Post-Tent Life: Gaza’s Children Struggle for Survival Amid Rubble and Deprivation
With the sunrise over the sprawling displacement tents west of Gaza City, 12-year-old Hamza Juha prepares for his grueling daily task, carrying an old bag on his shoulder while walking beside his younger brother Ahmed, 9. As they pass piles of rubble and debris, they focus on collecting leftover wood, paper, and plastic pieces used to fuel the clay oven their mother sets up near the tent. There, she bakes small loaves of bread—the family’s only source of food after their father lost his job on their farm in the destroyed Zeitoun neighborhood.
Hamza, searching among the stones, says: “Every morning my brother and I look for anything to light our mother’s clay oven so she can bake bread for the displaced people for a small fee. This work has become our family’s livelihood.” Ahmed shyly adds: “Even a small piece of paper becomes a treasure for us.” With every pile they gather, pride lights up their faces, as if they are achieving a small victory in the struggle to survive.[1]
From Hamza to Bilal
A few meters away, a similar scene unfolds differently. At the destroyed gate of the Islamic University, 10-year-old Bilal Amir shouts at the top of his lungs: “Halib, dear friends… semolina, Halib!” In front of him is a small plate of sweets made by his mother inside the tent. Sitting on a small, worn plastic chair, he continues calling out to passersby despite the distant sounds of explosions.
Bilal is the eldest of five siblings. His father was injured early in the war and is now bedridden, so his mother took on the responsibility of supporting the family by making sweets. Bilal quietly explains: “I sell semolina fingers from morning until evening. Sometimes I earn 30 shekels, which I use to buy flour and cheese for my sisters.” He notes that buying a small box of cheese for his family gives him more joy than the exhaustion of the entire day.[2]
Karim and His Sister
Across the street, 12-year-old Karim Al-Lidawi raises his voice: “Delicious and sweet, oh Ghraybeh… with ghee and sugar.” Sitting on a concrete block with a plate full of Ghraybeh cookies, he recounts that his father, suffering from heart disease and diabetes, can no longer work, and his older brother was injured during the war. As a result, Karim and his younger brother became street vendors.
“Sometimes I don’t return to the tent until dark. If I don’t sell all the pieces, I can’t buy food,” Karim says, wiping sweat from his forehead. Although he attends an educational tent set up for displaced children, his attendance is limited: “I’m sometimes late because of selling or waiting in water lines.”
His 15-year-old sister Zina helps him prepare the sweets. She says: “I feel like our childhood is lost. Instead of playing or studying, we make and sell sweets. But there’s nothing we can do.” She pauses, then adds: “We grew up too fast. Our childhood was stolen by the war. I don’t even go out to play with my friends; even my dreams have changed—I only dream that Karim sells all the pieces quickly.”[3]
Mothers: The Silent Story
In these scenes, mothers play a pivotal role. One bakes bread in a clay oven, another prepares sweets for her children, and a third stands for hours in water lines. Bilal’s mother says: “It hurts to see my son calling out in the street instead of being at school, but my brother’s injury and my husband’s illness forced us to do this. These semolina fingers are our only source of income.”
She continues, watching him from afar: “Every time I hear his voice in the street, my heart tightens, and sometimes I hide behind the tent and cry. I had dreamed that Bilal would be a distinguished and successful student, not a street vendor.”
She sighs and adds: “We have no other choice. My husband’s injury left us without a provider. My greatest joy is when Bilal returns at the end of the day with a small bag of flour or a few boxes of cheese. In that moment, he is like a husband, a brother, and a provider, even though he is still a child.”[4]
An Educational Expert Warns
Dr. Dardah Al-Sha’er, a professor of education and psychology at Al-Aqsa University, said the ongoing war leaves children with no option but to work. Many families lost their breadwinners or were displaced, turning children into “little bakers” or street vendors.
He told the Palestinian Displacement Observatory: “This is not a temporary experience. Reality forces children to become productive while they still need care.”
The spread of child labor reflects the collapse of the educational system, he added. Schools became shelters, forcing students to trade their right to education for survival. “It’s a double loss,” Al-Sha’er explains. “Children lose not only their day but also their future.”
He warns that this situation will produce a generation with deep problems: “Children of war who work now will carry the scars for years, and they may lose trust in society, creating long-term challenges beyond rebuilding infrastructure.”
He further emphasizes that working children suffer continuous physical exhaustion, making them more prone to illness and injury. “A child carrying firewood or standing for hours under the sun experiences pain beyond their age and endures psychological pressures beyond their capacity.”
He adds: “Besides physical fatigue, there is a deep psychological impact. Children lose their sense of security and may become withdrawn or aggressive. The war forced them to adapt to harsh conditions before their growth is complete, reflecting long-term societal challenges.”
He concludes: “The war stole childhood from these children. If urgent educational and psychological support programs are not provided after the aggression ends, we will face a broken generation without the tools to rebuild society.”[5]
Shocking Numbers
The United Nations reported that Palestinian children in Gaza will be denied education for the third consecutive year due to the war.
UN spokesperson Stéphane Dujarric said at a press conference on Wednesday, August 28: “The new school year is approaching, and Gaza’s children will be denied education for the third consecutive year. Education is a fundamental right that no child should be deprived of.”
He called for protecting children’s right to education in Gaza and stressed the need to reopen schools and ensure Palestinian children can exercise this right, warning that the crisis “threatens the future of an entire generation.”[6]
According to Gaza’s Ministry of Education, more than 630,000 students have been deprived of education since October 7, 2023, with an additional 58,000 children expected to join the first grade this year. Estimates show 25,000 children were killed or injured, including over 10,000 students. About 200 UNRWA schools were turned into shelters, and 70% of them were damaged or destroyed.
A UNRWA report from May 9, 2025, assessing school damage risk based on proximity to affected sites, found that “95.4% of schools in Gaza sustained some level of building damage.”
The report added that “about 88.8% of school buildings in Gaza (501 out of 564) require either full reconstruction or major rehabilitation to resume functioning.”
It concluded that 406 school buildings (72% of total schools) suffered “direct damage” since October 7, 2023.
Despite these challenges, some local initiatives aim to provide education, though resources remain extremely limited.[7]
A Daily Struggle for Survival
As the sun sets, Hamza and Ahmed return to their tent, weighed down with bags full of wood and plastic. Their mother greets them with a faint smile and lights the clay oven. As the bread smoke rises, Hamza places the pile of papers before his mother as if presenting a precious treasure, whispering: “We collected enough today, Mom.”
Amid war rubble and lost childhoods, Gaza’s children continue their daily fight for survival, where a piece of wood or a small box of cheese becomes a symbol of life itself.
