The Gaza Strip groans under pain and grief after an assault that left behind anguish and heartbreak Yet the people of the Strip hold fast to faith and patience as they confront suffering

In the heart of Al-Rimal neighborhood — once full of life — stands today a reality covered in ash and sorrow. A school has been turned into a shelter, and its walls, which once echoed with children’s lessons, now carry the sound of screams and hurried footsteps searching for safety. There, in one corner of this place, sit small children. Their faces appear calm on the surface, but their eyes tell chapters of terror they lived through in long minutes under fire and smoke. Every detail in this place says that war does not only target homes — it targets childhood before anything else.

There are no toys here, no classroom board where dreams once were written. Only thin mats spread on the floor, and small bags that no longer hold books — only what remains of a life.

The children look at one another in silence, as if trying to understand what cannot be understood: Why did their homes turn into rubble? Why has fear become a guest that never leaves their hearts? They are living an age much older than they are — and yet, on their faces, something childlike still resists fading away.

And despite all this sadness, innocence remains present: A child suddenly laughs shyly, a girl tries to fix her hair in front of a broken piece of glass, another holds a doll that has lost one of its arms — yet clings to it as he clings to a sense of safety that once existed here.

These small details are not just passing scenes — they are a clear declaration that life insists on continuing, and that the human spirit can endure even when surrounded by destruction.

"God is with us."

As for the parents, they try to share comfort with their children, even though their own hearts are heavy with wounds. They repeat, “God is with us,” and they truly believe it — not because the road is easy, but because resilience is the only choice they have.

In this place where memory and loss are intertwined, the children learn from an early age the meaning of faith and strength. They grow up faster than they should — yet they do not surrender.

Here in Gaza, pain does not hide faith, and destruction does not erase the ability to rise again. Amid the severe aftermath of the assault, these people emerge time and time again with unwavering presence and unbreakable patience. The children — in their glowing innocence despite everything — are the greatest witness that life is stronger than war.