The entrance of Kateb Wilaya Mosque (2023). Photo: Alaa Dmeida

I hear the crunch of stones and shattered glass under my feet, breathing in the smell of ancient dust. Here in the middle of Gaza, I am writing about a living city that no longer exists except in my memory.

On August 25, 2023, before the war that destroyed Gaza, my father came across an announcement on Facebook that sparked his curiosity. It described a trip to explore the old city of Gaza. This trip was being organized by the Mimas Company for families of Gaza. My father is a man who’s deeply fascinated by history, especially Gaza’s, and immediately enrolled us as a family including my mother, my sister and myself.

I remember that morning as we were packing our bags, my father read and researched more about Gaza’s history. The childlike excitement we all felt is something I will never forget. When we boarded the bus on September 5, I felt as though we were approaching another era for Gaza.

I gazed through the bus window as we traveled through the city. Everywhere I admired its mixed colors, its worn rooftops, its narrow alleys with stories likely no one had written down yet.

Our first stop was the Great Omari Mosque. It is one of the oldest and largest mosques in Gaza and dates to the Byzantine era. Originally it was a Byzantine church, and later it was converted into a mosque after the Islamic conquests. So it shows a long history of many civilizations.

We then had breakfast beside it at the small restaurant of Abu Zuheir. Thyme pastries and mint tea filled the air with a warm, familiar scent. Every bite, every sip made us feel like we were part of the city’s heritage. We saw a 190-year-old house belonging to the Abu Shuhaiber family in the middle of the old city. This family has been in Gaza since the Ottoman era, and the house is still owned by it.

The Abu Shuhaiber home (2023). Photo: Amna Dmeida 

The Al-Zawiya Market—with the noise of vendors calling out to customers and the aroma of spices, jasmine, shawarma, and thyme, and the garden’s trees—was a scene that has repeated innumerable times over the years. 

After that, we passed by the Church of Saint Porphyrius near the Kateb Wilaya Mosque, aware of the history of these two religious institutions coexisting. In the past, the church bells harmonized with the call to prayer, in a scene that was itself about 700 years old.

Altar at the Church of Saint Porphyrius (2023). Photo: Alaa Dmeida

Our next stop was Hammam Al-Samra. It is a historic public bath in Gaza that dates to the Mamluk and Ottoman periods. It served not only for bathing but also as a social and cultural gathering place. Hammam Al-Samra has water that is heated by wood, not gas. The most important thing is that it’s used for healing, especially for bone pain. As we stepped inside the gentle light and heard the quiet echoes of the sound of water from a fountain and being heated over a fire by wood, we were reminded of past generations that occupied this place. It was a peaceful, hidden world away from the busy market streets.

Alaa Dmeida, in front of Hammam Al-Samra gate (2023). Photo: Amna Dmeida

Then, we visited Al-Basha Palace or as it called in Arabic, Qasr Al-Basha. It has a long history and is now home to local leaders and used for official affairs.

According to Quds Press, which quoted Hammouda Al-Dahdar, the official responsible for the restoration of the historic Al-Basha Palace, more than 17,000 artifacts dating from the Mamluk, Ottoman, Byzantine, Roman, and prehistoric periods were contained in the palace. This report, which was published on November 16, 2025, noted that after the 2023 genocidal war on Gaza, the Israeli occupation forces stole all the artifacts from the palace and destroyed nearly all of them. After digging under the rubble, Gazans have recovered only 20 artifacts so far.

Pasha’s Palace Museum (Qasr al-Basha), Gaza City (2022). Photo: Dan Palraz, Creative Commons 4.0

As we wandered between the landmarks, touching the stones, I exclaimed to my sister, “Oh my God! How did these places survive? How many centuries did they endure? How did they stand against occupation for so long?” She replied softly, “It’s a miracle.”

I don’t know why, but I was suddenly overcome with fear about the future of the ruins of our past that had witnessed war and occupation and human resilience

I love Gaza… I want it to stay.

After a long, exhausting and amazing journey, our final stop was the Gaza sea, the only escape for the people of Gaza. That moment was close to perfection for me: our family together, light conversations, delicious food, and the warm sun setting over the blue water with soft waves. A gentle breeze touched us, giving us a moment of peace after a day heavy with memories. I looked out at the city and the distant horizon and felt a deep sense of belonging I had never felt before. As we left on the bus to return home, which is now rubble, I took a beautiful photo of Gaza’s sunset from the bus.

The sunset in Gaza (2023). Photo: Alaa Dmeida

I still wonder what will remain after years of conflict.

This essay is not an elegy but an illustration of survival. We didn’t know we were capturing photos of what would never return, and mapping in our memories the outline of what has been erased. In every corner, I felt a silent connection with the hands that touched the same stones centuries before us. As I write this now, I am surrounded by rubble and shattered stone. The bombings destroyed homes, businesses, mosques, churches, and many other special places, but they can’t destroy its history. And with determination, grit, and our love of Gaza it will rise again, built upon the stories that survived.