In Gaza, children’s games have changed. My own children used to play with dollhouses, loved ball games, and spent hours at a playground on our street. Now, there isn’t even space left to kick the remains of a deflated football. 

Instead of running for fun, they run from the sound of bombs. Play has been reduced to shaping scraps of plastic between moments of fear and survival. Childhood in Gaza isn’t just shrinking, it’s being erased.  

I am a humanitarian worker with Save the Children, but first and foremost, I am a father to five. My youngest is 12. My oldest 22. Like nearly all of Gaza’s 2.1 million people, we’re struggling to find the basics: food, drinking water, a place to wash. 

This war has turned our lives upside down. We’ve lost everything, our sweet home, our workplace, my children’s schools. Everything is gone. Now, we are homeless. We live in what’s being called a ‘humanitarian zone’. But there is nothing humane about it.

As some parts of the world mark International Children’s Day on June 1 with games, gifts, and laughter, children in Gaza are being denied the most basic elements of childhood. Their right to play, their right to food, to life are being violated again and again.

Despite this inhumane situation, my wife and I do our best to make life feel a little more livable. We tell stories, play games, laugh at the small moments. We planted a few flowers in the soil near our tent. We watch the birds fly by and take pictures of the sunset. We feed the cats that come around and try to create joy where we can.

Children will always be children. They want to play, to feel free. But now, everything around us is dangerous. Just being outside can be life-threatening. 

Stealing childhoods 

All of Gaza’s 1.1 million children have been hit by this war. Every playground, every school, every place that once gave them space to learn, to grow, to breathe, is out of reach. 

Schools have been turned into overcrowded shelters, and many have been bombed while families were inside. Almost all (95 percent) of Gaza’s school buildings have been damaged, including every school in North Gaza. This is more than a military assault. It is a war on childhood itself. 

Children’s right to play is not optional. It is protected under international law. Article 31 of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) states, every child has the right to relax and play. Even in times of war.

Children must be protected and guaranteed access to food, water, medical care, and the right to play. In Gaza, that right is being systematically denied. Play is not a luxury. It is essential for children’s development and emotional recovery. It’s how they make sense of the world, how they connect with others, and how they begin to heal.  

One day, my son looked at me and said, “Dad, I hate Gaza. I don’t want to stay here anymore.” I had no words. What can you say when you can’t promise them safety, or even the chance to be a child? 

In Gaza, children are simply trying to stay alive. Many families are forced to rely on their children to fetch water from long distances, carrying heavy jugs under the hot sun. Others send their kids to crowded food distribution points - places where children risk being hurt, exploited, or worse. 

My children - like so many others - are losing not just their homes, but their spirit. 

My son made a kite from black paper. I watched from a distance and noticed something strange: every kite was black. Children usually choose bright colours. But maybe these kites reflect how heavy life feels now. In Gaza, even play carries the weight of war. 

During the brief pause in hostilities earlier this year, Save the Children helped set up child-friendly spaces - tents and makeshift classrooms where children could draw, play, sing, and dance. But when the bombs started again, those safe spaces were again destroyed. 

Destruction of futures 

As a child protection manager, I’ve seen just how deeply this war is affecting children. I’ve worked with boys and girls who struggle to sleep, who wet the bed, who cling to their parents or lash out without warning. Some are withdrawn. Others are anxious all the time. Toxic stress - the kind created by war and displacement - disrupts brain development. But you don’t need to be a specialist to see the lasting impact this war will have. 

The long-term impacts of denying play are also devastating. It makes it harder for children to focus, to remember things, to learn. It increases the risk of depression, anxiety, and chronic illnesses later in life. All of this undermines their futures, and therefore the future of our society as a whole. Our children are our future. What kind of future will they have with such a start in life? 

Children who cannot play lose the space to process their trauma, to build friendships, to imagine something better. In Gaza, with no toys, no privacy, no safety, children are being robbed not just of joy, but of the tools they need to recover. Children with disabilities are hit even harder.  

And yet, even now, Gaza’s children still try to be children. I’ve seen them play with scraps of old clothes, plastic, and other debris, sing under their breath, and try to find joy in the middle of the devastation. But they shouldn’t have to work this hard just to feel like children. 

There is only one way to protect children and their futures in Gaza: a permanent and lasting ceasefire. 

The bombs must stop. Children in Gaza don’t need temporary pauses. They need lasting peace, real childhoods, and full humanitarian access so we can bring in the supplies and support they need. 

The lives and futures of more than a million children depend on it. 

Still, despite everything we’ve been through, I believe that life is still beautiful and that we will survive, somehow.

Today, on my way to the office, I saw a group of teenage girls walking together, beautifully dressed in their school uniforms. I asked them, “Where are you going this early?” They told me someone had set up a tent where they could learn school subjects again. It’s a humble initiative, but it filled me with hope. This generation is strong. They will lead the change. They will rebuild Gaza.