Marah Al-Za’anin Paints a Window to Life with Her Brush Limited Colors and Trembling Lines Turn Paintings into a Safe Space

Inside a worn-out tent at a school turned shelter, Marah Al-Za’anin, 18, stands holding her brush as if holding a window to life. Around her, children watch in silence—not because the scene is familiar, but because hope here is crafted with difficulty. A painting is hung on the fabric of the tent, yet in truth, it is hung on the wall of the soul, declaring that beauty is still possible, even in the heart of rubble.

Marah is not an artist seeking fame, but a displaced young woman searching for meaning. Since her home was taken from her, she found in painting a way to survive—not only the war, but fear and despair as well. Her limited colors become a safe space, and her trembling lines draw what words failed to express: We are here, and we are still alive.

A Silent Lesson in Resilience

The children gathered around her are not merely watching a painting; they are learning a silent lesson in resilience. Their eyes shine as they see how a piece of charcoal or a faded color can create another world—one without aircraft or the sound of shelling, but with blue skies and smiling faces. In those moments, the tent turns into a studio, and the shelter into a collective dream.

Despite the fragile truce that has partially halted the fighting, anxiety remains present in every detail of daily life. Mutual accusations of violations keep fear suspended in the air. Yet Marah and those around her chose not to wait for complete peace to live. They create their small miracles now—with color, patience, and an unbreakable determination.

Thus, in northern Gaza, miracles are made with cold hands and warm hearts. They do not require noise or speeches, but a human being who believes that art, like life, can be born from the rubble. Marah’s painting may not stop a war, but it saves a day—perhaps a childhood—and that alone is a victory.