After the occupation craft had showered Al Amal district in Beit Lahia, north Gaza Strip with white phosphorous bombs, the trees, stones and people started to burn. Many of the residents of this district decided to go the UNRWA school where they might find safety.

On January 11, Maha with her brother and uncle’s daughter returned home, which they had left a few days before, to fetch some necessary clothes and blankets. She moved fast from Abu Hussein School to her home in the district. She searched every corner and got all she needed. She quickly surveyed the house that had sheltered her throughout the years of her childhood. She left with a few tears trickling down from her eyes. She hurried with her companions back to the school where her family was anxiously waiting for her. In the middle of the road, almost 50 meters from her house she saw some of her friends whom she greeted and enquired after their conditions and families. Maha stood there with her friends a few minutes chatting and laughing loud. All of a sudden, an Israeli reconnaissance craft shot a rocket at them, shattered all their bodies which were turned into smithereens all over the place.

Maha had great traits; she was obedient, quiet, amiable, sensitive, good looking, with fine facial features, brave; and feared nothing. During the days of war, and after her family had left their house, her uncle Salem remained home and wanted somebody to return to take him to the school. Her mother says, “Nobody dared to go back to Salem. She walked through the plantations quietly; far from the tanks inspection, and she brought her uncle to the school with a broad smile on her face. She raised his hand with her right hand as if she had achieved a great victory. We smiled back to her.” That day the heart of Maha’s mother throbbed hard as she was extremely worried about her, but she kept her fear to herself lest she should distort that lovely smile on her innocent and angelic face.

With great yearning for the memory of the departed, and with great pain for parting with her, her grandmother cried and said, “She was the love of my heart and the pupil of my eye.” Maha was not a mere grandchild, but the daughter of an entire past life and of one that was about to come but nipped in the bud by the vicious Israeli rocket that disregarded her childish innocence. After coming back from school Maha used to go to her grandmother’s and satisfy her needs soon as she could. If she had nothing to do, she would sit and study her lessons, learning by heart, and writing her homework. As soon as she had finished all that she would ask her grandmother again if she wanted her to do anything. The grandmother would smile and say in her simple manner, “Come, Maha, massage my legs.”

As regards Maha’s relationship with the district’s children, her mother says, “Yesterday, somebody came and asked for Maha. He wanted her to explain a science lesson to him. I told him she is no more a resident of the house, nor is she at school or in the whole world, and that she had gone. He did not believe me. He got into the house and looked for her everywhere. She had not met him with her lovely smile. He cried and left.” Maha used to teach him and many of the neighbors’ children all that their small minds could not grasp. She explained the lessons to them in a simple and easy manner. She taught them science, mathematics, and religion free of charge. Her grandmother, Um Yasser says, “Her classroom was one of my house rooms. She goes inside at her spare time accompanied by children whom she used to give sweets to encourage them to study and pay attention. When they gave correct answers she gave them more sweets as well as lovely encouraging statements.

Her dream was to grow up, finish her university studies, work as a teacher, teaching Islamic education, inculcating in the students the love of religion and commitment to proper ethics.