A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
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Current Issue
A Day for Gaza
/ February 3, 2026
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Recording what has been erased—and making sense of what remains.
Deema Hattab
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As maps of Gaza’s destruction and occupation saturate the West’s media ecosystem, we lose our ability to extricate the geographies of genocide from what truly defines Gaza and its relationship to the land. In search of a more accurate and representative cartography, we make visible Gaza’s cultural and intellectual memory as an insistence that these spaces are what weave together the spatial fabric of this place.(Sam Rabiyah)
This piece is part of A Day for Gaza, an initiative in which The Nation has turned over its website exclusively to voices from the Gaza Strip. You can find all of the work in the series here.
Aquestion has been haunting me for some time now, a question whose answer I hope is not already lost. It is less a neat inquiry than a muffled cry inside each of us, rising over and over against days filled with repeated loss: Who are we?
I refuse to accept that Gaza will come to be defined only by destruction and loss. This is a land shaped by long and layered human experiences across history. A natural byway between Africa and Asia, it has long been a meeting point for people, trade, and culture. Lineages of language and conversation, shared traditions and space, all came together to create from our long history a sense of “we”—a nomenclature for our collective identity.
What I seek is a serious attempt to recall this “we” in the midst of a genocide that has never been just a material act of erasing bodies, but a systematic effort to target both spirit and memory. It has stripped places of their soul and their physical appearance, distorted the very image of belonging, and left us, individually and collectively, digging through the ruins of memory for some natural reflection of who we are.
This digging is arduous work, nails forever scraping against loss. Even so, we keep at it, building back schools, cultural centers, libraries in our minds, each one a witness, a keeper of knowledge. But how can we even attempt an answer when these places have been erased? When death arrives daily, stealing our loved ones, our people? How can we shape our identity amid this constant loss? I share some of them here to share a fragment of Gaza’s larger story, to connect past with present and reconstruct an image of who we were and who we remain.
Academic Sites
The Islamic University
Sam Rabiyah
A Day for Gaza
A Ceasefire in Name Only
Mohammed R. Mhawish
The Gaza Street That Refuses to Die
Ali Skaik
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Deema Hattab
My Sister’s Death Still Echoes …
Every delay has consequences.
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A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Magazine
Newsletters
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Log In
Search
Subscribe
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Magazine
Latest
Archive
Podcasts
Newsletters
Sections
Politics
World
Economy
Culture
Books & the Arts
The Nation
About
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Current Issue
A Day for Gaza
/ February 3, 2026
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Recording what has been erased—and making sense of what remains.
Deema Hattab
Share
Copy Link
X (Twitter)
Bluesky Pocket
Ad Policy
As maps of Gaza’s destruction and occupation saturate the West’s media ecosystem, we lose our ability to extricate the geographies of genocide from what truly defines Gaza and its relationship to the land. In search of a more accurate and representative cartography, we make visible Gaza’s cultural and intellectual memory as an insistence that these spaces are what weave together the spatial fabric of this place.(Sam Rabiyah)
This piece is part of A Day for Gaza, an initiative in which The Nation has turned over its website exclusively to voices from the Gaza Strip. You can find all of the work in the series here.
Aquestion has been haunting me for some time now, a question whose answer I hope is not already lost. It is less a neat inquiry than a muffled cry inside each of us, rising over and over against days filled with repeated loss: Who are we?
I refuse to accept that Gaza will come to be defined only by destruction and loss. This is a land shaped by long and layered human experiences across history. A natural byway between Africa and Asia, it has long been a meeting point for people, trade, and culture. Lineages of language and conversation, shared traditions and space, all came together to create from our long history a sense of “we”—a nomenclature for our collective identity.
What I seek is a serious attempt to recall this “we” in the midst of a genocide that has never been just a material act of erasing bodies, but a systematic effort to target both spirit and memory. It has stripped places of their soul and their physical appearance, distorted the very image of belonging, and left us, individually and collectively, digging through the ruins of memory for some natural reflection of who we are.
This digging is arduous work, nails forever scraping against loss. Even so, we keep at it, building back schools, cultural centers, libraries in our minds, each one a witness, a keeper of knowledge. But how can we even attempt an answer when these places have been erased? When death arrives daily, stealing our loved ones, our people? How can we shape our identity amid this constant loss? I share some of them here to share a fragment of Gaza’s larger story, to connect past with present and reconstruct an image of who we were and who we remain.
Academic Sites
The Islamic University
Sam Rabiyah
A Day for Gaza
A Ceasefire in Name Only
Mohammed R. Mhawish
The Gaza Street That Refuses to Die
Ali Skaik
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Deema Hattab
My Sister’s Death Still Echoes …
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Every delay has consequences.
Log In
Email *
Password *
Remember Me
Forgot Your Password?
Log In
New to The Nation? Subscribe
Print subscriber? Activate your online access
Skip to content Skip to footer
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Magazine
Newsletters
Subscribe
Log In
Search
Subscribe
Donate
Magazine
Latest
Archive
Podcasts
Newsletters
Sections
Politics
World
Economy
Culture
Books & the Arts
The Nation
About
Events
Contact Us
Advertise
Current Issue
A Day for Gaza
/ February 3, 2026
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Recording what has been erased—and making sense of what remains.
Deema Hattab
Share
Copy Link
Facebook
X (Twitter)
Bluesky Pocket
Email
Ad Policy
As maps of Gaza’s destruction and occupation saturate the West’s media ecosystem, we lose our ability to extricate the geographies of genocide from what truly defines Gaza and its relationship to the land. In search of a more accurate and representative cartography, we make visible Gaza’s cultural and intellectual memory as an insistence that these spaces are what weave together the spatial fabric of this place.(Sam Rabiyah)
This piece is part of A Day for Gaza, an initiative in which The Nation has turned over its website exclusively to voices from the Gaza Strip. You can find all of the work in the series here.
Aquestion has been haunting me for some time now, a question whose answer I hope is not already lost. It is less a neat inquiry than a muffled cry inside each of us, rising over and over against days filled with repeated loss: Who are we?
I refuse to accept that Gaza will come to be defined only by destruction and loss. This is a land shaped by long and layered human experiences across history. A natural byway between Africa and Asia, it has long been a meeting point for people, trade, and culture. Lineages of language and conversation, shared traditions and space, all came together to create from our long history a sense of “we”—a nomenclature for our collective identity.
What I seek is a serious attempt to recall this “we” in the midst of a genocide that has never been just a material act of erasing bodies, but a systematic effort to target both spirit and memory. It has stripped places of their soul and their physical appearance, distorted the very image of belonging, and left us, individually and collectively, digging through the ruins of memory for some natural reflection of who we are.
This digging is arduous work, nails forever scraping against loss. Even so, we keep at it, building back schools, cultural centers, libraries in our minds, each one a witness, a keeper of knowledge. But how can we even attempt an answer when these places have been erased? When death arrives daily, stealing our loved ones, our people? How can we shape our identity amid this constant loss? I share some of them here to share a fragment of Gaza’s larger story, to connect past with present and reconstruct an image of who we were and who we remain.
Academic Sites
The Islamic University
Sam Rabiyah
A Day for Gaza
A Ceasefire in Name Only
Mohammed R. Mhawish
The Gaza Street That Refuses to Die
Ali Skaik
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Deema Hattab
My Sister’s Death Still Echoes …
