She Stands: Gaza

Farah Al Helo measures time in fragments. A semester that ended mid-sentence. A home left behind without locking the door. A calendar filled with drawings, not dates. She is 22, in the final year of studying architectural engineering, a discipline meant for structure, for form, for future. But what she lives now has none of that. What she draws now is not theoretical. It is personal. Collapsed buildings, broken streets, faces blurred by dust. “I worked on academic projects that reflected the cultural essence of my city,” she says. “The true identity of Gaza; its beauty, simplicity, and architectural richness.” But even beauty here is fragile. Gaza, she says, exists in layers. You peel one back and find memory. Peel another, and find grief. She sketches both the buildings and the absences inside them. There was a day, early in the war, when she stood still. The silence in her body louder than the noise outside. That was the day she lost her university. Her neighborhood. Her rhythm. That...

Between the Lines: Noor Abu Mariam Noor Abu Mariam is not waiting for life to return to normal. She’s building something from what’s left. At 21, Noor is a Business Administration student at Al-Azhar University in Gaza, majoring in the English track, and a Social Media Manager for Gaza Great Minds School. Before the war, her days were filled with digital campaigns and lecture halls. She curated content to promote education. She balanced algorithms with advocacy, pixels with purpose. Everything she did was tied to a quiet belief: that change begins with knowledge and that knowledge begins with access. But then the war began, and the world she was building collapsed overnight. “We had to cross Al-Rasheed Street, stepping over bodies and bloodstained debris,” she says. “That scene was so horrific, I was left speechless for a full day unable to talk or cry.” Noor was displaced with her family to Rafah. Her role shifted radically and immediately. No longer just a student or a content strate...

Carrying Water, Carrying Wounds: Asma’a Abdu Before the war, Asma’a Abdu’s life was shaped by literature and dreams of progress. A graduate of English Literature from the Islamic University of Gaza, she spent her days in an office coordinating projects at UCASTI, crafting reports and organizing activities within the calm rhythm of professional life. But when the genocide began, the script of her life was rewritten with sirens, rubble, and grief. Now, Asma’a works on the frontlines as a project coordinator with Sameer Project, a humanitarian relief organization delivering life-saving support to Gaza’s most devastated communities. “The change was not easy,” she recalls. “I went from sitting in a calm, beautiful office to standing in the middle of the field, looking into people’s eyes, listening to their grief, and feeling it deeply, because I was one of them too.” What propelled her into this work was not ambition, but a calling born of agony. “People were forced into a need they nev...

 Brushstrokes and Seedlings: Noura Al-Qassassiya In the heart of Gaza’s shifting ruins, Noura Al-Qassassiya holds a brush in one hand and a seedling in the other. A fashion designer by training, Noura never imagined that one day, her creativity would become a lifeline not just for herself, but for those around her. War has redrawn the lines of her identity. oura is now many things at once: artist, caregiver, daughter, emotional anchor, and displaced woman navigating the unthinkable. Her life is a balancing act performed on broken ground. Her canvas has expanded, from fabrics and sketchbooks to destroyed fields, camp tents, and children's faces. Her life is a balancing act performed on broken ground. When war engulfed Gaza again, Noura didn’t stop working, rather she shifted. She began offering art workshops for displaced children, planting sessions in devastated neighborhoods, and moments of presence for women whose pain had no place to go. Her mission wasn’t just beauty. It w...

A Dream on the Edge of Beginning: Nadra ElTibi A Dream on the Edge of Beginning Before the war came crashing down, 25-year-old Nadra ElTibi was standing at the edge of everything she had worked for. She had just graduated with pride, preparing to begin her new job as a schoolteacher and psychological counselor. But the moment that filled her with the most anticipation was something else entirely. “I was on the verge of a big dream,” she said. “I was going to become a mother after waiting for so many years. I had frozen my embryos… and I was so close.” Her voice holds both strength and sorrow. That dream -delicate, hopeful, deeply personal- was violently interrupted when the war began.   A Bomb, a Bag, and an Ending From the first day of the war, everything changed.  “The center where I was preserving my chance at motherhood was bombed,” Nadra recalled. “Everything was gone in a moment.”  She packed a small bag, left her home, and fled. People she loved were killed. F...

In a dim room somewhere in Gaza, lit only by what the sun allows through solar panels, Nour Alyacoubi works. She is a mother to a two-year-old girl, a wife, a translator by profession, and a writer by necessity. Before the war, she spent her days translating. Quietly, intentionally. But when the bombs began to fall, so did the distance between her words and the world. Writing was no longer a hobby. It became a lifeline. A duty. A form of resistance carved not in slogans, but in the heavy weight of truth. “I realized that my words could reach places I physically couldn’t,” she says. “And that writing was no longer just a hobby, it became a lifeline.” Nour doesn’t call herself a journalist. But she documents what others don’t. She listens. She writes. She translates pain, whether hers and others’, into sentences. Writing, for her, is more than a task. It is a form of psychosocial debrief, a deeply personal effort to process the unbearable. It is how she documents the days of their lives,...

Threaded in Survival: Yara’s Story Through Tatreez When war shattered the rhythms of Gaza, Yara Alshawa didn’t reach for safety but for threads. A 23-year-old law graduate with a deep belief in the power of community, Yara found herself grasping for something to hold onto amid the noise of airstrikes and the silence of loss. What she reached for wasn’t just fabric or color; it was  tatreez , the centuries-old art of Palestinian embroidery. A language of memory. A ritual of resilience. Out of grief, displacement, and a deep need for grounding, she created  Tatreez and Tales ,  an initiative that blends storytelling with embroidery to create spaces of connection, identity, and collective memory for displaced youth. Her hands, once trembling with fear, began crafting something powerful: a safe space stitched in culture and love. In a city reeling from destruction,  tatreez  became her language of memory. A ritual of resilience. A quiet, unshakable form of resi...