The Rasha Al-Shawa Cultural Center, built in 1985 and designed by Syrian architect Saad Mahfouz, was a landmark of Gaza City. It housed a library, spacious lounges, and the illustrious Grand Theater, and hosted concerts, poetry readings, film screenings, art exhibits, and more. Photo: Raed Wahid, Creative Commons 4.0

During my years as a student at Beit Lahia Girls’ Preparatory School, located in northern Gaza, I went on many memorable field trips to the Rashad Al-Shawa Cultural Center, one of the largest such centers in Gaza. It is located in the Al-Rimal neighborhood in western Gaza City and was named in memory of Rashad Al-Shawa, its founder and the mayor of Gaza in the 1970s. I would walk through its long, captivating hallways, sit on the chairs of its conference halls, and enjoy beautiful events and performances.

The last time I visited Rashad Al-Shawa Center in its intact state was in 2016, when it hosted a conference on Arabic poetry. I was well known among my teachers for my love of poetry. That day, while I was sitting with my classmates, I turned to my closest friend, Maryam Hammad, and said, “How wonderful this festival is, Maryam.” She laughed her innocent, childlike laugh and replied, “We will go to university together, my dear Ohood. I will study literature, focus on poetry, develop my skills, and stand here one day to make you proud.”

I told her with certainty, “I am sure you will achieve your dreams and become a famous poet, just like Mahmoud Darwish.” Maryam adored Darwish, and she always recited his poems at school events. Her favorite poem was “We Have on This Earth What Makes Life Worth Living.” My beloved Maryam was in love with Palestine itself. She was killed by the Israeli occupation in November 2023 in Jabalia while she and her family were displaced.

Since October 7, 2023, the Israeli occupation has been relentlessly bombing homes, hospitals, cultural sites, streets, mosques, and roads. Nothing in Gaza has been spared. Rashad Al-Shawa Center became a shelter for many displaced families. It was destroyed in November 2023; thereafter tents among the rubble of the once vibrant cultural hub became families’ only refuge. As of October 2025, UNESCO has verified damage to 114 cultural heritage sites since October 7, 2023.

The three-story Rashad Al-Shawa Cultural Center reduced to rubble. Photo: Ohood Nassar

In early August 2025, my father began working inside Rashad Al-Shawa Center. The journalists’ syndicate he worked with had set up a tent for media workers and provided internet access. On August 6, I had an online final exam at the Islamic University of Gaza, but there was no internet at home. I called my father, the man who has always been my support and savior in times of hardship, and asked him for help. With his gentle voice that always fills me with a feeling of safety and love for life, he said, “Don’t worry, my daughter. I’m at Al-Shawa Center now. You can come here and take your exam with me.”

A wave of relief washed over me. I dressed quickly and went to meet my father. When I entered the center and saw the destruction from the inside for the first time, my heart shattered into pieces with grief. The hall was filled with tents, the courtyard with smoke rising from the open fire families were cooking on. A large water tank stood in the middle, with long lines of people waiting for a small share of water. The faces around me were exhausted, worn down by the heat inside the tents and the burdens of survival.

Memories of the beautiful moments I had once spent there flooded back—memories of my beloved friend Maryam, who had accompanied me every time our school visited the center, and with whom I was united by our love for poetry.

I stepped into the tent where my father was. He greeted me warmly, opened his laptop, and set it up for me to take my exam. I had lost my own laptop during our displacement from Al-Shifa Medical Complex. I began answering my exam questions, but the images of the center—before and after its destruction—never left my mind.

The laughter of Maryam, her innocence, and her presence stayed with me in every moment. How I wished she was still here to ease my hardships, encourage me, and stand by my side. How I wished I could avenge her, take the life of the one who stole her from me.

The next day, I had a class with  students I was teaching in a short-story writing course. Our lessons took place in a tent-school inside Palestine Stadium in western Gaza, the national sports complex of Gaza, which had also been transformed into a shelter for displaced families. Tents had been set up there to serve as classrooms for children deprived of education since October 7, 2023.

I entered the classroom, wearing a mask of hope and determination, hiding the fact that I too was displaced, that I too had lost my home and my friends. I began speaking to my students about life, about loving life, and about the need to be patient and continue living in the way that we love to live, a way that gives us dignity.

I asked them, “Who among you has visited Al-Shawa Center and attended its cultural activities?” Many hands were raised. One of my distinguished students, Aya, spoke up: “I had a piece of artwork displayed there, written in Ottoman calligraphy.”

I told her: “Excellent, Aya.” She walked toward me, opened her notebook, and showed me her calligraphy—Ottoman, Kufi, Ruq’ah, and Naskh. Her writing was beautiful and unique. I asked her, “How did you learn these styles?” She answered, “My calligraphy teacher taught me at school, but the occupation killed her. She was at home with her family in western Gaza when a missile struck, killing them all.”

Her voice trembled with sadness, and for the first time I saw Aya’s grief. She had always worn a mask of strength. I placed my hand on her shoulder and told her, “The occupation has wounded us deeply. It has forced us to taste the bitterness of loss and the ache of longing.” My words spilled out with tears, and for the first time, I allowed my students to see my vulnerability.

The occupation has destroyed cultural centers, schools, and universities in an attempt to impose ignorance upon the children of Gaza. But our determination and resilience are stronger than that. We will learn, and we will rebuild every cultural center, every school, and every university.