Foreword
We’d like to introduce you to Ahmad Rizik, our newest writer from Gaza. He’s not just a contributor — he’s a close friend and the founder of Gaza Great Minds Foundation, an education initiative he built from nothing in the middle of a war zone. Ahmad has lived through more loss than anyone should ever have to carry. Israel killed his father. He’s lost other family members, friends, students — entire pieces of his life gone in an instant. And somehow, through all of that, he has stayed steady. He has kept teaching. He has kept showing up for the children of Gaza when the world gave them nothing.
What makes Ahmad remarkable isn’t resilience in the inspirational sense. It’s the way he keeps giving even when he’s exhausted, grieving, and rebuilding himself every day. Gaza Great Minds has become a lifeline for kids who deserve a future, and he is the one holding that line. His writing comes from that place — from someone who has seen the worst and still chooses to speak, still chooses to protect what’s left.
If you want to support Ahmad and his family, you can do so through this link.
You can also become a free or paid subscriber to help sustain his work and his writing.
People ask me about my mission. They ask about my goals, my strategies, and my future plans. They want to know how I keep going.
But they never ask what it feels like to be the person who is still standing when so many others are gone.
They don’t see the moments when the night is silent, and the absence of my father feels louder than any explosion. They don’t see the way I have to rebuild the architecture of my own mind every single morning, piece by jagged piece, just to be able to face the day.
I carry so much. I carry the memory of a home that no longer exists. I carry the scent of my father’s clothes, the specific cadence of his voice, and the haunting realization that I am now the one who has to carry that wisdom forward into a world that feels completely broken.
I am tired. I am not "inspired" or "resilient" in the way people like to describe it. Most days, I am just holding on.
I’ve spent my life being an educator, a person who believes in the future. But how do you teach about the future when your own past has been erased? How do you talk about dreams when the reality of your current existence is a nightmare?
I think the reason I write is not because I have all the answers. It’s because I’m desperate to make sure that the truth of what we are losing not just the buildings, but the people, the histories, the soft, quiet moments of life isn't forgotten.
I am a man who has lost his compass. I am a son who misses his father. I am a person who is trying to find his way through the dark.
If you are reading this, don’t look at me as a hero. I’m not a hero. I’m just a human being who is trying to survive the impossible, and who is, frankly, just trying to keep his heart from turning to stone.
Thank you for being here with me in the dark. That is enough.
🫡