Gaza's traumatized youth search for glimmers of hope in devastated homeland

Amna Nawaz:

This week in Gaza, the cease-fire between Israel and Hamas is again under strain. Continued Israeli strikes drew criticism yesterday from the head of the U.S.-backed Board of Peace. And, this week, even the simple joy of flying a kite sparked fear on both sides of the border.

Nick Schifrin is back with a look at ordinary life in Gaza under still extraordinary circumstances.

Nick Schifrin:

For a moment, it could be anywhere in the world, two young surfers beckoning the call of the waves. In Gaza, where much of life is war, the Mediterranean offers a place to breathe and escape, where 19-year-old Ibrahim Olastof (ph) and 18-year-old Khalil Abu Jayyab can feel a lot.

Khalil Abu Jayyab, Gazan Surfer (through interpreter):

There's nothing to give you hope here except the ocean. If there was no sea in Gaza, there would be no life.

Nick Schifrin:

But life finds a way with the help of dreams. They want to surf professionally, chase swells beyond these blockaded shores.

Khalil Abu Jayyab (through interpreter):

We surf because it allows us to feel a sense of freedom and gives us time to forget all our struggles.

Nick Schifrin:

On the board, it's not all struggle. There's a little bit of showing off. The boards are older than they are. Israel has banned Gaza from importing surfboards for nearly 20 years. But in this moment, all that matters is the ride.

Khalil Abu Jayyab (through interpreter):

There's a notion from people outside Gaza that we don't like joy or peace, but that's just not true.

Nick Schifrin:

Thirteen-year-old Omar Halawa's joy and peace comes when he combines a wooden frame, a little string, and colored paper into what he calls his stress relief.

The family says he lost his leg in an Israeli strike. Ever since, he's turned to kites, a yellow hexagon with a tail in a blue sky over a tent city providing him and his sister a fleeting feeling of freedom.

Omar Halawa, Child in Gaza (through interpreter): Because of the drones, they'll bomb the kites. We've taken it down so a missile doesn't hit us. We're not doing anything. We're just playing.

Nick Schifrin:

In Gaza, playing can be a rare commodity. Kites have long been a source of fun, even wonder, especially today, flying over Gaza's canvas homes.

Yasmeen is Omar's mother.

Yasmeen Halawa, Mother of Omar Halawa (through interpreter): After Omar was injured, he began flying kites. He would make the kites, fly them and wish he was like a kite flying in the sky and going wherever he wants to go after losing his leg.

Nick Schifrin:

But kites have also been used in fiery protest. Back in 2018, young Gazans launched incendiary kites into Israel, sometimes burning fields attached to Southern Israeli communities.

This week, those communities launched their own protests, demanding Israel dismantle Hamas and warning that ordinary kites that recently flew over the border were tests by Hamas' government.

Last year's cease-fire was designed to remove Hamas from power and rebuild the Strip. So far, it has not. And it was also supposed to stop the killings. But the U.N. says, since the cease-fire, more than 1,200 Palestinians in Gaza have been killed.

This spring, the U.N. Independent International Commission of Inquiry repeated its accusation that Israel committed genocide in Gaza. Israel rejects that and blames civilian casualties on Hamas operating from civilian infrastructure.

And Israel accuses Hamas of trying to rebuild its military capabilities and says recent targets include Hamas commanders who participated in the October 7 terrorist attack. Gazans are still suffering the war launched by Israel after that day.

Last month, they held a mass funeral for 112 members of a single extended family, 40 of them children, whose bodies had been buried beneath the rubble for nearly three years, all witnessed by Gaza's children.

Layan Alquqa, Child in Gaza (through interpreter): Here in Gaza, we are not just numbers that are written into news stories. We are human beings with names, homes, dreams, and a family that loves you.

Nick Schifrin:

Layan Alquqa is 11, an age when the world should be full of wonder. In Gaza, it's mostly full of wounds.

Layan Alquqa (through interpreter):

There are a lot of children who died because of fear. Can you imagine children dying from how scared they are? There are a lot of martyred children and a lot of orphaned children. I was shocked to learn how these children will live without a mom and dad.

Nick Schifrin:

But, sometimes, even surrounded by grief, children get to be children again and share stories on Instagram.

She has no freezer, so she found a way to make watermelon ice cream. And she says Gaza has no international support, so she found an advocate 2,000 miles to the West, Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez. And a child's voice carried through the phone crossed borders.

Pedro Sanchez, Spanish Prime Minister (through interpreter):

To Layan, all the children of Gaza and your families, I want to tell you something very simple, and it's this. All of Spain hears you, sees you, and cares for you, and doesn't forget about you.

Nick Schifrin:

For Gazans, forgetting is impossible. Turning trauma into art can help heal scars.

Sarah is 15, whose work focuses on women carrying the weight of war, yearning for a home that now lives only in memory.

Sara Fadel Sada, Gazan Artist (through interpreter):

I went to Beit Lahia a while ago and tried to get to my house, but it was completely gone. I wasn't able to reach it. I wasn't even able to sense home anymore. There were no humans, no life. There's no hope that it will ever go back to what it was.

Nick Schifrin:

Twenty-year-old Noura Al-Qassasa feels like she paints to survive. Her work's been displayed in Britain, Turkey, and even the U.S.

Noura Al-Qassasa, Gazan Artist (through interpreter):

This one is between life and death. I used red, black, and white because we didn't know if we were even living or not. This is a pigeon with a target on it because we are all targets. And it also shows our stolen freedom. This one talks about the occupation and that we dream of living in peace.

Nick Schifrin:

Peace might be out of reach, but art can help the traumatized cope. And stealing moments of joy can help the healing.

For the "PBS News Hour," I'm Nick Schifrin.