I used to be 5 years outdated after I entered the Maghazi Library for the primary time. My dad and mom had simply enrolled me on the close by kindergarten, particularly as a result of it was sending its pupils to the library for normal visits. They believed within the transformative energy of books and wished me to have entry to a big assortment as early as attainable.
The Maghazi Library wasn’t only a constructing; it was a portal to a world with out boundaries. I bear in mind feeling an awesome sense of awe as I crossed its picket doorway. It was as if I had stepped into a special realm, the place each nook whispered secrets and techniques and promised adventures.
Although modest in measurement, the library felt infinite to my younger eyes. The partitions had been lined with darkish picket cabinets, stuffed with books of all sizes and shapes. On the centre of the room was a comfy yellow-and-green sofa, surrounded by a easy rug the place we, the kids, would collect.
I nonetheless vividly bear in mind our trainer asking us to sit down round her on the rug and opening up an image guide. I used to be enthralled with its illustrations and letters, though I couldn’t but learn.
The visits to the Maghazi Library would instill in me a love for books that profoundly influenced my life. Books grew to become greater than a supply of leisure or studying; they nourished my soul and thoughts, shaping my id and persona.
This love became ache as libraries throughout the Gaza Strip had been destroyed, one after the opposite, over the previous 400 days. In line with the United Nations, 13 public libraries have been broken or destroyed in Gaza. No establishment has been in a position to estimate the destruction of the opposite libraries – these which are both a part of cultural centres or academic establishments or are non-public entities – which have additionally been obliterated.
Amongst them is the library of Al-Aqsa College – one of many largest within the Gaza Strip. Seeing the pictures of books burning within the library was heartbreaking. It felt like fireplace burning my very own coronary heart. The library of my very own college, the Islamic College of Gaza, the place I had spent numerous hours studying and learning, can be no extra.
The Edward Stated Library – the primary English-language library in Gaza, created within the aftermath of the 2014 Israeli warfare on Gaza, which additionally destroyed libraries – can be gone. That library was established by non-public people, who donated their very own books and labored in opposition to all odds to import new ones, as Israel would typically block formal deliveries of books into the Strip. Their efforts replicate Palestinian love for books and drive to share information and educate communities.
The assaults on Gaza’s libraries are concentrating on not simply the buildings themselves, however the very essence of what Gaza represents. They’re a part of the hassle to erase our historical past and forestall future generations from changing into educated and conscious of their very own id and rights. The decimation of Gaza’s libraries can be aimed toward destroying the robust spirit of studying amongst Palestinians.
The love for training and information runs deep inside the Palestinian tradition. Studying and studying are cherished throughout generations, not simply as means to amass knowledge however as symbols of resilience and connection to historical past.
Books have at all times been seen as objects of excessive worth. Whereas the price and Israel’s restrictions typically restricted entry to books, the respect for them was common, chopping throughout socioeconomic boundaries. Even households with restricted sources prioritised training and storytelling, passing down a profound appreciation for literature to their youngsters.
Greater than 400 days of extreme deprivation, hunger, and struggling have managed to kill a few of this respect for books.
It pains me to say that books are actually utilized by many Palestinians as gas for fires to prepare dinner or keep heat, on condition that wooden and fuel have turn into prohibitively costly. That is our heartbreaking actuality: survival comes at the price of cultural and mental heritage.
However not all hope is misplaced. There are nonetheless efforts to protect and safeguard what little stays of Gaza’s cultural heritage.
The Maghazi Library – the guide heaven of my childhood – nonetheless stands. The constructing stays intact and with native efforts, its books have been preserved.
I just lately had the chance to go to it. It was an emotionally overwhelming expertise, as I had not visited for a few years. After I entered the library, I felt like I used to be returning to my childhood. I imagined “little Shahd” operating between the cabinets, stuffed with curiosity and a want to find every part.
I might virtually hear the echoes of the laughter of my kindergarten classmates and really feel the heat of the moments we spent there collectively. The reminiscence of the library is just not solely in its partitions, however in everybody who vsited it, in each hand that flipped via a guide, and each eye that immersed itself within the phrases of a narrative. The Maghazi Library, to me, isn’t just a library; it’s a part of my id, of that little woman who discovered that creativeness is usually a refuge and that studying will be resistance.
The occupation is concentrating on our minds and our our bodies, however it doesn’t realise that concepts can’t die. The worth of books and libraries, the information they carry, and the identities they assist form are indestructible. Regardless of how a lot they attempt to erase our historical past, they can’t silence the concepts, the tradition, and the reality that reside inside us.
Amid the devastation, I’ve hope that, when the genocide ends, the libraries of Gaza will rise from the ashes. These sanctuaries of information and tradition will be rebuilt and stand once more as beacons of resilience.
The views expressed on this article are the writer’s personal and don’t essentially replicate Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.
