When I am finally able to return to the ruins of what was my house, I will do so, not to weep, but to make a promise to rebuild it.
Displaced Palestinians return to their homes in the north of Gaza on February 3, 2025.(Ashraf Amra / Anadolu via Getty Images)
EDITOR’S NOTE:
This is the fourth in our series of dispatches from Lujayn, a 14-year-old girl living in Gaza.
This is the fourth in our series of dispatches from Lujayn, a 14-year-old girl living in Gaza.
As the ceasefire approached on January 19, the machinery of war continued to unleash its fire and target the innocent until the very last second before the agreement came into effect. Indeed, Israeli troops have still not fully withdrawn from Gaza. Yet, despite the darkness of these hours, my hopes soar. My thoughts are consumed with my city, my friends, and my little home.
Destruction has touched everything. Many of my friends have either been killed or forced to leave Gaza. Yet I feel the pulse of life beneath my feet. Perhaps it is the heartbeat longing for those who are gone. Like everyone here in Rafah, I know well that devastation has engulfed our small city. No home, school, neighborhood, hospital, or even street remains intact.
Still, I know that we are a people who love life.
Immediately after the ceasefire was agreed, I went to visit the graves of five of my friends who were killed while they were in their shelters in Al Mawasi, Deir Al Balah, and Khan Younis. With the war over, now they can rest in peace. I prayed at their graves and promised them that they would remain forever in my heart.
Since the Israeli army has not completed its withdrawal from Gaza City, I have not yet been able to return home. When I am finally able to return to the ruins of what was my house, I will do so, not to weep, but to make a promise to rebuild it.
In the past few days, I have managed to meet with two of my friends who are still alive: one in Khan Younis and another in Al Bureij. I learned that eight of my friends from school were martyred during the war and I am trying to find out about what happened to my other friends, whose fates I have not been able to track.
We will rebuild our schools, cultivate our fields, restore our hospitals, repair our streets, and reconstruct our mosques and churches. I understand how difficult and long this journey will be, but life is longer still.
I will continue my education and return to school again next year. My mother and I, along with some friends, have decided to establish a center to help children catch up on their studies. I will name it “Malak – Angel,” in memory of my friend Malak, whose name means “angel.” On January 8, Malak was martyred by an Israeli bullet while she was sleeping inside her tent. She was my age, and my closest friend from my now-destroyed school, the Hamama School for Girls in the Sheikh Radwan neighborhood of Gaza City, where we grew up together. If only the ceasefire had come sooner, Malak would be alive today.
If the ceasefire holds, I will be able to complete my nearly finished robotics project and master the embroidery I learned during the war. I will compose and play a melody entitled “True Hero” for my wonderful friend Brenda, and I will play “A Hero’s Song” by Antonin Dvorak for my friend Jack on a new piano my uncle will give me to replace the one that was destroyed. I will compose and play a melody called “Beautiful Angel” for my sister Rebecca. My family, friends, and everyone I love will hear my music. I will write, play, and craft from my heart.
We know that every beginning has an end, and the endings in this war have been difficult. But I also know that this war is neither the first nor the last, so long as occupation persists and we continue to yearn for life. These small dreams are inherited in my homeland, and passed down from generation to generation. We build, and war destroys everything we’ve built. But from beneath the rubble, we rise again and rebuild.
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My greatest dream—the dream of every member of my people—is to live in a state recognized by the free people of the world, a place where peace reigns, free from siege, destruction, and occupation. When that dream is realized, my message to you will be an invitation to visit my land, the land of peace.
Until then I send you my love, gratitude, and prayers.
I love you all.
—LujaynRafah, Gaza Strip, Palestine
LujaynLujayn is a 15-year-old currently living in the Gaza Strip, and a regular contributor to The Nation. Her work has also appeared in Al Jazeera and New Lines, and she is a contributor to the book Palestine is Everywhere.