Gaza Triumphs with Ink Over Iron: The Tawjihi Certificate is a Document of Survival, Not Just a Result

Author: Mohammad Mustafa Shaheen

The joy in Gaza over the success of Tawjihi students is not a fleeting happiness or a traditional celebration of an exam result; it is an existential event that redefines the relationship between life and death, between education and war, and between the individual and the community in a context of systematic genocide that spares neither stones, nor humans, nor dreams. What does it mean for a student in Gaza to succeed today, when they are taking their exam electronically from a tent or a café after the war destroyed more than ninety percent of schools and killed twenty thousand students and a thousand teachers? This success is a challenge to time, history, and the Zionist project that bet on breaking the Palestinian will through excessive violence.

The success of Tawjihi students in Gaza in 2026 is not just an academic achievement but a political act par excellence, as it proves that the war, despite its brutality, could not halt the natural cycle of life. The disruption of education was one of the declared objectives of the war, alongside displacement, starvation, and the systematic destruction of infrastructure. Schools in Gaza were not merely buildings; they were symbols of continuity and cultural resistance. This is why the occupation targeted them directly and turned what remained into shelters for the displaced. However, when students transformed their tents and cafés into examination halls, they turned defeat into a symbolic victory that is no less important than any military victory.

These students took their exams in unimaginable conditions. Some studied under the glow of a candle in a tent that offered no protection from the cold of winter or the heat of summer, while others moved between cafés in search of stable electricity and uninterrupted internet access. A student like Soor Muhammad did not know where she would take her exam until the night before, as she was searching for a public place that provided basic services. This scene alone reveals the enormity of the crime committed against an entire generation deprived of three consecutive years of schooling, but it also reveals this generation's ability to adapt and be creative in the most difficult circumstances.

The joy of parents in their children's success is a joy mixed with pain—a joy that is incomplete, as described by many mothers and fathers, because the war stole from them the natural moments of happiness that should have been experienced under normal conditions. How can a mother feel complete joy when she knows her son survived death to take his exam, while his colleagues who would have shared in this joy were either killed, displaced, or denied the opportunity to take the exam? This joy is, in fact, a joy that is significantly lacking; a joy that suits an exceptional circumstance unlike any other in the world. It is a joy that triumphs for life in the midst of death, but does not forget the dead nor relinquish its sorrow.

The most striking scene during these celebrations is the dancing of Gazans in their tents and over the rubble of their homes. This dancing on the ruins is not a disregard for death or a denial of destruction, but rather a declaration that life is stronger than stones and cement, and that the Palestinian spirit cannot be broken by bombs. It is a repetition of the actions of their ancestors who planted olive trees under the fire of occupation, as if to say to the world: We are here, and we will not leave, no matter the cost. This dance is a form of cultural resistance that is equally important as armed resistance because it preserves the human essence of the Palestinian people.

The success of Tawjihi in Gaza carries deep political implications that transcend Palestinian borders. It tells the world that a people continuing their education under bombardment is a people that cannot be defeated, for they believe that the future is built on knowledge and science, not on iron and fire. Israel gambled that a prolonged war would create an ignorant and backward generation that could be easily controlled, but Gaza's students proved that the gamble was a losing one as they managed to excel under the toughest of conditions. This success serves as an open message to all who have wagered on the death of hope in Gaza.

However, this joy cannot be separated from the broader political context. The war on Gaza in 2026 is part of a colonial settlement project aimed at displacing Palestinians and destroying all the elements of their lives. In this context, the success of Tawjihi comes as a direct challenge to this project, as it proves that Palestinians are attached to their land and their future despite all attempts at displacement and destruction. Education in Gaza has never been just a form of schooling in a narrow sense; it has always been a form of resistance and adherence to identity, and this explains the insistence on its continuation even in the darkest of circumstances.

The state of joy that swept Gaza after the results were announced is a stark contrast to the state of sorrow and grief that the strip has lived through for more than two years. This contradiction is the essence of the Palestinian experience, which combines opposites at the same time—Palestinians can cry and laugh at the same moment; they mourn their martyrs while rejoicing in their successful children because life in Gaza does not recognize fragmentation. Everything is intertwined and entangled. This ability to combine pain and joy is what distinguishes the Palestinian people from others and what enables them to resist the most brutal machines of killing and destruction.

It is impossible to talk about the joy in Gaza without mentioning the role of supporting institutions that helped make this exceptional experience a success, notably the Ministry of Education. Although limited compared to the magnitude of the catastrophe, it was crucial in enabling students to take their exams. It reflects Palestinian solidarity, but it also exposes the international community's failure to provide at least the minimum requirements for education for those students whose schools were destroyed, and whose teachers and colleagues were killed.

The announcement of the results was exceptional this year because the exams were conducted electronically for the first time in a unified manner with the West Bank. This unification in itself carries a political significance as it affirms the unity of Palestinian territories despite the occupation's attempts to separate the West Bank from Gaza. The student in Gaza who takes their exam from a displacement tent is the same student in Ramallah or Nablus who takes their exam from their school. This unity is a clear political message to anyone trying to geographically or politically divide the Palestinian people.

But the harsh reality is that many of the successful students will not be able to continue their university education because universities were also destroyed, and the blockade prevents travel, while extreme poverty makes paying college fees a distant dream. The success of Tawjihi is merely a gateway threatened with closure before it can open because the war did not only destroy the past but also stole the future. This painful paradox makes the joy bitter in its taste because it comes in a context that does not guarantee its continuity.

What the students of Gaza achieved this year is a historic achievement by all standards, for they challenged all impossibilities to succeed in an exam they consider their natural right to life. They represent a new generation of Palestinians who know no surrender—a generation that refuses to be victims but insists on being active participants in shaping their destiny. These students are the true future of Palestine, not those who exploit the cause from afar. The joy of Gaza's families in them is a joy in the hope they represent, more than the result itself.

In the end, the joy of Gaza in the success of Tawjihi students is a testament that life is stronger than death and that the human will can defeat the strongest war machines. It is a temporary joy in a long period of sorrow, but it is enough to prove that Gaza has not fallen and will not fall, because it has people who believe that success in the exam is success in confronting occupation and that the certificate they obtained is a new birth certificate for Palestine that will not be erased no matter how long time passes. This is the deeper political meaning of Gaza’s joy; it is not a joy of individuals but a joy of an entire nation that proves that the Palestinian national project is still alive, pulsating in the hearts and minds of its children, even in the darkest circumstances.