He receives his math lesson in a space where students and displaced families are crowded together.

I have traveled a very long road to reach my goal of dual bachelor’s degrees in translation and education.

I am determined to continue my education amidst the scholasticide.

My future remains on hold while I wait for the Rafah border crossing to reopen.

Listening to my students, I feel as though I am standing between their childhoods and the war, trying to help them build a bridge towards hope.

I left Gaza to become a doctor, but it is taking a huge emotional toll.

My time spent teaching children in a tent added valuable information to my research on wartime schooling alternatives.

Ibrahim’s crime was to stand near a target, and his death was sanitized by the term ‘collateral damage.’

Now all that’s left is ruins / The child and the poet / Both orphans.

Like the people in the tents, like the fishermen readying their boats, I am tired of this situation. But none of us have the luxury of giving up.

I am not even allowed to go back to see what has become of my house and school.

After the ceasefire, I returned to a city of ruins, but I found our old school building still standing!