I was five years old when I entered Maghazi Library for the first time. My parents had just enrolled in a nearby kindergarten, mainly because it sent its students to the library for frequent visits. They believed in the transformative power of books and wanted me to be able to acquire a large collection as soon as possible.
The Maghazi Library was not just a building; it was a portal to a world without borders. I remember feeling an incredible sense of dread when I crossed its wooden door. It was as if I had entered a different place, where every corner whispered secrets and promised adventures.
Although it was limited in size, the library felt limitless to my young eyes. The walls were lined with dark wooden shelves, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. In the center of the room was a comfortable yellow and green sofa, surrounded by a simple rug where we, the children, gathered.
I still vividly remember our teacher asking us to sit next to him on the couch and open a picture book. I was impressed by its illustrations and books, even though I could not read.
A visit to the Maghazi Library can instill in me the love of books that had a great influence on my life. Books became more than just a source of entertainment or learning; they nourished my soul and mind, shaped my nature and personality.
This love turned to pain as libraries across the Gaza Strip were destroyed, one after the other, over the past 400 days. According to the United Nations, 13 public libraries were damaged or destroyed in Gaza. No institution has been able to measure the destruction of other libraries – which may be part of cultural institutions or educational institutions or private organizations – which have also been destroyed.
Among them is the library of Al-Aqsa University – one of the largest in the Gaza Strip. Seeing pictures of new books in the library was sad. It was like a fire burning my heart. The library of my university, the Islamic University of Gaza, where I had spent hours reading and studying, is also gone.
The Edward Said Library – the first English-language library in Gaza, built after Israel's 2014 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 new import problems, as Israel used to block the legal delivery of books to the Strip. Their efforts reflect the Palestinian love for literature and their passion for sharing knowledge and educating communities.
The attacks on Gaza's libraries are not only targeting the buildings themselves, but the very core of what Gaza stands for. They are part of an attempt to erase our history and prevent future generations from being educated and aware of their identity and rights. The destruction of Gaza's libraries is also aimed at destroying the strong spirit of learning in the Palestinian people.
A love of education and knowledge runs deep within Palestinian culture. Reading and learning have been valued for generations, not just as a way to gain wisdom but as symbols of resilience and connection to history.
Books have always been regarded as objects of high value. Although the costs and restrictions of Israel often limited access to books, their appreciation was universal, cutting across social and economic boundaries. Even families with limited resources prioritized education and storytelling, passing on a deep appreciation for books to their children.
More than 400 days of extreme deprivation, hunger, and suffering have managed to kill some of these literary honors.
It pains me to say that books are now being used by many Palestinians as fuel for cooking or keeping warm, as wood and gas become more expensive. This is our sad reality: survival comes at the cost of cultural heritage and intelligence.
But not all hope is lost. There are still efforts to preserve and protect what little remains of Gaza's cultural heritage.
The library of Maghazi – the heavenly book of my friendship – is still standing. The building remains intact and through local efforts, its books have been preserved.
I recently had the opportunity to visit it. It was an emotional experience, as I had not visited for many years. When I entered the library, I felt like I was returning to my childhood. I imagined “little Shahd” running between the shelves, full of curiosity and desire to find everything.
I can almost hear the echoes of my kindergarten classmates' laughter and feel the warmth of the times we spent together. The memory of a library is not only in its walls, but in every person who visits it, in every hand that turns a book, and every eye that focuses on the words of a story. Maghazi Library, to me, is not just a library; it is part of my identity, of that little girl who learned that thinking can be a refuge and that reading can be a resistance.
Work directs our minds and bodies, but you don't see that ideas are immortal. The number of books and libraries, the information they hold, and the identities that help shape them is inexhaustible. No matter how much they try to erase our history, they cannot silence the ideas, traditions, and truth that lives within us.
Amidst this devastation, I hope that, when the genocide ends, Gaza's libraries will rise from the ashes. These sanctuaries of knowledge and culture can be rebuilt and stand again as beacons of strength.
The views expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.
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