By the time Sharifa Aldremly’s family arrived in Rafah last December, her children had been without school for nearly three months. Israel had bombed their Gaza City home two days into the military’s assault on the besieged Strip, forcing them to take shelter in a hospital for a grueling month. Once that hospital came under siege, the family joined an exodus of doctors, patients, and displaced people. A bombing of their crowded apartment building in Al-Nuseirat camp, followed by Israeli evacuation orders, sent them fleeing once again.
In Nuseirat, Aldremly had struggled to find a school for her children. After her family found relative safety in Rafah, which is the southernmost part of the Gaza Strip, she decided to take matters into her own hands.
“I used to spend at least three hours a day teaching my children,” she told The Intercept, juggling their lessons alongside domestic tasks, like cooking and heating water, that had become much more taxing amid the war. “It was incredibly challenging.”
By that point, schools across Gaza had been transformed into shelters for displaced people. Over the past 13 months, the Israeli army has destroyed 93 percent of Gaza’s schools and educational institutions, suspending formal education for an entire generation in what United Nations experts have dubbed a “scholasticide.” Gaza’s Ministry of Education reports that approximately 650,000 school-aged students, 200,000 higher education students, and 35,000 children enrolled in kindergarten have had their schooling disrupted, while Israel has killed 11,600 school-age children and injured tens of thousands more.
In September, the Palestinian Ministry of Education in the West Bank launched e-schools for students in Gaza to allow them to continue their education online. Frequent internet and electricity blackouts, however, have made that impossible for countless people in Gaza; even those who escaped to Egypt continue to struggle with access to schooling.
Parents like Aldremly, intent on maintaining a semblance of education for their young children, are turning to informal arrangements offered by out-of-work teachers and volunteers instead.
Aldremly’s 9-year-old son Yousef used to be a top student, she recalled, but two months into the war, he was struggling to write his name. The war has taken a psychological toll on him and his 11-year-old sister, Fatina, their mother said.
“Their focus has been severely affected,” Aldremly said. “It’s a psychological issue.”
Photo: Courtesy of Sharifa Aldremly
Displacement Shelters as Schools
Yousef and Fatina have witnessed a lot. When Israeli soldiers fired artillery shells at their building in Nuseirat last December, Aldremly’s leg was wounded while two of her husband’s relatives were killed. After several months in Rafah, Israel’s invasion of the area — where more than 1 million Palestinians were living — forced the family to pick up and leave once again. In May, they returned to Nuseirat, to the same room in the same building they had stayed last year.
With formal schools still closed, many volunteers and nonprofit organizations have launched educational initiatives for displaced students. But it was not easy for Aldremly to find a spot for her children in Nuseirat.
“I came across some educational initiatives run by NGOs and activists teaching students in tents. But they were full and could not accept my children,” she said.
Eventually, Aldremly found Aya Hasan, a displaced English teacher who was sheltering nearby and offering lessons to families in the area.
Hasan told The Intercept that she started teaching her own children, 10-year-old Imad Aldain, 7-year-old Nadia, and 5-year-old Adam after they fled from Gaza City. Later, many displaced families asked her to teach their children.
At first, Hasan would visit families’ tents for lessons. Then the owner of Aldremly’s 35-apartment building offered Hasan a small space free of charge, allowing her to teach displaced children in the area for very minimal fees. Hasan had lost her job as a teacher and translator because of the war, she said, and the classes were the sole source of income for her family of five. She would charge students two shekels ($0.54) per class, earning around 700 shekels a month.
“I taught 30 students English, Arabic, and math using enjoyable methods,” she said. “It was a stress reliever for them more than an educational experience, as there were no books and notes.”
Teaching against the backdrop of war was not without its challenges. “The space was small as more than 100 were sheltering in the same basement without any electricity or good ventilation. The lack of internet was a huge challenge as I needed it to play some educational songs or videos. I really hoped I had internet to follow up with my students after classes,” Hasan added.
“When bombings occurred during classes, the children became frightened. Some would run away, while others clung to my hands. I was scared of the bombings too.”
“All I dream of is to return to our house in Gaza.”
Though Aldremly’s children attended classes with Hasan, it was no substitute for traditional schooling, especially given the added horrors of war.
Photo: Courtesy of Sharifa Aldremly
Fatina frequently reminisces about her old school in Gaza City.
“There was a football field and a basketball court,” Fatina told The Intercept. “When we fled, I didn’t take my new school uniform and bag. I benefited from the teacher [Hasan], but the same time last year, I was in my school. All I dream of is to return to our house in Gaza.”
On October 4, Israel abruptly bombed the building the family was sheltered in. Along with more than 700 others, they were forced to seek new shelter yet again. With about 90 percent of Gaza’s population internally displaced and large swaths of the Strip totally destroyed, finding a new place to live is a challenge of its own. After some struggles, Aldremly was able to secure a tent in Al-Zawayda village, in the middle of the Strip. There, she’s found classes for her children in local tents.
Hasan, meanwhile, has yet to find another place to teach displaced children.
No Status in Egypt
More than 105,000 Palestinians escaped the war to Egypt, where many continue to face challenges accessing education and other services. That’s in large part because, upon fleeing Gaza, Egypt granted them only a 45-day visa that was not renewed. That means they have no legal status in the country and cannot enroll their children in public schools, open bank accounts, or subscribe to internet services.
One Palestinian from Gaza who arrived in Egypt in April with his two children described to The Intercept the hurdles he’s encountered trying to put his 6- and 9-year-old sons in school. He asked The Intercept to withhold publishing his name, citing fears for his safety.
“I visited multiple public schools and the Ministry of Education in Al-Obour City [outside of Cairo], only to be told we don’t accept Palestinian children without residency,” he told The Intercept. Private schools, meanwhile, are out of reach. He said one school he looked into charges 280,000 Egyptian pounds ($5,740) per year, While another asked for 149,000 Egyptian pounds ($3,050).
“Imagine, we have lost everything in the war. How can we afford that?” he said. “They said they’d allow my children to register, but without a [completion] certificate if they did not have legal residency.”
After five months, he managed to find a new school in Cairo for Palestinian children that teaches the Palestinian curriculum free of charge. His kids are currently attending — but only after his oldest child had already lost a full year of school.
Another option for Palestinians in Egypt is Al-Azhar, a renowned Islamic institute. Some parents have enrolled their children in its schools but have struggled to adjust to the curriculum, which is heavily focused on religious studies.
“My children are not familiar with the new curriculum. It took them five months to achieve a little progress,” Fedaa Awni told The Intercept. She is in Egypt with two school-age daughters, while her husband remains stuck in Gaza.
Her 13-year-old daughter, Salma Imad, who has been attending Al-Azhar in Alexandria for five months, said that adapting to the new curriculum has been challenging.
“The religious classes are many, but the other subjects are fine. I still prefer the Palestinian curriculum. My Egyptian teachers are kind and the school is good, but my school in Gaza was bigger and more beautiful,” she told The Intercept.
The online classes offered by the Palestinian Education Ministry aren’t an option for Awni’s children.
“I don’t have stable internet, nor do I have laptops or iPads, and my technological knowledge is very limited. I’ve never even sent an email,” she said.
Besides, she thinks online teaching isn’t as effective as in-person instruction. Many students from Gaza who are taking online classes while in Egypt are doing it just to get the certificate, she said, but they’re supplementing their schooling with private lessons. Her 9-year-old daughter, Siba, views these challenges — especially her father’s absence — through a different lens.
“I want to keep studying for two reasons,” she told The Intercept. “First, for my father. I want to make him proud of me. Second, to challenge Israel. They destroyed our schools to make us uneducated.”
