In Gaza, under precarious concrete structures seemingly on the verge of collapse, Abu Jamal, who is missing both legs, immerses himself in dust as he excavates debris with weathered hands clad in orange gloves. Despite the heavy burden he bears, the only sounds that fill the air are the scraping of stones and his labored breaths as he defies the odds. He painstakingly extracts a forgotten slab from the depths of wreckage, reminiscent of unearthing a treasure from ruins. Within a tight space enclosed by walls made of white fabric and blue nylon, the 47-year-old Abu Jamal kneels on his stumps, transforming the interior of the tent into a miniature construction workshop. He skillfully arranges the extracted tiles and places them delicately upon the yellowing sand, ensuring that the flooring is level to protect his family from the chill and rainwater seeping in. Each tile he lays tells a story of reclaiming part of his once-vibrant home. Outside, the sight is surreal: a solitary white tent stands as a testament to resilience amidst a chaotic sea of gray destruction, with rusty iron rods jutting out from the shattered roofs. In a landscape overwhelmed by devastation, Abu Jamal's efforts symbolize hope and the relentless spirit to rebuild and adapt in the face of adversity, ultimately striving to create a safer haven for his children, bringing life back to the space where he once thrived.