April 21, 2026, will remain etched in history forever. Alhamdullah, we have officially opened the first library to be built during the genocide in Gaza. I survived, even after all my expectations had utterly failed. I never imagined that I would stand here among you today; I never imagined that I would soar once again. Like a phoenix, I have risen, carrying in my right hand a legacy that refused to die, and in my left, the very ashes with which epics of steadfastness were written. When the ink ran dry, I wrote with what remained; the ink dried, and blood flowed, so that our first lines were written by a martyr—a witness to our undying struggle. In Gaza, building a library during a genocide is an act that rises to the level of liberation—perhaps, it is liberation itself. Every book I carried on my shoulders while displaced, and every book I rescued from the rubble, was a stolen homeland. A homeland whose pages they tore, yet the hope of reclaiming it remains alive within us for as long as we live. Because our Palestinian curriculum and educational system are monitored by the Israeli occupation, we must read. We must read so that we do not become machines fashioned by their hands. We must break free from this 'factory' and become like the olive trees—plants that found their path through the soil of Palestine, emerging in the most beautiful form of struggle and resilience. In an age obsessed with valuing knowledge based on its material return, I was forced to fight many battles to convince those who argued with me amidst the shelling: 'What good will these books do you? Why do you take them with you every time you are displaced?' Perhaps they were right; at that time, a loaf of bread was more precious and costly than anything else. But I held a deep, unshakable faith that I would be here one day. Someone once told me: 'There is a hand that, were it not for its vigilance, we would perish.' He passed away, but my left hand remained, writing and writing and writing, until today I have three books—and a wound that never heals. In closing, I wish to thank every human being who had a hand in the Phoenix’s rebirth. -Omar Hamad.

With great sorrow, Al-Anqa Library, which rose from the ashes and soared, is on the verge of closing due to exorbitant operating costs—rent, electricity, water, and internet. I have all hope in you to support the library so that it may continue. Do not let the phoenix return to the ashes; do not let this place, which serves as a sanctuary for all poets, writers, and readers in Gaza, be closed. Please help us keep going. Please donate and share the campaign. chuffed.org/project/200344-e…

When all the children applauded, I felt something so beautiful—something I had never felt in my entire life. One of them, who was seeing me for the very first time, told me: "I love you, Uncle." I held back my tears in front of him and hugged him. Perhaps he said it because he had been deprived of happiness for so long and felt truly happy inside the Phoenix Library. I don't even know why my tears wanted to flow. All I want is for our children to truly live their childhood, just like any other child in this world. The children's cinema inside the Phoenix Library was a truly beautiful experience, and it will now become a permanent event, InShaAllah.

I can hardly describe the joy and happiness of the children today as they watched the movie Coco at @phoenixlibrary1 . They were on cloud nine, and I was just as immersed, feeling completely detached from reality for two hours. A simple initiative was all it took to bring back a sense of life, if only for a few moments, far from the nightmares of destruction and shelling left behind by the Israeli occupation in our minds and the minds of our children. Honestly, for the first time in my life, I want to thank myself. Seeing those smiles on the children's faces is truly the greatest treasure in life.

لم تعد بيوت غزة ملاذاً بل مقابر مؤجلة آيلة للسقوط. ومع أعتاب الشتاء، يعيش الآلاف رعب الانهيار القادم بعدما أُجبروا على الاحتماء بأسقف مكسورة كخيار أخير للستر.

This young girl's name is Hayat. She is truly one of the smartest children. I was reading to her from The Adventure of the Empty House from the Sherlock Holmes series. The remarkable thing was that she understood the explanation in a completely different way—one entirely distinct from how I personally, or any other child or youth for that matter, would think. After I finished explaining the first chapter, I asked her to write a summary of what she understood. What shocked me most was that her summary was a reflection of her deep comprehension rather than a mere condensation of the chapter; it was an implicit, nuanced piece of writing that is difficult for anyone to grasp on the first read. Hayat represents many children who have been deprived of reading and education, yet are remarkably intelligent and gifted. They are simply waiting for the right person to come along, take them by the hand, and place them at the foot of the ladder so they can begin their journey. Every child in Gaza deserves the right to learn.