How Gaza's Palestinian elderly are keeping hope and resilience alive 

"Even if they gave me all the money in the world and paradise on earth and asked me to leave Gaza, I wouldn't." With these words, Youssef Abu Shamala, 72, from Beit Lahia, began speaking to The New Arab.

His voice carries both defiance and attachment, a reflection of decades spent on land now scarred by war. Yet, he insists that everything is "small compared with the homeland."

Abu Shamala, a cancer patient in need of treatment outside the war-torn coastal enclave, currently resides in a small tent behind his partially destroyed home, damaged during the Israeli war on Gaza over the last two years. 

Israel's genocidal war left around 85 per cent of the territory's infrastructure in ruins, killed more than 72,000 Palestinians, and injured nearly 200,000, according to local statistics.

Even after an alleged ceasefire took effect in October 2025, Israeli attacks persist, and life in Gaza remains harsh. Residents survive in makeshift tents and partially destroyed homes, struggling with severe shortages of water, electricity, fuel, and medical care.

"We've lost everything," Abu Shamala told TNA. "The house, the furniture, the memories. Seeing tents everywhere brings me back decades, to when we were forced to flee our hometown. Nostalgia and pain are intertwined here, but leaving Gaza is not an option."

Despite his illness, Abu Shamala is determined to instil resilience in his grandchildren. "I want them to understand that Gaza is worth staying in, that resilience is part of who we are," he added. 

His insistence on staying is rooted not only in personal attachment but also in broader generational memory.

In 1948, Abu Shamala's family was expelled from Hamama in northern Palestine, an event that left deep scars on his identity and a permanent sense of loss. 

"Israel tried to erase our presence then, and it has tried again, repeatedly," he said. "But this time we will not leave our land. Gaza is ours. Leaving is surrendering our history and our dignity."

Hamad Abu Shawish, 68, lives in a half-destroyed house in al-Nuseirat refugee camp in central Gaza. He, too, refuses to leave the territory, even though he has enough money to start anew elsewhere.

"We were once forced from our hometown, leaving everything behind—our homes, our fields, our memories," he told TNA. 

"I remember my father's face when we walked away, the fear and sorrow etched into every line. That memory has never left me. Now, even with half our house destroyed, I stay. I cannot abandon what little remains," Abu Shawish said. 

"Every corner of my house tells a story of survival. Every stone has a memory. If I leave, all of that—our history, our struggle—will be erased. I want my children and grandchildren to understand that remaining here is not just a choice, it is a duty. This land is worth every hardship, every sleepless night, every scar we carry," he added.

Outside, tents line the streets, a stark reminder of the scale of destruction and uprooted families. 

"Look at those tents," Abu Shawish said. "They tell the story of our people. People who lost everything but refused to lose their identity, their roots. We may be surrounded by rubble, by pain, by fear, but staying here is our resistance. Staying here is our way of saying we exist, we endure, and we will not vanish."

Abu Shawish also reflects on the impact on his grandchildren. "I want them to grow up seeing that courage is not leaving when it is hard, but standing firm when everything around you collapses," he said. 

"They need to know that our presence here, even in ruins, matters. Gaza is not just land—it is the sum of our lives, our memories, our families. If we leave, what message are we sending to them about who we are?" he added. "Every day we live here, despite tents and ruins, is a small victory over the siege and fear. It is a message: we are staying, and Gaza will remain our home no matter what."

Fatima, 70, a widow living with her granddaughters in a tent near Gaza beach, echoed the sentiment. 

"The war destroyed everything, but leaving Gaza is not an option. We try to teach the children patience and keep living, despite everything," she told TNA.

"We are not heroes, but we do not have any choices. So, we have to decide if we will live in our homeland or die outside of it," she asked. "Every tent reminds me of past displacements. I feel the same longing and pain, but this land is my home, and I cannot give it up."

"Even in these cramped tents, we try to give the children hope. The war and siege have not stopped us from learning, loving, and enduring. Gaza is our home. These lands hold our memories, despite the pain," she added.

The generational divide is apparent. Sami, Fatima’s son, 38, worries about the risks of staying. "I want a safer life for my children, away from the bombing and danger. My father refuses to leave, and that breaks my heart," he told TNA.

His brother, Ammar, 35, stands firm. "My mother may be old and ill, but she's a model of resilience. I want to help rebuild Gaza and be part of its future."

Rawan Ahmed, a Palestinian psychologist in Gaza, told TNA, "Many of the elderly in Gaza who live in tents or damaged homes have gone through trauma from losing their houses, loved ones, and memories. Staying on their land gives them a sense of identity and belonging. They try to teach their children to be strong, and family support helps them cope with the effects of war."

"The elderly serve as living bridges between past and present. They have endured displacement, loss, and destruction, yet continue to teach younger generations about identity and belonging," she added.

The varying perspectives among children—some wanting to leave, others determined to stay—mirror the complex reality of Palestinian society: some seek safety and a better life, while others feel a moral and national duty to remain and rebuild.

For Gaza's elderly, resilience is both personal and collective. They continue to teach the next generation, maintain family and community ties, and demonstrate that leaving the land is not a solution. Their steadfastness is a model for younger Palestinians, a testament to the enduring connection between people and homeland.