In the early morning hours of March 22, Omar Al-Za’anin, 60, and his family of six hurriedly left their home under heavy rainfall in the northern Gaza neighborhood of Beit Hanoun. Five nights earlier, as Israel unleashed a wave of deadly strikes across the enclave — killing 400 people and injuring hundreds — the army dropped evacuation leaflets over Al-Za’anin’s neighborhood, declaring it a “combat zone” and urging them to evacuate immediately to known shelters in western Gaza City.

While many left northern Gaza for Khan Younis, hundreds of families sought refuge in the Islamic University west of Gaza City, which has remained severely damaged since Israel bombed the campus just days after October 7. Al-Za’anin’s family was one of them.

“I didn’t even consider [sheltering in] UNRWA schools because the army always targets them,” he explained, sensing that the university was their safest option.

After multiple displacements, Al-Za’anin’s family had just begun to feel safe again during the latest ceasefire, when they returned to Beit Hanoun. “We wanted to cultivate our agricultural lands and rebuild our lives and the lives of our children — we felt the suffering was over,” he told +972. Now, he continued, “we are still in a state of deep shock from the return of the war,” as Israel pummels Gaza with a newfound intensity.

Each day begins with thinking about how to secure water and make bread. “We live on aid; we have no income at all. Everything is expensive, at double the price,” Al-Za’anin explained. Despite being ordered by the Israeli army to evacuate west, the university doesn’t feel much safer than Beit Hanoun. “The bombing continues around us, and we expect death at any moment — I ask the world to look at us with humanity, to end the war, and to give us a chance to live with our children.”

The shelter is also a perverse reminder to the displaced that Gaza’s youth have been deprived of anything resembling a proper education for a year and a half. “Universities are a place to educate our children, not a refuge for the displaced,” Al-Za’anin said. By January of last year, all of Gaza’s schools had been shut, including all 12 of its universities which were at various points the target of Israeli attacks. The 90,000 university students in Gaza enrolled before the war have been largely unable to continue their studies for the second year in a row — with thousands of other students and faculty likely killed.

For Suham Naseer, a 50-year old mother of eight, the Islamic University is the eighth place to which she and her family have been displaced since the beginning of Israel’s onslaught in October 2023. Desperate for fuel, Naseer explained that those sheltering in the university have been forced to collect and burn the scattered academic books in order to heat food, boil water, and stay warm.

Like Al-Za’anin, Naseer and her family had returned to Beit Hanoun after the ceasefire. “We thought the war was over and we had escaped death, but suddenly the war and heavy bombing returned,” she said. The never-ending displacements have become harder and harder for her family to bear: “At least the martyrs have been relieved of this suffering,” Naseer remarked.

Subhi Al-Kharawat, 35, from Beit Hanoun took refuge in the university for the sake of his ill wife and newborn child, after spending the war’s first 16 months seeking shelter in southern Gaza. “If I did not have a family, I never would have evacuated to the south at the beginning of the war — it was an attempt to save my children from death,” he told +972.

In mid-February, while the ceasefire was still in effect, Al-Kharawat’s wife gave birth on their long journey from southern Gaza to the north. She has not had a chance to properly recover from the birth and the exhausting trek — even inside the university walls. “Everyone around me is busy setting up tents here and providing water and food. Our days are occupied with searching for basic necessities of life,” he said.

At night, the shelling doesn’t stop. “We want the world to stop this. Enough war. We are so tired of all this,” Al-Kharawat lamented.

Khalil Issa Naseer, 52, from Beit Hanoun arrived at the Islamic University with nothing but a tent after being forcibly displaced from his home on March 18 when Israel shattered the ceasefire. When the army ordered Naseer and his three children to move to western Gaza City from Beit Hanoun, they knew the drill. “The occupation forces give us a short period of time to leave and then begin attacking us with artillery shells and aircrafts,” he explained.

The university building is crowded, and it has been difficult for Naseer and his family to get settled. “We are looking for a square meter of land, either an area to pitch a tent or a grave to be buried in,” he told +972. And as Israel continues to prevent all humanitarian from entering Gaza — now for over six weeks — even obtaining water is like discovering treasure, Naseer said. “The occupation has cut off our water, electricity and food.” 

Despite finding shelter for the time being, Naseer knows that any sense of security is merely temporary. “We never feel safe in Gaza,” he said. “The Islamic University which graduated countless doctors, engineers and professors has already basically been reduced to rubble. Now what will happen to it?”