UNRWA headquarters in Gaza City. Photo: Rizek Abdel Jawab

Like millions of other Palestinians in the Gaza Strip, and also in camps in Jordan, Syria, the West Bank, and Lebanon, my first nine years of education were provided by UNRWA — the United Nations Relief and Works Agency — established in 1949 in response to the displacement of some 800 000 Palestinians who fled their villages in Palestine during the creation of the Israeli state.

My first day of school

I still remember my first day of school. My parents took me to Gaza Primary School in the Al-Remal neighborhood of Gaza. As a child experiencing something very new on that first day, I started crying. I didn’t let my mother leave me. Everything felt strange. I found myself standing between walls painted in blue and white, wearing a blue and white uniform to match. The children around me also seemed disoriented. Some were excited, others were crying like me, and many were quiet and nervous.

My mother managed to persuade me to stay there alone. I went in to the class and sat at my desk. As soon as our teacher entered the classroom, I was able to relax. She seemed kind and understanding. She stated her name, Reem Rezq.

Miss Reem was the reason I woke up excited every morning to go to school. When anyone made a mistake, she did not chide them. Instead, she gave them advice on how to avoid making the same mistakes again. She treated us with dignity while also challenging us.

I remember when a boy in the class was bullying another student. Miss Reem did not kick him out of the classroom, nor did she ignore the behavior. Instead, she chose to stand in the middle of the classroom and tell us a story to demonstrate that bullying was bad behavior. The boy ended up apologizing to his classmate.

UNRWA provides much more than school

At the time, I did not know that this classroom, my teacher, my uniform, and the free services I received were all connected to UNRWA and, that UNRWA, had been part of my family’s life long before I was born.

I wore the same blue and white uniform every single day. Only later would I learn that those were the colors of the UNRWA logo. Not only did UNRWA fund my school’s construction and that of other schools in the Gaza Strip, it also provided other key services to Palestinians legally recognized as refugees by the United Nations.

At school, UNRWA provided us with free meals every day and distributed free school supplies — pens, notebooks, pencils, and backpacks. This allowed us to focus and learn without worrying about whether our families would be able to afford school fees and services. UNRWA schools were completely free, and all of their services were of the highest quality. Our family relied on UNRWA’s food distributions many times. We also visited the agency’s clinics regularly for primary healthcare, vaccinations, and basic treatment.

We are refugees

I wondered why my family had enrolled me in an UNRWA school, while some of my relatives were studying at private schools.

I got to know the reason after a conversation with my mother. I was nine years old. I often observed my mother taking my younger brother, Yousef, to the UNRWA clinic to receive his vaccinations. She would say, “Oh, I forgot to take Kart al-Moun.” I never understood what she meant when she mentioned that card. One day I asked her about the Kart Al-Moun. My mother explained that this card, the “provisions card,” was proof of our refugee status, and that it gave us the right to UNRWA benefits and services.

I was aware of the fact that Palestine was occupied by a country called “Israel,” but I honestly did not have any idea what was meant by “refugee”. Later, when I asked my father, he paused for a bit before telling me that, in 1948, Zionist gangs had started raiding Palestinian towns to push people out. These gangs had killed children, old people, and even pregnant women, forcing thousands of people to leave, some to nearby countries and to Gaza and the West Bank. Those who left their towns were then called refugees.

“So we are refugees?” I had asked him. He explained that my ancestors fled their town, Faliuga, and moved to Gaza.

That was how I came to understand why I attended an UNRWA school rather than a public or private school.

When I turned 15 and entered the 10th grade, I was transferred to a public school, because UNRWA did not offer education at that level. Leaving my UNRWA school was more difficult than I expected. After nine years, a huge part of my childhood was about to become a memory. My friends and I had to go our separate ways to different schools, with each of us assigned to the school closest to where we lived.

While public schools were free in the sense that we did not pay tuition fees, we were accustomed to UNRWA providing school supplies and free meals. Only then did I begin to realize the value of the things I had taken for granted.

UNRWA during the genocide

After Israel launched its genocidal war on Gaza, we became even more reliant on UNRWA. Despite the challenges of living in constant danger, it operated for as long as it could along with other humanitarian organizations such as UNICEF and the Palestine Red Crescent Society.

A destroyed UNRWA health center in Shiekh Redwan neighborhood. Photo: Rizek Abdel Jawab

When Israel ordered humanitarian organizations, along with everyone in the north, to move south, we became worried. My family had chosen not to give in to the pressure to leave Gaza City. We were determined to stay in our home despite the relentless bombings. Unfortunately, humanitarian agencies had no choice but to succumb to the Israeli orders and withdraw from the north.

Food was running out. Few hospitals were operational, and the medical crews were working with a severe shortage of medical supplies. Scarcity of supplies, food, and other necessities only grew. The humanitarian organizations that had previously provided essential services were gone, and routines that had once felt ordinary became battles to survive. I remember when we ran out of flour. It was our last sack, and we decided to make it last as long as possible. But eventually, it vanished. We had lentils, and, like many other families in the north, we ground them into flour to make dough and bread. It tasted awful, but we had no other choice. My brother put his life on the line to chase after aid delivered by trucks that had not been allowed to enter the north. He risked his life because our hunger was harsh.

This was what our life became without UNRWA — a chaotic existence in which hunger determined how long we could survive.

Famine took hold and many children suffered from severe malnutrition. If food or medicine was found, its prices were unaffordable for most of us who were used to relying on humanitarian services free of charge. The genocide had stripped us of everything.

I had known UNRWA as the agency that ran my school and provided our family with medical care. But during the war, I came to understand that its presence, or its absence, was a matter of life and death for my family and all of Gaza’s people.

Later, allegations that some UNRWA staff members had been involved in the October 7 attacks led several countries, including some of the agency’s major donors, to suspend funding. This partially paralyzed its operations, including in the south, where UNRWA had relocated after being forced to leave the north.

To some people, UNRWA may appear to be simply another organization distributing aid. But it is much more than that. It has been, and continues to be, essential for me and my family’s survival. It is the same story for virtually every Palestinian refugee in Gaza.

Now, as UNRWA is under constant threat of being closed, over 11,000 staff have refused to stop working and they continue to provide us with help in all aspects of life. Our lives have been turned upside down. We need UNRWA now more than ever.