The Islamic university before the war. Photo: Aya Najjar

When I graduated from secondary school, I achieved a remarkable grade of 99.4%. It was a source of pride, not only for my family, but also for me. I received many awards, certificates, and gifts, which motivated me to begin the next new chapter in my life—university.

I was unsure about which major to pursue. I asked alumni and professors, and I searched online. In the end, I chose English translation, a major that aligns with my passion for languages.

I used to be quiet and shy, and found it difficult to step outside my comfort zone. But I believed that the diverse opportunities offered by university life—meeting new people, engaging in discussions, and exploring different perspectives—would challenge my thinking and help me grow and become a more confident person.

September 9, 2023, marked my first day at the Islamic University of Gaza. In the first semester, I was registered to take three major courses: Grammar, Oral Communication, and Academic Reading. As first-year students, we received a brief overview of each course in the opening lectures as professors explained their subjects and approaches to teaching.

I made one close friend, Raghda. She shared the same major and soon became my best friend. We attended lectures together and enjoyed lunch during our free time. We ate at a small restaurant near the campus called Break, where the potato sandwiches were irresistible! I ended up spending a lot of money there, especially since Raghda kept pushing me to try different dishes.

Campus life ends

Unfortunately, we did not have the chance to study any of our courses in depth. Barely a month had passed when the war erupted on October 7.

That morning, I woke up at 6 a.m., as usual, to get ready for university. At 6:28 a.m., we heard powerful sounds, like missiles. At first, we thought it was a temporary situation and things would go back to normal. But when the sounds continued, we turned on the TV to find out what was going on. Then we realized it was worse than we thought. What had happened in Israel and the collapse of its defensive system was something we had never seen before. We knew that this time the Israeli response would be different and more brutal.

That same day all the educational institutions suspended their operations. Two days later, on October 9, Israel issued an evacuation order for the Al-Rimal neighborhood, where the Islamic University stood. Israel claimed that my university was being used for terrorist purposes. The next day, on October 10, it blew up its buildings.

Damage from the bombing when the university was targeted on October 10, 2023. Photo: Islamic University Facebook account

This was not the first time that the university had been targeted. During previous escalations, Israel had attacked some of the university buildings using the same pretext. But we all knew that its aim was to wipe out any and every symbol of education in Gaza. It was a deliberate campaign to silence the truth, because education in Gaza is a force more powerful than any weapon.

In addition to demolishing the university’s buildings, Israel intentionally targeted its staff.

Professor Sufian Al-Taih, president of the Islamic University, was not only an academic figure. He was a physicist and mathematician who dedicated his life to education and research in Gaza.

On December 2, 2023, after the end of the temporary truce that began on November 24 and lasted only a week, he and his family were killed by an Israeli airstrike that hit their house in Jabali camp in northern Gaza.

Though I did not have the chance to meet Professor Sufian Al-Taih, I always heard from other students how loving and respectful he was. But his loss was not only personal to us as students, it was also a devastating blow to science in Palestine.

The assassination of Professor Sufian Al-Taih marked the beginning of a systematic strategy to eliminate the university’s academic figures.

But this was not all. The Israel occupation did not stop at killing the university’s prominent figures and destroying its buildings—it also turned its campus into a shelter for thousands of displaced people who were searching for even a tiny space to settle in and find some peace, away from the invasions of their area.

Adjusting to online learning

Almost nine months later, on June 28, 2024, the Islamic University announced its decision to resume classes, but online. The news came as a shock. We were still displaced, living in overcrowded conditions with only a weak internet connection. In addition, we had no access to our books or to the university’s resources.

Initially I was completely opposed to the idea of online learning. “What about the promise of university life I had dreamed of?” I wondered. I had had so many plans. I wanted to learn face-to-face from qualified professors, to make new friends, and to become independent. But now, I had to study alone behind a screen?

It was not what I had planned.

But what alternative do we really have? Should we just sit back and do nothing? Even if we want to apply for a scholarship to study abroad, the border crossings close and block our dreams. And for those who choose to remain and study in Gaza, the war has stripped away the basic tools needed for effective learning.

My parents encouraged me to continue my education, and I did not want to disappoint them, even though the circumstances were unbearable.

I had to study at night, out on the balcony in the cold, in order to avoid the noise of children crying. I stood near windows to catch an internet signal. I walked long distances to charge my phone. Sometimes I missed exams and assessments because I had no internet or the noise of my cousins made it hard to concentrate. This is what it is like when you’re a student living in an overcrowded house. It is hard not to be overwhelmed. You need to have the ability to handle many things at once.

My final exam for the first year was held on January 28, 2025. By then, the ceasefire had been announced, and people had started walking back to the north. We had been living in a rented home with my aunts but now we had to leave—the homeowner had returned to the north and he wanted his property back.

Even though we had not been in our own home, moving again meant losing what little stability we had. We had to start all over again.

The hardships continue

The following month, we moved into a relative’s house in Tel Al-Hawa neighborhood. It was in the same area as my destroyed home had once stood. Before moving, I had completed my first-year university exams and enrolled in the summer semester. There was no internet in the area we moved to—not even a weak signal—and this added another challenge. I had to go out daily in search of places with stable connectivity so that I could download my lectures, upload assignments, and complete exams.

Now that I’m in my second year at university, I find myself battling the same hardships—an unreliable internet connection and no electricity. But the hardest thing to bear is the loss of stability—living in a house that is not ours and with the regular threat of evacuation.

And yet these challenges have not defeated me. On the contrary, they have made me stronger. I have now realized how important education is. Studying under a faint light and walking long distances to access a lecture or submit an exam will always serve as reminders of my determination to learn despite the circumstances. My studies bring me closer to achieving my dream of becoming a successful English translator. My aim is to use language as a bridge between worlds. And also to let people know what we went through.

Perhaps I will not carry a gun in my life, but I am fighting now to hold my graduation certificate. Knowledge is worth every sacrifice I make: I want to show the world that wars are not only fought with weapons, but also with our minds.