Gaza’s libraries will rise from the ashes. Israel-Palestine conflict

I was five years old when I entered the Magazzi library for the first time. My parents had recently enrolled me in a nearby kindergarten, especially because it was sending its students to the library for regular trips. He believed in the transformative power of books and wanted me to have access to a large collection as soon as possible.

Maghazi Library was not just a building; It was a door to a world without borders. I remember feeling immense awe when I passed its wooden doors. It was as if I had stepped into a different realm, where every corner whispered secrets and promised adventure.

Though modest in size, the library seemed infinite to my young eyes. The walls were lined with dark wooden shelves, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. There was a comfortable yellow-and-green sofa in the center of the room, surrounded by a simple rug where we, the kids, would gather.

I still remember clearly that our teacher asked us to sit on the rug around her and open a picture book. I was mesmerized by its pictures and letters, even though I couldn’t read yet.

A visit to Maghazi Library would instill in me a love for books that deeply influenced my life. Books became more than a source of entertainment or learning; They nurtured my soul and mind, shaped my identity and personality.

This love turned to pain when libraries in the Gaza Strip were destroyed one after another in the last 400 days. According to the United Nations, 13 public libraries have been damaged or destroyed in Gaza. No institution has been able to anticipate the destruction of other libraries – which are either part of cultural centers or educational institutions or are private entities – which have also been destroyed.

Among them is the library of Al-Aqsa University – one of the largest in the Gaza Strip. Heartbroken to see pictures of burning books in the library. It felt as if fire was burning my own heart. The library of my own university, the Islamic University of Gaza, where I had spent countless hours reading and studying, was also no more.

The Edward Said Library – the first English-language library in Gaza, built after the 2014 Israeli war on Gaza, which also destroyed libraries – is also gone. That library was founded by private individuals who donated their books and worked against all odds to import new books, as Israel often prevented formal delivery of books to the Strip. Their efforts reflect the Palestinian love of books and the drive to share knowledge and educate communities.

The attacks on Gaza’s libraries are not only targeting the buildings, but the very essence of what Gaza represents. They are part of an effort to erase our history and prevent future generations from being educated and aware of their identity and rights. The destruction of Gaza’s libraries also aims to destroy the strong sense of learning among Palestinians.

The love of education and knowledge runs deep in Palestinian culture. Reading and learning have been valued across generations not only as a means of acquiring knowledge, but also as a symbol of resilience and connection to history.

Books have always been seen as high value items. While cost and Israel’s restrictions often limited access to the books, respect for them was universal across socio-economic boundaries. Even families with limited resources prioritized education and storytelling, inculcating a deep love of literature in their children.

More than 400 days of severe deprivation, starvation and suffering have destroyed this respect for books.

I am sad to say that books are now used by many Palestinians as fuel for cooking or to light a fire to stay warm, given that wood and gas have become extremely expensive. This is our heartbreaking reality: survival comes at the cost of cultural and intellectual heritage.

But all hope is not lost. Efforts are still being made to preserve and protect what little remains of Gaza’s cultural heritage.

The Magazzi Library – the book heaven of my childhood – still stands. The building remains intact and its books have been preserved through local efforts.

I recently had the opportunity to see it. It was an emotionally overwhelming experience, as I had not been there for many years. When I entered the library, I felt as if I was returning to my childhood. I imagined “little Shahad” running among the shelves, full of curiosity and desire to discover everything.

I could almost hear the echoes of the laughter of my kindergarten classmates and feel the warmth of the moments we spent there together. The memory of the library is not only in its walls, but in every person who visits it, in every hand that turns a book, and in every eye that is immersed in the words of a story. Maghazi Library, to me, is not just a library; It’s part of my identity, that of the little girl who learned that imagination could be a refuge and reading could be resistance.

This possession is targeting our mind and our body, but what we don’t realize is that thoughts cannot die. The value of books and libraries, the knowledge they hold, and the identities they help shape are indestructible. No matter how much they try to erase our history, they cannot silence the ideas, culture and truth that exist within us.

Amidst the devastation, I remain hopeful that, when the genocide ends, Gaza’s libraries will rise from the ashes. These sanctuaries of knowledge and culture can be rebuilt and re-erected as symbols of resilience.

The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial stance of Al Jazeera.