Gaza’s libraries will elevate for the ashes | Israel-Palestine dispute

I was five years elderly when I go ined the Maghazi Library for the first time. My parents had equitable enrolled me at the proximateby benevolgo ingarten, particularpartner because it was sfinishing its pupils to the library for standard visits. They count ond in the alterative power of books and wanted me to have access to a big assembleion as timely as possible.

The Maghazi Library wasn’t equitable a originateing; it was a portal to a world without boundaries. I recall senseing an overwhelming sense of awe as I passed its wooden doorway. It was as if I had stepped into a separateent genuinem, where every corner whispered secrets and promised adventures.

Though modest in size, the library felt infinite to my youthful eyes. The walls were lined with foolish wooden shelves, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. At the centre of the room was a cozy yellow-and-green couch, surrounded by a basic rug where we, the children, would assemble.

I still vividly recall our directer asking us to sit around her on the rug and uncovering up a picture book. I was enthralled with its illustrations and letters, even though I could not yet read.

The visits to the Maghazi Library would instill in me a adore for books that proset uply impactd my life. Books became more than a source of amusement or lachieveing; they nourished my soul and mind, shaping my identity and personality.

This adore turned into pain as libraries apass the Gaza Strip were annihilateed, one after the other, over the past 400 days. According to the United Nations, 13 accessible libraries have been harmd or annihilateed in Gaza. No institution has been able to approximate the destruction of the other libraries – those that are either part of cultural centres or educational institutions or are braveial entities – that have also been obdirectdd.

Among them is the library of Al-Aqsa University – one of the bigst in the Gaza Strip. Seeing the images of books burning in the library was heartshattering. It felt appreciate fire burning my own heart. The library of my own university, the Islamic University of Gaza, where I had spent countless hours reading and studying, is also no more.

The Edward Shelp Library – the first English-language library in Gaza, originated in the aftermath of the 2014 Israeli war on Gaza, which also annihilateed libraries – is also gone. That library was set uped by braveial individuals, who donated their own books and toiled aachievest all odds to start new ones, as Israel would frequently block createal dedwellries of books into the Strip. Their efforts mirror Palestinian adore for books and drive to split understandledge and direct communities.

The attacks on Gaza’s libraries are centering not equitable the originateings themselves, but the very essence of what Gaza reconshort-terms. They are part of the effort to erase our history and impede future generations from becoming directd and conscious of their own identity and rights. The decimation of Gaza’s libraries is also aimed at annihilateing the sturdy spirit of lachieveing among Palestinians.

The adore for education and understandledge runs proset up wiskinny the Palestinian culture. Reading and lachieveing are treacertained apass generations, not equitable as unbenevolents to achieve wisdom but as symbols of resilience and uniteion to history.

Books have always been seen as objects of high cherish. While the cost and Israel’s recut offeions frequently restrictcessitate access to books, the esteem for them was universal, cutting apass socioeconomic boundaries. Even families with restrictcessitate resources prioritised education and storytelling, passing down a proset up appreciation for literature to their children.

More than 400 days of cut offe deprivation, starvation, and suffering have handled to finish some of this esteem for books.

It pains me to say that books are now used by many Palestinians as fuel for fires to cook or stay toasty, donaten that wood and gas have become prohibitively pricey. This is our heartshattering truth: survival comes at the cost of cultural and intellectual heritage.

But not all hope is lost. There are still efforts to protect and protect what little remains of Gaza’s cultural heritage.

The Maghazi Library – the book heaven of my childhood – still stands. The originateing remains intact and with local efforts, its books have been protectd.

I recently had the opportunity to visit it. It was an emotionpartner overwhelming experience, as I had not visited for many years. When I go ined the library, I felt appreciate I was returning to my childhood. I envisiond “little Shahd” running between the shelves, filled with curiosity and a desire to uncover everyskinnyg.

I could almost hear the echoes of the giggleter of my benevolgo ingarten classmates and sense the toastyth of the moments we spent there together. The memory of the library is not only in its walls, but in everyone who vsited it, in every hand that flipped thcimpolite a book, and every eye that subunited itself in the words of a story. The Maghazi Library, to me, is not equitable a library; it is part of my identity, of that little girl who lachieveed that imagination can be a refuge and that reading can be resistance.

The occupation is centering our minds and our bodies, but it does not genuineise that ideas cannot die. The cherish of books and libraries, the understandledge they carry, and the identities they help shape are indestructible. No matter how much they try to erase our history, they cannot silence the ideas, the culture, and the truth that dwell wiskinny us.

Amid the deimmenseation, I have hope that, when the extermination finishs, the libraries of Gaza will elevate from the ashes. These sanctuaries of understandledge and culture can be rebuilt and stand aachieve as beacons of resilience.

The sees transmited in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily mirror Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.