Gaza Bookseller Mohammed Saad Rebuilds a Literary Sanctuary Amid Ruins
When the 2023‑2024 conflict reduced his home and longtime bookstore in Beit Lahia to rubble, 58‑year‑old Mohammed Saad lost more than a livelihood. He saw the collection he had nurtured for 35 years buried beneath collapsed walls, along with the son who had grown up among those shelves. Today, from a modest roadside tent in Deir el‑Balah, Saad sells rescued volumes one page at a time, turning a simple act of preservation into a quiet resistance against erasure.
From Market Stalls to a Tent‑Side Bookstore
Saad’s journey in the book trade began in the early 1990s, when he sold second‑hand titles outside the gates of the Islamic University of Gaza and later in the bustling Firas market of Gaza City. In 2008 he opened a permanent shop in Beit Lahia, stocking everything from classic Arabic poetry to contemporary academic texts. Over three decades the store became a meeting point for students, teachers, and families seeking knowledge and a sense of normalcy.
The escalation of hostilities in October 2023 changed that reality overnight. According to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), over 200 000 housing units in the Gaza Strip were damaged or destroyed between October 2023 and March 2024, and numerous cultural sites — including libraries, schools, and museums — suffered severe damage. Saad’s home and shop were among the losses.
Risking Life to Rescue Pages
Despite ongoing artillery fire, Saad returned to the ruins of Beit Lahia within days of the bombardment. He described the scene:
“I found the house and libraries destroyed and the bombing was still ongoing. I tried to clear the rubble to recover the books.”
He moved through debris while shells fell nearby, driven by the conviction that the books were irreplaceable. “The shooting happened right over our heads and I grabbed books because books are precious,” he said. “I have been working on these books for 35 years.”
His efforts yielded a heterogeneous salvage: religious texts, novels, history volumes, and children’s picture books — many stained with dust and water, but still legible.
A Bookstore Under Canvas
Today Saad operates from a simple tent pitched beside a main road in Deir el‑Balah, a city that has become a temporary hub for displaced families. The rescued books sit on makeshift wooden pallets and cardboard shelves, exposed to the sun, wind, and occasional rain. Without proper shelving or climate control, the volumes are vulnerable, yet the tent remains open daily.
The modest enterprise provides a modest income for Saad’s extended family, which includes his wife, grandchildren, and several relatives who fled Beit Lahia. More importantly, it offers passersby — students, teachers, and curious residents — a chance to engage with literature when formal educational institutions remain largely closed or damaged.
- Titles range from classical Arabic literature to contemporary political analysis.
- Prices are set low, often bartered for goods or services when cash is scarce.
- Saad occasionally trades books for essential items like flour or medicine, reinforcing a community‑based economy.
Advocating for the Protection of Knowledge
Seeing the temptation to burn unusable paper for warmth or cooking, Saad repeatedly urges his neighbours to consider alternatives.
“I say, if you have books, don’t burn them. I buy them from anyone who has books. Don’t burn them, because books have value and books are a person’s life.”
His plea aligns with broader calls from cultural heritage organizations. UNESCO’s 2024 report on the Gaza Strip notes that the destruction of libraries and archives threatens not only education but the collective memory of Palestinian society. By rescuing and redistributing books, Saad contributes to grassroots efforts to safeguard that memory.
Preserving Memory Through Literature
For Saad, each recovered volume represents more than paper and ink; it is a testament to resilience in a landscape where homes, schools, and cultural institutions have been largely obliterated. The tent, though fragile, functions as a symbolic repository of continuity — a place where a child can still leaf through a folktale, a university student can find a reference text, and an elder can revisit a poem that once echoed in the streets of Beit Lahia.
In a context where over 70 % of Gaza’s population has been displaced and access to formal education remains intermittent, initiatives like Saad’s roadside bookstore offer a tangible avenue for preserving knowledge, fostering hope, and sustaining cultural identity amid ongoing hardship.
As the conflict continues, the bookseller’s simple mantra — “don’t burn them, because books have value” — resonates as a reminder that even in the most devastated places, the human drive to learn and remember endures.
