Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.
— Nelson Mandela

Each year in September, the doors of the Islamic University of Gaza (IUG) open to welcome new and returning students. This September, like many of my friends in Gaza, I was supposed to begin my junior year. But there’s one fact that makes this impossible: My university no longer exists.

Destroyed by Israel in October 2023, IUG was the largest university in Gaza. Now it lies in ashes, all paper records of our transcripts incinerated.

Still, this war cannot erase our belief in education. If there’s one thing living through this unspeakable violence has taught me, it’s that education is our most powerful weapon against oppression. And it’s Israel’s worst enemy. Education sharpens our minds, strengthens our spirits, and empowers us to imagine a future beyond the present. When bombs are dropping and bullets are flying, this thought is what helps keep despair at bay. It pushes me to persevere.

Aching with nostalgia

In the crater of where my university once stood, Israel left a profound sense of nostalgia — for a time when studying evoked optimism and potential.

Before the war destroyed life as we know it, my days were dedicated to learning. I remember immersing myself in textbooks, the thrill of uncovering new concepts, and the joy of thought-provoking discussions with my colleagues about Shakespeare.

I remember staying up all night preparing for classes, books scattered on my desk. I explored new worlds through literature, dove deep into the lyrical verses of poems, was fascinated by the works of Aristotle and Sophocles, and learned all I could about translation and linguistics.

Every morning, students flocked to the university, some traveling great distances, crowding the hallways and classrooms, seeking the knowledge and skills they’d need to serve their country and people when they graduated.

Students walked around campus with an air of hope, wearing colorful outfits, carrying heavy bags, and clutching books close to their hearts. Taking a narrow path between walls of green foliage, we’d reach the famous campus square: girls sipping their morning coffee, listening to Fairouz songs, laughter rising up from small groups while others quietly prepared for classes.

Each day, I’d go to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee to enjoy in the morning sun, a slight breeze rustling the trees, before walking to my 8 a.m. lecture, waiting for the elevator alongside students and faculty, the aroma of pastries sneaking in to fill our noses.

I never missed a class or the chance to sit in the first row. All around me, my fellow students were eager to learn. During breaks, we talked outside, sharing our hopes and dreams for the future, for the lives we’d live.

Keeping the words flowing and the mind focused

Now our once-vibrant campus lies in a pile of rubble, alongside the hopes and dreams of so many young Gazans.

The library, where we spent countless hours poring over texts, has been demolished. The administrative building, where I met my professors in their offices, is gone. The Conference Hall, where we held graduations, exhibitions, and shows, is nothing but dust and blackness.

We have been displaced, far from our homes, knowing home no longer exists. Each morning, I wake to the sharp sounds of tank artillery exploding and the terrifying sound of buzzing drones of war. My worktable, chair, and books are all gone.

I think of my late professor Dr. Refaat Alareer, a lecturer of literature and co-founder of We Are Not Numbers, who spoke boldly on behalf of Gazans before his voice was silenced forever by Israel in December 2023. Dr. Refaat used to say, “When we tell stories about our homeland, we love the story because it is about our homeland, and we love our homeland even more because of the story.”

So despite the hardships, I decided to write this article from my phone, which I power using a solar charger whenever the sun is shining. I keep the words flowing and my mind focused, to share my story and the stories of my people. With each line I write, I pray for the future of Gaza, knowing Dr. Refaat’s words will forever ring in our hearts. He is my source of hope and inspiration. And his ideas, vision, and legacy live on in us, his students.

Building the intellectual foundations of resistance

As Palestinians, with every class we attend, book we read, and line we write, we build the intellectual foundations of resistance. Even if we can’t attend classes in person at this time, education is the path that can ultimately overcome the Israeli occupation that seeks to subjugate us.

We all resist in our own way. I won’t hold a gun, but I can write stories so the world knows we exist.

I hope the war ends soon. My deepest desire is to return to a life of learning and complete my studies — to serve the Palestinian cause and help my people by becoming a professor of literature, a writer, and a journalist to amplify the voice of my people.

Whatever I will be, I promise I will be brave.