Sherehan Bakron | English Teacher – Palestine 

Original article on Manhajiyat, dated 03/10/2024. 

The news of my beloved school’s demolition was as heartbreaking as losing my home. My soul clung to its walls, where the words “School is your second home” once stood. Today, I stand face to face with the excruciating sorrow of losing not only the protective walls of my school and home but also the beautiful souls that once filled them. In the middle of such heavy grief, even the walls we lean on after a long day hold deep significance and meaning. 

Although my home and school were two separate physical spaces, they were emotionally intertwined, providing me with comfort and security. The feeling that overwhelmed me when I heard about the demolition of our house – a home my father had spent his life building – was the same as when I saw a picture online of my school reduced to rubble. I recognized it from a wall in the image, one that bore the words a fellow teacher had once written: “Be a scholar or a learner, but do not be the third.” That image is forever etched in my heart. 

As I drowned in grief, the assistant principal pulled me from my sorrow, saying, “If we stay alive, we will rebuild it. They destroyed the walls, not us.” That was when I realized that a teacher must remain a seed of hope in a land of despair – a candle that refuses to be extinguished. 

Teachers in Gaza have been left without a home to rest in, a school to walk to, or even a piece of chalk to write with. Yet, many persist despite such dire circumstances, standing as beacons of light amid the darkness of war. Every humble effort by Gazan teachers to educate even a single child – whose primary concerns are now survival, food, and safety – is an act of immense courage, worthy of the highest respect and a place in history as an achievement beyond measure. Likewise, every family enduring life in a tattered tent – unfit for human habitation – yet still sending their children to any available educational center, proving that education is as vital as food and water, deserves boundless praise. 

Other key stakeholder efforts, such as those of the Ministry of Education in the West Bank to integrate Gaza’s students through “Microsoft Teams” and the “eSchool” application, their plans to condense curricula and merge two academic years for students who survived the war, and UNRWA’s initiatives – despite overcrowding in its schools due to displaced families and repeated bombings – to set aside a classroom in each school for both education and psychological support, all stem from an unwavering belief that a true renaissance begins with education. 

We owe it to teachers for raising the builders who will reconstruct Gaza, the doctors who will treat the wounded, and the architects who will redraw the city’s features. From beneath the rubble, students will rise – builders of civilization, determined to silence the echoes of destruction. 

The educational losses are incalculable; the impact extends beyond a missed school year, as both students and teachers spend their time seeking food and shelter rather than engaging in learning within classrooms, further widening the learning gap. Education is cumulative, and losing over a year of schooling places an enormous burden on everyone. However, the greatest loss is the death of more than fifteen thousand students, teachers, and administrative staff in Gaza. Still, we remain determined: as long as there is life in Gaza, education will endure. 

In my opinion, the primary focus for me and all true educators should now be teaching the four fundamental skills in Arabic, English, and mathematics. Students may forget the knowledge they acquire, but they will never forget how to read and write – skills that will last a lifetime. Equally important is the need to prioritize psychosocial support and life skills education. Moving forward, I hope that social and emotional learning will be integrated into the curriculum after the war, allowing students to heal from trauma, channel their pain through self-management activities, and interact positively with others through life and social skills training. 

The challenges ahead are immense. Every time I receive a call from one of my students, I am reminded that the role of a teacher in Gaza – burdened by the weight of this war – is unlike that of any other teacher in the world. It is no longer just about imparting knowledge or promoting goodness; it now extends to mending wounds and instilling hope. 

Every single one of our students has suffered loss – be it a family member, a home, or even a limb. The cruelest reality is that some children have endured all three. For every teacher weighed down by pain, the challenge is monumental: to set aside our own losses, embody hope, and embrace our students along the way.  

Just as nations have risen through education, so will Gaza, despite the overwhelming burdens that await the ministry, teachers, students, and families after the war. As overwhelming as these challenges may seem, they will gradually ease through our collective effort: the restoration of security, the provision of essential needs, and the use of mobile housing as both shelter and learning spaces. Free internet access is also crucial for all students, particularly because online education, when used effectively, serves as a vital complement to traditional schooling – especially in a world where younger generations are deeply connected to technology. 

In the end, peace be upon every soul stolen by war – souls that should have been holding chalk, walking into classrooms, and continuing their noble mission of education. Peace be upon every child who should have been sitting in a classroom, dreaming of a brighter tomorrow. Peace be upon every parent who should have been reviewing homework with their children, promising them rewards for their achievements. And peace be upon every soul that should have been holding a graduation certificate high rather than a death certificate. May peace be upon you in the highest heavens. 

 

This blog post was published on the Manhajiyat and was translated into English as part of a joint project with the Centre for  Lebanese Studies and (PROCOL). All rights reserved. Republishing or quoting the article is prohibited without citing the source or obtaining written permission.