
Noor Al Hawajri, my childhood friend and neighbor, lived in the same neighborhood that holds our memories and dreams reaching for the sky. From a young age, Noor always told me she would become a nurse and treat the sick. After the 2014 war, her determination to study nursing grew even stronger. She often said, “There are so many patients, and not enough medical teams to care for them.”
Noor feared that someone in her family might be harmed, especially during wars, and that the weak healthcare system in Gaza might not be able to help them. She graduated high school with excellent grades and enrolled in the nursing program at the Islamic University, starting a new chapter in her life.
During our university days, whenever I asked Noor how she was doing or suggested going out for a break, she would reply, “I have so much studying to do. I feel overwhelmed, but once I graduate, I’ll be free and explore all the places I’ve dreamed of.”
She was never without a notebook and pen, dedicating every spare moment to her studies. The university library, the old wooden bench in the middle of the campus, the gardens, the espresso machine, and the bustling cafeteria filled with delicious food — all bore witness to her diligence. Noor would arrive at the university at 7 a.m., grab a cup of coffee, attend her lectures, then sit on her favorite bench in front of the library, sipping another coffee while reviewing her notes. She would then head to the library, put on her headphones, and replay her lectures.
Noor was not only dedicated to her studies, but also kind-hearted and a source of comfort during life’s pressures. One day, I called her crying because of the stress of my studies and exams, and she was a great listener. When I finished speaking, she told me that I must be patient, and that life doesn’t give a person everything. Her words made me feel safe and reassured.
The last time I saw Noor was on October 3, 2023. She had a lecture to attend but stopped to greet me. She told me she hadn’t slept all night in order to finish her assignments. I said to her, “You’re so hardworking, Noor. I can’t wait for the day you graduate and start working as a nurse.” She laughed confidently and said, “Soon. Just one more year, and I’ll graduate as an exceptional nurse.”
Then the war began, and I lost contact with Noor until August 2024. The first news I heard about her was the martyrdom of her father. I grieved deeply for him, knowing how much he supported Noor. He was always proud of her and insisted on driving her home from her hospital training shifts, which often ended late at night. He cared for her deeply and wanted her to be safe.
I still remember seeing him at the Islamic University’s honors ceremony, just two months before the war. He had come to watch his outstanding daughter receive her certificate of excellence. The pride and joy in his eyes were beyond words.
When I managed to reach Noor, I learned she was still living in our neighborhood in Tel Al-Zaatar, even though it had been completely evacuated due to the danger there. I was shocked and said, “Noor, our neighborhood is so dangerous. Why are you still there?” She replied with unwavering confidence, “This is the only life I’ll live. And if I become a martyr, I’ll be happy to reunite with my father and enjoy the blessings of paradise.”
Despite the hardships of war, Noor completed her semester with excellent grades, even though electricity and internet access in her area were scarce. To attend a 40-minute lecture, she would spend nearly three hours walking through rubble and ruins, all while under the watchful eyes of the drones hovering over Gaza.
Noor continued her studies diligently, sending me photos of her coffee, books, and pens until the beginning of October 2024. I always encouraged and supported her. Once, I joked with her, saying, “Noor, it’s war, fear, and bombardment, yet you’re still keeping up your study routine and coffee rituals!” She replied, “The bombing, the fear, and losing my father have left me emotionally exhausted, and the thought of dying any moment is real. But I must study and work hard to fulfill my dream and make my father proud.”

On October 5, the northern areas faced intense airstrikes as the ground invasion loomed. Fear gripped my heart for Noor and my other friends, as well as my cousins and aunts trapped in the north. I tried contacting Noor repeatedly, and after many failed attempts, I finally reached her. She spoke with a voice filled with fear and anxiety, and it was the only time I ever heard Noor trembling with fear. “We are still alive, but we are not okay. The bombing and the stench of death surround us from all sides. We have no water. I haven’t had a drop in four days.”
On October 18, at 5 p.m., I heard on the news that Noor’s family’s house in Tel Al-Zaatar had been targeted, with dozens reported dead. I felt a great shock, as if I were about to lose consciousness, and thoughts began to clash in my mind. Has something bad happened to Noor? Is she okay? What could have happened to her? But I tried to push all these thoughts away and attempted to calm myself, reassuring myself that my beloved Noor was fine.
But now I have accepted that my dear friend is gone.
Noor is not just a number. She was a beautiful person with a life, a family, friends, and dreams that reached for the sky.