What Gaza Has Taught Me

"In Gaza, I learned to let go of the world and not to be attached to it more than necessary."

Palestinian children wait for food at Bureij refugee camp in central Gaza. EYAD BABA / AFP - Getty Images

Living through this ongoing genocide has taught me that even places can become teachers.

But I do not mean “place” in a merely geographical sense—I mean the experience that you can only acquire by being in that place. This is the very experience through which God Almighty chose our beloved prophet Muhammad ﷺ to be in Mecca: to teach people the essence of Divine Oneness, and through which He chose for the Prophet to be in Medina: to teach people how to live that Oneness.

In our narrow, human, limited view, we may see a place as just a piece of land, but according to the knowledge of God, a place can be a pedagogical experience—a teacher. And the more you move through the world with divine awareness—aware that every breath, step, and stillness unfolds with God's subtle commands—the more the Divine teaching unveils itself to you.

This is why, for example, someone may live in Britain for thirty years and then spend only two days in Gaza, yet in only those two days, their soul can learn more, and their heart can gain more insight, than in all the years they spent elsewhere.

Prophet Jonah, peace be upon him, had to enter the belly of the whale so that God might inspire him with the remembrance: “There is no god but You—glory be to You! Indeed, I was among the wrongdoers.” This invocation was so profound that God preserved it in His Book and made it a key to relief for all who recite it, across all place and time.

Prophet Joseph, peace be upon him, was destined to end up in Egypt while enduring the painful betrayal of his brothers, but it was there that he would acquire the knowledge of dream interpretation and it was there he become an exalted person of status. He was destined to be there to receive God's careful plan for him.

This is true for you, too, even in the minute details of life: every place your feet carry you, if your soul is not spiritually rising, then it is a dark place, incapable of revealing to you the sweetness of God’s mercy and His intimate, tailored teachings.

As for Gaza specifically, I cannot help but reflect on how much Gaza has taught my soul to discover itself. Gaza made me realize that the soul is a vast and that the majestic realm of the unseen, no matter how deeply I try to understand it, leaves me feeling small before God’s knowledge of its full reality.

Through being in Gaza, I learned how the Qur’an can be an entire cosmos, and not just sacred pages. The Qur’an can become life itself—its details, meanings, and immense truths—so radiant that I could almost reach out and touch them.

For example, let me share this anecdote. One day in these days of famine, I suddenly had an intense craving for french fries. I tried to ignore and stave off the craving. Instead, I sat down to read Sūrat al-Baqara (the Verse of the Cow in the Qur’an)

Around the middle of the chapter, my brother walked into the room holding… a French fry sandwich! I was delighted and told myself I’d finish the page I was reading before eating it. I had reached verse 172:
“O you who believe! Consume of the good foods We have provided for you, and be grateful to God, if it is Him you worship.”

Had I not experienced this myself, I would have thought it a story from the noble traditions of the Prophet’s companions or the Ahl al-Bayt. But God literally placed the sandwich in my hands at the very moment I was about to read that verse.

I knew, then, that this food was from God’s provision. I lived the meaning of that verse.

Most people theortically know this to be true about faith. They claim to understand it. Most think we they are living it with their limbs, our tongues, and our hearts. Most seek to truly be grateful—in tongue, heart, and body.

But because most people are so immersed in blessings and recieve them so easily, their hearts rarely taste the sincerity of gratitude as they do in times of hunger and deprivation.

When I got that fries sandwich, I cried and smiled at the same time—because I truly experienced what it means for God to feed me.

A person might live a hundred years and never taste this meaning in its true fullness. They may meet God without ever knowing what it means to be fed and nourished by the Lord Himself.

In Gaza, I learned to let go of the world and not to be attached to it more than necessary. Once you truly understand how cheap the world truly is—that it is worth less than the wing of a mosquito—you should neither grieve over what you missed in it nor rejoice in what you’ve received of it.

Instead, your heart must orient itself toward a lasting joy in God. And to rejoice in God means to be able to thank Him equally for what He gives and what He withholds. To find joy both in His gifts and His trials. To feel your soul savor the beauty of knowing that the Lord of the Throne Himself wrote your destiny, and to be certain that He loves you more than you love yourself and knows what’s good for you better than you ever could.

You come to realize that your entire being moves under His gaze and in His care.

I learned to feel God’s companionship in every breath. I became certain of what it means for Him to be closer to me than my jugular vein.

And suddenly, the enormous machinery of occupation seems small. All of the enemy’s threats seem trivial. The world’s betrayal is nothing but a fallen fig leaf. Only then, had my heart tasted the full meaning of:
“Allāhu Akbar — God is Greater.”

This article was published originally in Arabic on Sotour.net