The lost generation: Gazas children and their stolen futures
February 11, 2025
Rasha was 10 years old when she wrote her will. In simple words, she asked that her belongings be given to those in need if she didnt survive. A child, too young to dream of death, yet old enough to know it was coming. She was killed soon after.
Her words remain, a haunting testament to a stolen childhood. But she was not the only one. Across Gaza, children have written goodbyes instead of school essays, made burial requests instead of birthday wishes. Their futures were taken before they had the chance to grow into them.
Now, as a ceasefire takes hold, we must ask: will it last long enough for them to reclaim their childhoods?
A childhood shaped by war
For many, war is something found in history books. For Gazas children, it has been the backdrop of their lives.
They have learned to recognise the hum of drones, the whistle of incoming missiles, the silence before an explosion. Their playgrounds are rubble; their bedtime stories interrupted by air raid sirens.
Since the genocide escalated, thousands of children have been killed or maimed. Others have survived, but with wounds that are harder to see, nightmares, trauma and grief no child should bear.
“My son doesnt ask for toys anymore,” says Leila, a mother of three. “He asks if we will be bombed tonight.”
Now, there is a fragile pause in the violence. But will it hold long enough for children to dream again?
A future beyond the rubble
Even in war, there are supposed to be safe spaces, hospitals, schools, homes. But in Gaza, nowhere was safe. Families fled from one destroyed neighbourhood to another, searching for shelter that did not exist.
Now, they try to rebuild. But how does one rebuild when everything is gone? The borders remain closed. The sea is a dead end. Humanitarian aid trickles in, but will it be enough to sustain hope?
Before the war, Gaza was home to poets, dreamers and children who wanted to be doctors, teachers, footballers. Now, many of their ambitions lie buried beneath the ruins.
Rami, 12, wanted to be a pilot. “To fly above Gaza and see the sea,” he once said. He was killed with his entire family when their home was bombed.
Aya, 8, loved to paint. If she has survived, she may now sit in a refugee shelter, sketching memories of a home that no longer exists.
These children had futures. They had dreams. A ceasefire must mean more than a pause in bombing, it must be a commitment to protecting what remains of their childhoods.
Who will remember them?
War destroys, but memory resists. The stories of Gazas children must not be reduced to statistics in a report. Their voices, their dreams, their lives must be remembered.
Rashas will should not be just a heartbreaking footnote in history, it should be a call to action. For an end to impunity. For the protection of children. For a peace that does not expire when the world looks away.
A ceasefire has begun. Now, the world must ensure it is not just another pause before more children are forced to write their wills.
Read more on the ongoing crisis: ABC News