Displaced Gaza Student Tries to Study Despite Destruction of Universities

Palestinians watch as smoke rises from a building hit by an Israeli strike after a warning from the army to its occupants to evacuate the premises, in the Rimal neighborhood of central Gaza City on August 21, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Hamas movement. (AFP)
Palestinians watch as smoke rises from a building hit by an Israeli strike after a warning from the army to its occupants to evacuate the premises, in the Rimal neighborhood of central Gaza City on August 21, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Hamas movement. (AFP)
TT

Displaced Gaza Student Tries to Study Despite Destruction of Universities

Palestinians watch as smoke rises from a building hit by an Israeli strike after a warning from the army to its occupants to evacuate the premises, in the Rimal neighborhood of central Gaza City on August 21, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Hamas movement. (AFP)
Palestinians watch as smoke rises from a building hit by an Israeli strike after a warning from the army to its occupants to evacuate the premises, in the Rimal neighborhood of central Gaza City on August 21, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Hamas movement. (AFP)

Shahed Abu Omar, 20, was in her third year studying computer science at Gaza’s Al Azhar University when it was reduced to rubble by Israel's military campaign in the Palestinian territory.

She is now one of 90,000 university students left stranded in a war with no end in sight that has damaged or destroyed all 12 of the higher education institutions in the Gaza Strip, according to Palestinian official data.

However, Abu Omar is determined to keep studying, braving a perilous daily journey to reach a stable internet connection that allows her to learn online.

"We cannot go to our university or study away from it," she said, alluding to the difficulty of remote learning with such poor internet connection.

Perched in the rubble of a destroyed house, Abu Omar studies from her mobile phone. Her mother, Hanin Sarour, said they had come to the area to reach an internet connection. The connection, vital to downloading pre-recorded lectures and communicating with professors, was still weak, she said. “Every step is dangerous and difficult,” Sarour added.

Most of Abu Omar's professors are in the Gaza Strip as well, she said, facing the same difficulties their students do.

Abu Omar's final exams are in just two weeks. She fears she will only fall further behind. “I am sure we will lose more than the year that we’ve lost already,” she said.

She dreams of returning to university, sitting in a classroom, and meeting with professors and friends.

The war, now in its 11th month, has also interrupted education for Gaza’s estimated 625,000 school-aged children, leaving them unable to attend classes.

The uncertainty for Abu Omar and students across the small coastal enclave is likely to persist. Even after the war ends, students do not know when universities will reopen, she said.

Despite all the difficulties, Abu Omar will continue to study in the hopes of not losing a whole year. “We are trying to achieve something,” she said.



With Israeli Tanks on the Ground, Lebanese Unable to Bury Dead

Mustafa Ibrahim al-Sayyed, who was displaced from Beit Lif in southern Lebanon saying there was tank fire around when he tried to venture into his home last week after the truce between Israel and Hezbollah, stands next to belongings in Tyre, southern Lebanon November 30, 2024. REUTERS/Aziz Taher
Mustafa Ibrahim al-Sayyed, who was displaced from Beit Lif in southern Lebanon saying there was tank fire around when he tried to venture into his home last week after the truce between Israel and Hezbollah, stands next to belongings in Tyre, southern Lebanon November 30, 2024. REUTERS/Aziz Taher
TT

With Israeli Tanks on the Ground, Lebanese Unable to Bury Dead

Mustafa Ibrahim al-Sayyed, who was displaced from Beit Lif in southern Lebanon saying there was tank fire around when he tried to venture into his home last week after the truce between Israel and Hezbollah, stands next to belongings in Tyre, southern Lebanon November 30, 2024. REUTERS/Aziz Taher
Mustafa Ibrahim al-Sayyed, who was displaced from Beit Lif in southern Lebanon saying there was tank fire around when he tried to venture into his home last week after the truce between Israel and Hezbollah, stands next to belongings in Tyre, southern Lebanon November 30, 2024. REUTERS/Aziz Taher

When a ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah came into effect last week, Lebanese hotelier Abbas al-Tannoukhi leapt at the chance to bury a dead relative in their southern hometown of Khiyam, battered for weeks by intense clashes.

Tannoukhi's cousin had been killed in one of the final Israeli airstrikes on Beirut's suburbs before Wednesday's ceasefire, which stipulated an end to fighting so residents on both sides of the border could return home.

But with Israeli troops still deployed in southern Lebanon, Tannoukhi coordinated his movements with Lebanon's army. Last Friday, he and his relatives pulled into the family graveyard in Khiyam, six km (four miles) from the border, with an ambulance carrying his cousin's body.

"We just needed 30 minutes (to bury her)," Tannoukhi, 54, said. "But we were surprised when Israeli tanks encircled us - and that's when the gunfire started."

Tannoukhi fled with his relatives on foot through the brush, wounding his hand as he scrambled between rocks and olive groves to reach safety at a checkpoint operated by Lebanese troops.

Soon afterwards, they tried to reach the graveyard again but said they were fired on a second time. Shaky footage filmed by Tannoukhi features sprays of gunfire.

"We couldn't bury her. We had to leave her body there in the ambulance. But we will try again," he told Reuters.

The ordeal highlights the bitterness and confusion for residents of southern Lebanon who have been unable to return home because Israeli troops are still present on Lebanese territory.

Israel's military has issued orders to residents of 60 southern Lebanese towns not to return home, saying they are prohibited from accessing their hometowns until further notice.

The US-brokered ceasefire deal grants both Lebanon and Israel the right to self-defense, but does not include provisions on a buffer zone or restrictions for residents.

"Why did we go back? Because there's a ceasefire," Tannoukhi said. "It's a halt to hostilities. And it is a natural right for a son of the south to go to his house."

The Israeli military did not immediately respond to requests for comment.

PEACE OF MIND

The ceasefire brought an end to over a year of hostilities between Israel and Lebanese armed group Hezbollah, which began firing rockets at Israeli military targets in 2023 in support of its Palestinian ally Hamas in Gaza.

Israel went on the offensive in September, bombing swathes of Lebanon's south, east and the southern suburbs of Beirut. More than 1.2 million people fled their homes.

After the 60-day ceasefire came into effect last Wednesday, residents of Beirut's suburbs returned home to vast destruction, and some Lebanese from the south were able to return to homes further away from the border.

But both sides began accusing each other of breaking the deal, with Israel saying suspicious movements in villages along the south constituted violations and Lebanon's army pointing to Israeli tank fire and airstrikes as breaches.

Mustafa Ibrahim al-Sayyed, a father of 12, was hoping to return home to Beit Lif, about two km from the border.

But nearly a week into the ceasefire, he is still living at a displacement shelter near Tyre, a coastal city about 25 km from the border.

He tried to venture home alone last week, but as soon as he arrived, there was tank fire around the town and he received a warning on his phone that his town was in the Israeli military's "no-go" zone.

Sayyed is still stuck in displacement and wants to get home.

"I hope we go back to our town so we can get peace of mind," he said.