In the battered heart of Gaza City, the echoes of laughter ring out from the Rashad al-Shawa Cultural Centre, a building scarred by war but alive with the sounds of children rediscovering joy. Ten-year-old Lina Abu Hassan sits cross-legged on a worn mat, her gaze fixed on a large screen where Robin Hood and his merry band leap through animated forests. For Lina, whose father and brother were killed in an Israeli attack on their Tel al-Hawa home, this moment is a rare reprieve from the harsh realities that have defined her childhood. "For a short while, I could forget everything and just feel happy […] I felt like a normal child again, laughing, playing, and imagining new stories. Being here reminded me that life can still have beauty, even after so much sadness," she told The New Arab. "I never imagined I could laugh like this again. Here, I feel like I have friends, like I am part of something bigger than the rubble outside. I feel alive."
Lina is not alone in her search for solace. Eight-year-old Omar al-Saleh, who lost his mother to an Israeli airstrike two years ago, also attended the festival. "When the festival started, I felt my heart lightened. I wished it would never end," he shared with The New Arab. "For a moment, I could forget the fear and imagine a world where I am safe and free. I wish my friends and cousins could see this too, and we could laugh together." Omar, like many children in Gaza, has learned to escape into imagination. "Sometimes I pretend I am the hero of the story, saving others and exploring forests. It makes me feel like I can breathe again, even if just for a little while."
This festival, launched on November 20, 2025, by the Mashharawi Foundation for Cinema and Filmmakers Support, is a 30-day program designed to restore fragments of childhood stolen by years of war, displacement, and deprivation. The festival features screenings, drawing workshops, traditional music, and performances in refugee camps, all aimed at providing psychological relief. "The activities are designed to take children into another world, far removed from the violence and insecurity they have faced over the past two years," explained Mustafa al-Nabih, director of the festival's technical committee, to The New Arab.
Beyond films, the program includes games, drawing, clown performances, and music, all intended to help children heal. Psychologists and volunteers mingle with the young participants, offering comfort and support. "The effects of trauma on children can be heavier than the trauma itself […] They experience emptiness, loneliness, and loss, which requires careful support to prevent long-term consequences on their lives," al-Nabih said.
The festival also encourages children to create their own stories. In small workshops, participants write scripts, draw storyboards, and even try their hand at directing. "It is amazing to see how imaginative the children are," al-Nabih added. "They want to tell stories about heroes, friendship, and hope. It is a reminder that even in the darkest times, creativity survives."
Wissam Yassin, a Palestinian journalist and festival organiser, highlighted the event's symbolic importance. "We aim to bring joy to children who have grown up too fast because of war […] We want to return them to a world of stories, dreams, and imagination, beyond the surrounding destruction," she told The New Arab. Yassin underscored that the festival serves a broader social purpose: "In Gaza, survival often takes priority over imagination, but children cannot grow into healthy adults without joy. Cultural life is essential for mental health, identity, and hope."
Organising such events in Gaza is no easy feat. Electricity is scarce, transportation is difficult, and many cultural centres remain in ruins. "We are working amidst rubble, without basic tools or equipment like flashlights," Yassin said. "Yet, the festival sends a message: the people of Gaza love life. Cultural and artistic activity will continue, even in the hardest times." Inside the battered Rashad al-Shawa Centre, children draw colorful pictures, laugh, and dance as volunteer performers in clown costumes and musicians fill the air with energy and hope. "I love drawing. I wish I could do this every day. Here, I forget all the noise outside. It feels like a real home," six-year-old Rami Khalil told The New Arab.
The human toll behind these moments of joy is staggering. According to Palestinian authorities, more than 20,000 children have been killed in the latest Israeli war, with thousands more injured and many facing amputations or urgent medical needs. Health officials warn that the combination of disrupted education, famine, and the forced acceleration of childhood will have profound long-term psychological consequences. "Children live with daily pressures," Rawan Ahmed, a psychologist in Gaza City, told The New Arab. "Many have not eaten properly for years, and some have never had new clothes. These conditions place enormous stress on children and families and heighten the need for continuous psychological support, especially when health facilities are destroyed or understaffed."
For some, the quest for safety and stability has taken them far beyond Gaza's borders. Mohammed Abu Daqqa, a 31-year-old Palestinian entrepreneur, embarked on a journey that defied the odds and captured the world's attention. In August 2025, Abu Daqqa and two other Palestinians set out from Libya on a jet ski, crossing 186 miles of the Mediterranean Sea to reach the Italian island of Lampedusa. According to NPR, this was the first known attempt to make such a journey by jet ski—a desperate bid for safety after losing his business, homes, and more than 250 extended family members in the Israeli offensive following the Hamas attack on southern Israel in October 2023.
Abu Daqqa had paid thousands of dollars to leave Gaza via the Rafah border crossing in April 2024, hoping his wife and two young sons would follow. But Israel's control of the border closed that door, leaving his family stranded in a tent on the Gaza seashore, enduring hunger and displacement. As famine swept through parts of Gaza, Abu Daqqa watched helplessly from afar, receiving photos and voice notes from his children as they searched for food.
Denied asylum in several countries—including Morocco, the United Arab Emirates, and China—Abu Daqqa eventually found himself in Germany after being rescued near Lampedusa by a Romanian patrol boat. He had run out of fuel just 12 miles from the Italian coast. "It was a very emotional moment. I was crying and laughing at the same time," he told NPR. In Germany, Abu Daqqa applied for asylum, clinging to the hope that he could bring his family to safety. Despite a ceasefire announced in early October 2025, bureaucratic hurdles and continued destruction in Gaza have kept his family trapped. "Life here without them is not worth living," he said.
These stories—of Lina, Omar, Rami, and Abu Daqqa—paint a picture of resilience amid devastation. The festival in Gaza is more than a cultural event; it is an act of resistance, a declaration that even in the bleakest circumstances, children will not surrender their right to laughter, creativity, and hope. "Art and cinema are not luxuries here; they are lifelines. They remind children that life, beauty, and laughter still exist, even in the midst of destruction," psychologist Rawan Ahmed concluded.
For those in Gaza and those who have fled, the struggle for a normal childhood continues. Yet, as Lina said, "I want to come here every week. I want to watch films, draw, and laugh. I want to be a child, even if the world around me is broken." And for Omar, the message endures: "Even in Gaza, even after everything, we can still smile. We can still dream. And we can still be children."