I do not recall my first encounter with the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA) because I was just a baby. In the months after I was born, medics gave me my first vaccines in an UNRWA-run clinic. Since then, the agency has been present in almost every part of my life. It has become a core piece of my identity as a Palestinian refugee.

And so, as I read in the news statements by US officials that UNRWA needs to be banned from Gaza, as I hear that Israel is preparing to raid an UNRWA compound in occupied East Jerusalem, which houses schools and clinics, or that the Israeli High Court is likely to reject an appeal against anti-UNRWA laws, my heart is aching.

I realise it is difficult for non-Palestinians to understand why the attacks on UNRWA are such an emotional issue for us. For the rest of the world, it is just another humanitarian body providing services in a conflict zone. But for us, UNRWA is so much more. Let me explain.

Fifty-two years before an UNRWA nurse gave me a measles shot in a medical facility in the Daraj neighbourhood of Gaza City, UNRWA employees approached my grandfather, Ahmed Abo Aisha, who was just six years old at that time.

It was 1950, a year after UNRWA was created by the UN to deal with a refugee disaster it played an active role in creating. Two years earlier, during the Nakba of 1948, my grandfather and his family had fled on foot from their hometown of Bir al-Sabea, as Zionist militias advanced. My great-grandfather, Ibrahim Abo Aisha, a well-known livestock merchant, thought they were coming back, so he locked up the home, leaving behind title deeds, birth certificates, all his livestock and possessions. As a result, the family had no documents to prove their existence.

“Imagine, Nour, I didn’t know my real date of birth. When UNRWA came, they designed a certificate for me and wrote in it a random date of birth so that I could live with a documented existence,” my grandfather told me recently.

Thanks to this document, my grandfather was able to obtain an official identity card issued by the Egyptians when he was 16.

But ensuring he had an identity document was by far not the only thing UNRWA did for my grandfather. It issued his family a “kart al-moun” – a family registration card – that would serve as the only legal and political proof of their refugee status. The card allowed them to benefit from the various services UNRWA gradually set up.

In the following months, UNRWA proceeded to build tent camps, accommodating hundreds of thousands of refugees who had been sleeping out in the open air.

Little by little, it transformed what was an expanse of desert land around the historical city of Gaza into refugee camps: from Jabalia and Shati in the north, through Nuseirat, Bureij, Maghazi, and Deir el-Balah in the centre, and on to Khan Younis and Rafah in the south. It supplied each camp with schools and clinics to create a community for refugees.

My grandfather was soon enrolled in a primary school run by UNRWA. When he had children of his own – including my father – he also enrolled them in an UNRWA school.

By the time our generation came of school age, UNRWA had built and was running nearly 200 schools across the Gaza Strip. I watched as my two older sisters started school and wanted so badly to go, as well. I used to take their blue and white uniforms and put them on, as they laughed at me.

When I turned five, it was finally my turn. I was ready for pre-school. My mom took me to get the necessary vaccinations at an UNRWA clinic. I remember walking into that building – everything painted in blue and white. I remember the blue window in front of which my mother lined up, holding the “kart al-moun”.

After the vaccination, we went to buy my school uniform. It was a dress with blue and white stripes. I vividly remember my overwhelming excitement when I wore it on my first morning at Al-Daraj Co-educational School B.

From day one, the teachers distributed notebooks, pens, and bags to us, all stamped with the same blue and white logo. We had a free nutritional meal every day during the school break. Every semester, we got cash assistance distributed inside the classrooms, which helped our parents cover the cost of school materials and uniforms.

As refugees, we were not allowed to enrol in the regular schools in Gaza, but that was no loss for us. UNRWA schools provided the best primary education in the Strip. It is where I started learning English; it is where I learned how to tell the world my Palestinian story.

UNRWA became the pillar of Palestinian education. It laid the foundation for Gaza to become one of the most literate places on Earth despite being under occupation and a debilitating siege.

UNRWA also provided us with free healthcare. We got regular free checkups at its clinics, free basic lab tests, and free medication for common and chronic diseases.

We also received guaranteed food assistance. Each refugee family was given a “kapona” (a coupon) every three months that could be exchanged for flour, rice, sugar, milk, lentils, and cooking oil.

UNRWA was also a source of job security for thousands of Palestinians who were employed in its various structures.

The omnipresence of UNRWA in almost all aspects of our daily refugee lives made it inevitably an integral part of our identity. My grandparents still keep their original kart al-moun as a document of belonging and proof of their rights. We still keep in our minds the first lessons in UNRWA schools where we learned about Palestine, patriotism and love for our homeland. UNRWA, as an institution, still keeps the memory of the crime the UN perpetrated against the Palestinian people by deciding to give away our land against our will.

By virtue of its existence, this body reminds the world daily of our existence as refugees, of the moral obligation it has to address our suffering and of the inalienable right we have to return. It is hard not to see how UNRWA and the Palestinian cause are two sides of the same coin.

And that is why Israel and its allies are fighting so hard to destroy it. Their efforts to dismantle this institution are really aimed at erasing the Palestinian refugee question. They want UNRWA gone and our right to return renounced. But we will not give them up. The world must not either.

In 1948, after the Nakba, some 200,000 Palestinians poured into Gaza. Today, 78 years later, there are 2 million of us displaced Palestinians. Back then, the international community decided that it needed to create a special body to deal with the huge refugee problem. Today, that body, UNRWA, is the only one that can help deal with the displacement and dispossession of almost the entire population of the Gaza Strip.

If the international community wants to cope with the disaster that Israel’s genocidal war has left behind in Gaza, it must support UNRWA and stop efforts to dismantle it. We, the Palestinians, for our part, will continue to fight for the survival of a body that has been an essential component of our human and political existence.