Shaimaa KhalilBBC News, Jerusalem
BBCIn Gaza City, the voice of children learning can be heard again.
The tents that now serve as classrooms are noisy and a bit messy but vibrant. Some teachers teach on boards covered with English letters; others invite students to go ahead and write basic Arabic words.
This is nowhere near a normal school day. But after the Israel-Hamas ceasefire in October, it’s a start.
After two years of war, the hum of lessons and conversations among classmates echoes around the ruins of the former Lulwa Abdel Wahab al-Qatami School, in the Tel al-Hawa neighborhood in the southwestern part of Gaza City.
It was hit in January 2024, and for months afterward, its grounds served as shelter for displaced families. Today, it is once again a place of learning – albeit in a more basic form.
Walking in a straight line, their small arms resting on each other’s shoulders, the students smiled as they made their way to the makeshift classrooms.
For many, it was the first return to routine and education since the war began.
According to Unicef, more than 97% of schools in Gaza have been damaged or destroyed during the war. The IDF has made repeated claims that Hamas uses civilian infrastructure including schools to conduct operations but has rarely provided hard evidence.
Of the 658,000 children who attend school in the Strip, most have had no formal education for nearly two years. During that time, many learned firsthand how hunger, displacement and death could shape their young lives. Now, something strange emerges: a faint glimpse of the childhoods they once knew.
14-year-old Naeem al-Asmaar attended this school before it was destroyed. He lost his mother in an Israeli air strike during the war.
“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through,” he said quietly.
Although he was homeless for months, Naeem’s house in Gaza City was spared. After the ceasefire, he returned with his family.
“I miss school so much,” Naeem said, adding that the difference was obvious.
“Before the war, school was in real classrooms,”
“Now it’s tents. We only study four subjects. There’s not enough space. Education is not the same – but being here is important. School fills all my time and I need that.”
Rital Alaa Harb, a ninth grade student who also studies here, wants to become a dentist.
“The displacement completely affected my education,” he said. “No time to study. No schools. I miss my friends so much – and I miss my old school.”
The makeshift school is run by Unicef and brings together children from the original school in Lulwa and others lost in the war.
It does not teach the full Palestinian curriculum – only the basics: Arabic, English, math and science.
The principal, Dr Mohammed Saeed Schheiber, has worked in education for 24 years. He took over the site in mid-November.
“We started with the determination,” he said, “to compensate the students for what they lost.”
The school currently serves 1,100 boys and girls, operating in three shifts a day – with the boys attending school on alternating days from the girls. There are only 24 teachers.
“Before the war,” said Dr Schheiber, “our students learned in fully equipped schools – science laboratories, computer laboratories, internet access, educational resources. Everything is gone.”
There is no electricity here. There is no internet. And many children struggle with trauma.
More than 100 students at the school lost one or both parents, had their homes destroyed, or witnessed killings during the war. Overall, says Dr Schheiber, every student is affected – directly or indirectly.
A counselor now runs psychological support sessions, trying to help the children process what they are going through.
Despite the effort, demand exceeds capacity.
“We have more than a thousand students here already,” said Dr Schheiber. “But there are only six classrooms per shift. There is a huge displacement camp next to the school – families from northern and eastern Gaza. Many children want to enroll. We cannot take them at all.”
For parents, going back to school brings relief as well as anxiety.
Huda Bassam al-Dasouki, a mother of five displaced people from southern Rimal, says education has become a major challenge.
“It’s not that education doesn’t exist,” he said. “It is very difficult.”
Even before the war, schools struggled with shortages, he said. Today, basic supplies are inaccessible or unavailable.
“A notebook that cost one shekel ($0.31; £0.23) before the war now costs five,” he said. “I have five children.”
Some children, he said, fell four years later, including the time lost during the Covid pandemic.
“My son can’t read. He can’t write. He doesn’t know how to copy from the blackboard,” she said.
Unicef says the situation is exacerbated by restrictions on aid supplies entering Gaza.
Standing outside one of the school’s tents, Jonathan Crickx, a Unicef spokesman, pointed out what was missing.
“Paper, notebooks, pens, erasers, rulers… we have been asking for a long time for these supplies to enter the Gaza Strip and they have not been allowed in. It is the same as mental health and psychosocial recreational kits – toy kits that can be used to do mental health activities and recreational activities with children,” he said.
An Israeli security official referred us to the prime minister’s office, which did not respond to the BBC’s questions.
Israel says it is fulfilling its obligations under the cease-fire agreement with Hamas and is facilitating more aid deliveries. The UN and many aid agencies dispute that, accusing Israel of continuing to block access to essential supplies.
Despite the ceasefire, Israel’s bombardment of Gaza continues – with almost daily strikes – in response to Hamas’ alleged violations of the agreement. Still, the kids keep coming.
For Kholoud Habib, a school teacher, that determination speaks volumes.
“Education is our foundation,” he said. “As Palestinians, this is our capital.
“We lost houses. We lost money. We lost everything,” he added. “But knowledge – knowledge is an investment that we can still give to our children.”