Rajab Al-Rifi stands in the shattered remains of Gaza City’s YMCA building, a skateboard under his arm, teaching a group of children how to keep their balance on streets cracked and cratered by bombs.

The 28-year-old photographer and professional skateboarder has trained young Gazans since 2008. Before the war, he led the enclave’s only skateboarding team, “SkatePal,” coaching kids aged 6 to 16 on a small ramp by the beach in western Gaza City — until Israeli warships reduced it to rubble.

His home in the neighborhood of Shuja’iyya was hit by an Israeli airstrike in November 2023, forcing him into repeated displacement across northern Gaza. Each time, he salvaged what little he could, often hauling his belongings on his skateboard. 

With frequent power outages and telecommunications breakdowns, he lost contact with many of his former teammates. But in early 2024, Al-Rifi started posting more and more videos to the team’s social media, hoping to inspire resilience among young Gazans and send a message of defiance to the world.

“One of the biggest challenges is the lack of safe places to skate,” he told +972 Magazine. “Most streets are destroyed, so I’ve been skating on the slanted rooftops of bombed buildings.”

Slowly, some of his 100 teammates found their way back. Together, they organized pop-up shows and workshops for displaced children in makeshift shelters across the north.

For Al-Rifi, skateboarding was a way to offer children a brief moment of relief from relentless trauma. “Whenever the kids see us, they come running,” he said. “They’re desperate for even a brief escape from the fear.”

He now holds weekly training sessions for boys and girls, spending the rest of his time performing in shelters, schools, and on the streets. Over 250 young Palestinians are eager to join the team, but Al-Rifi has only six skateboards left. Most of the equipment, including protective gear, shoes, and clothing, was destroyed in airstrikes.

“Some kids play barefoot,” he said. “I warn them to be careful. If they get injured, there’s no medicine or proper nutrition in Gaza to help them heal.”

Training on an empty stomach has become the norm. “Sometimes I feel dizzy myself,” he admitted. “But I try not to waste their energy. They need it to fetch water or firewood.”

The team relies on community donations and whatever local support they can find. When possible, Al-Rifi shares small snacks with the children, many of whom are malnourished. Since Israel imposed a total blockade in March that lasted nearly three months, Gaza’s hunger crisis has spiraled, with over 70,000 children now suffering from severe malnutrition, according to recent reports.

“I love every moment we spend playing with Captain Rajab,” said 9-year-old Ahmed Almasri, who was displaced from northern Gaza and now shelters in central Gaza City. “He teaches us how to do tricks. I wish I had my own skateboard so I could skate all the time.”

But as the bombardment intensified and Israeli evacuation orders swept through the north, their regular skate spot at the YMCA became too crowded. “The place was filled with tents,” Al-Rifi said. “The children cried, asking where they could skate now. We tried to move to Gaza’s port, but that too was full of evacuees.”

Al-Rifi has lost two of his closest friends — Ahmed Al-Shawa and Dorgham Qreaiqea — both of whom worked in entertainment and mental health before being killed in Israeli airstrikes. Yet despite the constant threat of bombing and immense personal loss, he continues skating.

“We’ve lost everything,” he said. “But we won’t lose hope for a better future for our children.”

A glimpse of a normal life

Like Al-Rifi, 34-year-old Mohammed Obeid uses creativity to shield Palestinian children from trauma amid the unfolding genocide.

A therapeutic educator, Obeid co-founded the group “Free Gaza Circus” in 2011 alongside 12 other young Gazans, with Italian and Spanish partners. Before the war, their programs blended music, dance, and theater to help children process trauma and pursue their talents. Now, they organize dabke performances, circus shows, and therapeutic workshops for displaced kids across the enclave.

Recently, Obeid and his team revived the “Clown Doctor” project, visiting hospitals in white coats and circus makeup to entertain injured and traumatized children. “We try to ease their fear of doctors and white coats and help them respond better to treatment,” said Obeid.

“Kids in Gaza need creative outlets to release the emotions they’ve been bottling up,” he added. “We invent group games and other playful activities to help them release their energy in different ways.”

Although it is independent, Free Gaza Circus occasionally partners with other circus schools, like the Palestine Circus School, while NGOs like the Italian Cooperazione Internazionale Sud Sud (CISS) provide the team with gear and transportation support. The group prioritizes remote areas where aid is scarce, but closures and constant evacuation orders often force them to abandon equipment or improvise with what is available.

“Sometimes, we have to get creative,” Obeid explained. “We’ve used vegetables instead of circus props and eggplants as juggling clubs.”

Obeid and his team have extensive experience working with traumatized children and have received training in Psychological First Aid (PFA). Mental health professionals and aid organizations often contact them to identify children in need of tailored visits or special care.

“We can’t erase their fear and suffering,” Obeid admitted, “but we try our best to give them at least two hours of joy and laughter. A glimpse of a normal life.”

In addition to regular meetings to refine their approach, the team often travels to high-risk areas, sometimes even amid ongoing Israeli attacks. 

“During loud bombings and explosions, we try to keep the children focused by singing louder and playing music,” Obeid said. “We know that schools and shelters are being bombed, but we carry on because we believe in our role: helping children survive the trauma of war.”

‘We try to make them laugh, but we also need support’

Ruba Al-Najjar, 21, spins 8-year-old Layan in a joyful dance, their laughter and the music masking the hum of Israeli drones flying overhead. Layan, who has Down syndrome, grins brightly. “I am happy,” she says. “I want to play all the time.”

Al-Najjar was first displaced to a school in northern Gaza’s Sheikh Zayed neighborhood after her home was bombed in early 2024. Later forced to flee again, she now shelters with relatives in a tent in western Gaza City.

“I was buried under the rubble when our house was hit,” she recalled. “After surviving, I felt a responsibility to leave a mark, even if only for a few hours, on the lives of children who are going through this nightmare.”

The idea of forming a support team had long been in Al-Najjar’s mind, but the war pushed her to act. Alongside friends and relatives, mostly university students from diverse fields with volunteer experience, she assembled a team of 18 dedicated to helping Gaza’s children.

They organize art therapy sessions in shelters and schools, lead dabke dances and face-painting activities, and provide psychological support to children and parents, including basic emergency first-aid training. The team does all this without any external financial support; sometimes they borrow equipment from other circus schools or friends in Gaza.

Al-Najjar and her team carefully monitor the security situation, timing their activities during lulls in bombings or in areas with fewer drones, seeking fleeting moments of safety. “My mother begs me not to go out,” she said. “But my father says, ‘Go — just be careful.’

“We know we could be killed at any moment,” she continued. “But my team and I believe it’s our duty to give these children a reason to hold on. We try to make them laugh, even though we, too, desperately need support.

“We’ve begged the world enough,” Al-Najjar added. “We are exhausted. We can’t carry any more pain, not for ourselves, and not for the children.”