Amid the rubble of Gaza, besieged girls—marked by hunger, fear, and loss—embody a centuries-old legacy of endurance. Their plight evokes memories of Sayyida Sakina, the young daughter of Imam Husain, whose silent courage in Karbala reverberates through time, reminding us of resistance, innocence shattered, and hope that refuses to die.

 
Amid the rubble of Gaza, besieged girls—marked by hunger, fear, and loss—embody a centuries-old legacy of endurance. Their plight evokes memories of Sayyida Sakina, the young daughter of Imam Hussain, whose silent courage in Karbala reverberates through time, reminding us of resistance, innocence shattered, and hope that refuses to die.
 
In the scorching sands of Karbala in 680 CE, Sayyida Sakina (Sakina bint Hussain) stood as both a witness and victim of unimaginable brutality. A child between five and twelve years old, she watched her father fall and was denied even a drop of water amid the Umayyad blockade. Her frail form, bound by grief and thirst, symbolized pure innocence crushed under cruelty.
 
Today, another generation of girls in Gaza lives a parallel nightmare. Crippled by war, they endure hunger, trauma, and loss of childhood.
 
The United Nations’ Children’s Fund, UNICEF, reports that nearly every child in Gaza needs mental health support, with so many suffering from nightmares, bedwetting, and developmental setbacks. Women and children now account for most casualties; hospitals lie in ruin, and expectant mothers give birth amid collapsing infrastructure.
 
Both Sakina and Gaza’s girls share a profound solitude. In Karbala, Sakina’s voice was silenced amid bloodshed. In Gaza, the voices of young girls are drowned by bombs and displacement.
 
“Motherhood in occupied Palestine can be defined as a ‘constant state of fear, grief, and anger’” writes Lama Ghosheh, illuminating how children grow up amid relentless threat.
 
Yet even in suffering, faint flickers of resilience arise. Just as Sakina’s dignified endurance stands as a testament to sacred resistance, Gazan girls—amid ruins—nurture hope. Platforms like We Are Not Numbers amplify their stories, transforming suffering into expression and resistance through writing. These young voices bear not only scars but also unbroken spirit.
 
The contrast between past and present — afflicted yet defiant — forms a bridge across time. Sakina, ever young, embodies resistance borne of love and innocence. Gaza’s girls, shaped by conflict, carry that same spark: the will to survive, to hope, to one day rebuild. In their silent courage, they echo Sakina’s legacy.
 
The tragic bond between Sakina and Gaza’s daughters is not merely symbolic; it is a living continuum of innocence tested by cruelty—but resisting nonetheless. Their thirst is not just for water, but for dignity. Their solitude not just isolation, but strength. In remembering Sakina, we see Gaza’s girls not as victims, but as inheritors of a legacy of steadfastness, reminding us that even the smallest among us can hold immense will—and spark the hope of tomorrow.