Tribute to my English teacher, who taught me more than just a language

Ghada Rabah, a high school English teacher at Holy Family School in Gaza, was killed along with her family on September 23. Photo provided to the author.

I remember the last time I saw Ms. Ghada Rabah, my high school English teacher at Holy Family School in Al Rimal street in western Gaza. It was in September, before our last forced displacement from Gaza city, days before the ceasefire was announced. I met her by coincidence on the street near my house. She looked at me with eyes wide in surprise and warmth: “Rama!! I can’t believe it’s you… you’ve changed so much since the days I used to teach you.” Her voice shook as she smiled. “You’ve truly grown. I’m so happy to see you again.” 

Her once lively face looked tired, like many of us who’ve lived through two years of genocide. We ended up going to a nearby mall and talked for hours about everything that had happened over the past two years of war, the fear, the uncertainty, the small moments that kept us going and the five years since we last saw each other after I graduated high school. 

That day felt like a warm reunion. 

She was my English teacher from grades 8 to 11. Her class was my favorite, not just because I was excited to learn English, but because of her presence. 

I still remember how she would gently smile whenever I answered a question incorrectly. She wouldn’t scold or embarrass me. “Rama, focus a bit more,” she would say softly, and smilingly. Her encouragement made me want to do better. She taught me the confidence to speak a language that was not my own. 

Days after we met, on the morning of September 23, I heard the news that her home in the Tel al-Hawa neighborhood had been bombed by the Israeli army. 

She, along with several members of her family, were trapped under the rubble. For three days, people searched and pleaded for help, hoping to find them alive. But she and her family members were dead, turned to numbers among the more than 67,000 Palestinians that Israel has killed, and continues to kill since October 2023. 

I was in shock. I cried uncontrollably. A part of me kept hoping that it still wasn’t true, that she must be alive. I asked my friends, who I went to school with, again and again. 

Ms. Ghada’s loss is not only a personal heartbreak, it is a wound shared by an entire nation which has lost countless of its educators. Photo provided to the author.

Ghada Rabah was my first English teacher, the person who opened the door to language and possibility. She smiled at my mistakes, celebrated my progress, and ignited in me a passion for writing. She used to say, “Language isn’t just words, it’s a bridge to the world, to others, and to yourself.” 

I remember how she taught us English grammar, simplifying the techniques of this language that was foreign to us. Her lessons have stuck with me, and I passed them on to my own students last year when I gave English lessons.

Her kindness and belief in me came at a time when I needed it most and that’s something I’ll carry with me long after the lessons have faded.

Ms. Ghada’s loss is not only my personal heartbreak, it is a wound shared by an entire nation. Israel has killed more than a thousand teachers and administrators in Palestine since October 2023, the backbone of Palestine’s strength and resilience. 

Palestine has one of the highest literacy rates in the region at 98%, a testament to a people who have believed education is their path to freedom and dignity. But today, with schools reduced to rubble and teachers buried beneath them, rebuilding our education system will need more than just new buildings. It will need healing, support, and a renewed belief in the power of learning, the same belief that teachers like Ms. Ghada planted in our hearts. 

I’d like to believe that Ms. Ghada will continue to live on in each of her students, like me. Because those who dedicate their lives to knowledge, live on in every word we speak, every dream we chase, and every truth we dare to write.

To Ms. Ghada, who planted hope and saw in me a student worth listening to, you will never be forgotten. Your voice echoes in every word I write today.

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