Abedrabu Abu Alyan: Ashes of my dream and lifetime (Viewpoint)

GAZA — I had always dreamed of owning a piece of land and building a home with my own hands. A place surrounded by gardens, filled with the scent of flowers, where I could grow vegetables in the front and backyards. After teaching at the university for almost 23 years, I finally saved enough to make that dream real.

Read more The Croft School announces Boston locations to close after $13M debt scandal

Building the house was more than a construction project. It was a lifetime of hope. Before meeting an architect, I gathered my family to discuss the number of rooms, bathrooms and the ideal size. I sketched a blueprint, planning every dimension and direction, so the house would be open, bright, and full of life.

When I showed it to the architect, he smiled and said, “Why don’t you build it yourself?”

“This is the house of my dreams, and I want it exactly as I imagine it,” I told him. We worked together on every detail, from concrete measurements to steel reinforcements. Every line mattered. Every corner mattered.

Finding a trustworthy contractor took time. With the architect’s guidance, I visited many sites and interviewed several builders. I chose one whose work I respected. The day the bulldozer began digging the foundation was one of the happiest of my life. I photographed and recorded every step to share with my children. Progress was slow, but each small advance filled me with hope.

We moved on to tiles, flooring and fixtures. My wife and I visited store after store, comparing quality and price. We never rushed. Every decision mattered, because this was our dream.

The house had four rooms, a large central hall, a kitchen and three bathrooms. The guestroom was the largest, with three windows and a private bathroom. My bedroom had its own bath. The other rooms were for my late mother and my daughters. My son had a basement suite with a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. I personally selected paint colors and ceiling designs to create comfort, peace, and a sense of home. Every corner was meant to nurture the soul.

Friends and relatives came to celebrate with us. They brought gifts, laughter, and love. We lived two wonderful years full of warmth and peace.

Then came 2023. War forced us to flee. We became displaced, living in schools and tents. I could not stop thinking about my home.

Read more Controversial 288-unit Worcester housing project in limbo after zoning request withdrawn

During a fragile ceasefire, I risked returning on my bicycle at dawn. I arrived around 5:30 a.m.

What I saw destroyed me. My neighborhood looked as if an earthquake had struck. My house, my sanctuary, was gone. Nothing remained but rubble and ashes.

More than 80% of Gaza lay in ruins. Homes, schools, universities, mosques, churches and roads — flattened, burned, buried.

The devastation is not justice. Destroying homes only hardens hearts and darkens futures. It spreads despair, not hope.

If I survive this war, I will have to start again from nothing. Every year of labor, every moment of love, erased in seconds by a missile. Not just my home, but my spirit, my memories, my life.

This was not just a house. It was my legacy. My sanctuary. My life.

Now it is ashes.

You never know what you have until it’s gone. I knew. I built it with my own hands. And now I stand in the rubble, trying to remember what hope felt like.

The devastation does not end. Life goes on. But hope is fragile, and grief is heavy.

Abedrabu Abu Alyan, a University of Massachusetts graduate and doctor of education, lives in Palestine. He is an assistant professor in the English department at the Islamic University of Gaza, Palestine, which was reduced to rubble by Israeli forces.

Read more Popular all-day cafe based in NYC sets opening date for new Boston location