I may starve to death before I can graduate in Gaza Israel’s conflict and the two

On July 27, the Palestinian Ministry of Education issued the results of the secondary education certificate exams, also known as Tawjihi. Like every year, families sat together, eyes installed on the phone screens, anxiety hearts, and everyone who hopes to be the first to arrive at the ministry’s website and break the news with a cheering screaming. There were tears of joy and celebrations.

Thousands of students, who suffered from months of pressure, nights without sleep and fragile hope, had the results of the exam in their hands would determine whether they could continue their education.

But thousands of others – those in Gaza – were sitting in their tents and their destroyed homes. I am one of them. This is the second year, along with 31,000 Palestinians born in 2006, he was unable to take Tawjihi. For another year, we were stripped of our right to continue our education and hope to build a future that exceeds the rubble. Now, approximately 40,000 students born in 2007 joined us, who are also stuck in this horrific forgetfulness.

Last year, when the results of Tawjihi were announced, stumbled in front of a fire fire near a torn tent, which is very small to carry my big dreams. The deep frustration that I felt did not fade – I settled in my mind and stayed. All I was thinking about is how all my sacrifices, my tears, and uncomfortable efforts during a whole year of study under difficult circumstances were nothing.

This year, it seems worse. My dreams are not only crushed in education, but I am now struggling to preserve myself and my family alive, because Gaza is starving to death.

In these two years, I watched our destroyed educational system, according to the semester. My school, Shazda Al -Hoicarat, which was previously a place of learning and dreams, became the first displaced family of housing, then a target for Israeli bombing. My school bag – which was full of laptops and academic materials – is now carrying basic documents and changing clothes, always packed and ready if we have to escape from our home again. The academic calendar, with all its important dates, was replaced by a dark table of weather strikes, displacement, and the loss of friends and loved ones.

Amid this destruction, the Ministry of Education has struggled to maintain an educational process. The desire to give children and youth in Gaza has taken various initiatives to try to keep students enthusiastic. Temporary schools were organized whenever possible, while some university students were able to continue their education online.

For us, Tawjihi students have made efforts repeatedly to create our exams. Last year, the ministry announced that it would take exams in February. I was studying, despite the harsh reality and the collapse of everything around me, believing that this is my chance to move forward.

February passed, and nothing happened. Then the ministry announced that the exams will be held in April. But again, they were postponed due to unsafe conditions. After that, in June, the ministry set an online exam for July for students born in 2005 who failed either in my directive or missed some of its exams; They were supposed to do this test in December 2023. About 1500 students managed to take online tests.

This gave me a little hope that my role will come as well, but this faded quickly. The Ministry of Education has not given us any updates on this process, and it seems that we have completely forgotten in light of war and hunger.

Some readers may ask themselves, why amid the genocide, are the Palestinians busy with an exam?

You have to understand, Tawjihi is a milestone in the life of every Palestinian – a decisive moment that constitutes at least future paths in the next five years. It determines whether we can continue our education in this field that we want and we get admission to the best universities.

But behind academics, Tawjihi carries a deeper cultural and emotional weight. It is not just an educational stage – it’s part of our identity, a symbol of perseverance. In a place where the occupation closes almost every door, education can maintain some of the doors that are still open.

For this reason we celebrate it like a national holiday; The results of Tawjihi appear to be launched as if it were a third day for the Palestinians. It gives families hope, brings pride to the entire neighborhoods, and keeps a better future dream.

For the many months she waited for Tawjihi, she held a dream to study medicine at a prestigious university abroad. I have applied for scholarships and sending emails to universities throughout the United States, the United Kingdom and Europe, in the hope of looking in particular as a student affected by the war. I appealed with university officials to give up the requirements of a guidance certificate.

But the responses were painfully consistent: “Unfortunately, we cannot think about your request unless your final diploma is presented.”

Today, despair and impotence are not the only unwanted visitors. Hunger is another. I have destroyed hunger not only my body, but also my mental health.

In most days, we managed to have one meal. We often remain on canned beans, dry bread or rice without any vegetables or protein. Our bodies are weak, our faces are pale, and our energy is almost not present. The effects go beyond materialism. Hunger disturbs the brain, possesses memory and crushes the motivation. It becomes almost impossible to focus, not to mention the study to take a test that changes life like Tawjihi. How can I prepare for the most important exam in my life when my stomach is empty and my mind is cloudy with fatigue and anxiety?

It seems as if my youth were stolen in front of my eyes, and I can do nothing but watch. While my colleagues around the world build their future, I am still stuck in a place of overwhelming pain and loss.

As a student of Tawjihi trapped in an ivyard area, I invite educational authorities and international institutions urgently to intervene and implement immediate solutions to ensure that our right to education is buried under the ruins of the war.

We do not ask for much. Giving us an opportunity to end our secondary education in Gaza is not just a logistical issue, but the issue of justice and survival in the future.

The opinions expressed in this article are the author of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of the editorial island.