wanted to believe that it was true. We had enough to be pleased with the ending of this night, even if the sunlight takes time to shine. Talia, my sister, who is just two years old, shouted loudly while she danced: she was going to get back to the North, to her toys. But I don’t know if our house was demolished just like the rest of the neighborhood.
Maybe I will have the chance to read my books for the second time, who knows?
