The first time I entered the Magaji Library was when I was five years old. My parents had just enrolled me in a nearby kindergarten. Because the kindergarten regularly sent students to the library. They believed in the transformative power of books and wanted to give me access to their large collection as soon as possible.
Magazi Library was more than just a building. It was a gateway to a world without boundaries. I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of awe as I passed through the wooden doorway. It was like stepping into another realm, where every corner whispered secrets and promised adventure.
Although modest in size, the library seemed endless to my young eyes. Dark wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. There was a cozy yellow and green sofa in the center of the room, surrounded by a simple rug, on which we kids gathered.
I still vividly remember the teacher asking us to sit around her on the rug and open our picture books. Even though I couldn’t read yet, I was fascinated by the illustrations and text.
A visit to Magaji Library instilled in me a love for books that deeply influenced my life. Books have become more than just a source of entertainment and learning. They fed my soul and spirit and shaped my identity and personality.
This love has turned to pain as libraries in the Gaza Strip have been destroyed one after another over the past 400 days. According to the United Nations, 13 public libraries in Gaza were damaged or destroyed. No authority can estimate the scale of destruction for other similarly destroyed libraries (those that are part of cultural centers, educational institutions, or private organizations).
Among them is the library of Al-Aqsa University, one of the largest libraries in the Gaza Strip. I was heartbroken when I saw the footage of books burning in the library. It felt like my heart was on fire. The library at my university, the Islamic University of Gaza, where I spent countless hours reading and studying, is also gone.
The Edward Said Library, Gaza’s first English-language library, established in the aftermath of Israel’s 2014 war on Gaza (which also destroyed the library), is also gone. The library was founded by individuals who donated their own books and imported new ones against all odds, as Israel often blocked official book deliveries to the Strip. I tried to do it. Their efforts reflect Palestinians’ love of books and their desire to share knowledge and educate their communities.
Attacks on Gaza’s libraries target not just the buildings themselves, but the very essence of what Gaza stands for. They are part of an effort to erase our history and prevent future generations from being educated and aware of their identities and rights. The destruction of Gaza’s libraries also aims to destroy the strong learning spirit of the Palestinian people.
The love of education and knowledge is deeply rooted in Palestinian culture. Reading and learning are cherished across generations, not only as a means of gaining wisdom but also as a symbol of resilience and connection to history.
Books have always been considered objects of high value. Although access to books was often limited due to cost and Israeli restrictions, respect for books was universal across socio-economic boundaries. Even in families with limited resources, they prioritized education and reading, instilling in their children a deep appreciation for literature.
Over 400 days of severe deprivation, starvation, and suffering have eroded some of this respect for books.
Given that wood and gas have become prohibitively expensive, it is with great sadness that many Palestinians now rely on books to fuel their fires for cooking and warmth. This is our heartbreaking reality. Survival comes at the cost of cultural and intellectual heritage.
But not all hope is lost. Efforts are still being made to preserve and protect what little remains of Gaza’s cultural heritage.
Magaji Library, my childhood haven of books, is still alive and well. The building remains in its original condition, and local efforts have saved the books.
I had a chance to visit recently. It was a very moving experience as I hadn’t been there in years. When I entered the library, I felt like I was back in my childhood. I imagined “little shards” running between the shelves, filled with curiosity and the desire to discover everything.
The laughter of my kindergarten classmates seemed to echo, and I felt the warmth of the moments we spent together. The memory of a library lies not only in its walls, but in every person who visits it, every hand that turns a book, and every eye that soaks in the words of a story. For me, Magazi Library is more than just a library. It’s part of my identity, a little girl who learned that imagination can be a refuge and reading can be resistance.
This profession targets our minds and bodies, but it doesn’t understand that ideas never die. The value of books and libraries, the knowledge they convey, and the identities they help shape cannot be destroyed. No matter how much they try to erase our history, they cannot silence the ideas, culture, and truths that live within us.
Amidst the devastation, I have 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 resilience.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial stance of Al Jazeera.
