Even if Israel’s war resumes, Gaza’s displaced hope to rebuild

After fifteen months of a genocidal war and displacement, on the morning of 9 February, the Israeli army withdrew completely from the Netzarim axis that divided the Gaza Strip and prevented the movement of residents between its north and south, in accordance with the ceasefire agreement between Hamas and Israel on 19 January.

This decision marked the end of the fear of eternal displacement fears of Palestinians who returned to their residential neighbourhoods in the north, a moment many expected would never come and may again vanish if Israel resumes the war. 

Thousands of displaced families returned to the north of the Gaza Strip immediately after the Israeli army withdrew from Netzarim.

Most didn’t have much to pack, just a few bags that each, which children carried on their backs, while mothers and fathers carried the heaviest.

The families began to walk from the city of Deir al-Balah in the middle of the Gaza Strip, where most were displaced, towards Wadi Gaza, the dividing point between the south and the north.

The crowding was terrible, thousands of people, young and old, walking side by side. Children held the hands of their fathers and mothers for fear of getting lost in this huge crowd. The further the flood of people advanced, the more the voices of cheering and whistling rose, some congratulating each other as if it were a holiday, “We are back in Gaza!”

Rashid Al-Bahri Street, which was once Gaza’s breathing space and the symbol of its civilisation, extended as a long walkway for people, while Salah Al-Din Street to the east was designated for returning cars. The scene was similar to a mass migration, but this time, the people were returning to their homes, or what remained of them.

Walking through it was a harsh challenge, as feet stumbled between holes and the remains of broken asphalt. As for those with motor disabilities, their suffering was more severe, as they found themselves unable to advance amid the devastation. Some of them leaned on their relatives to cross the road, while others were forced to sit and wait for someone to help them overcome the destruction that covered everything, in a scene that embodies the scale of the disaster that befell Gaza and its people.

Incomplete joy

After about three kilometres of walking, the signs of destruction began to appear before the people. Their joy suddenly turned to sadness and regret. Everything here is destroyed. The images seen during the displacement did not reflect the scale of the disaster.  The Israelis had destroyed Gaza completely, turning it into silent, lifeless ruins.

As the masses continued walking in silence, their eyes filling with tears, but many had no time to mourn because they had to get home. After seven kilometres of walking, some resorted to a horse-drawn cart, paying the man what money they had left to continue to journey.

But when the people arrived, they stopped in their tracks, not believing what they were seeing. Homes were gone. It was a pile of rubble, as if a giant hand erased them from existence. Entire neighbourhoods were wiped off the map, no walls, no doors, no signs of anything resembling life.

Some realised that they couldn’t stay here, even if they tried to pitch a tent in front of their houses because this would not be a place fit for living. And so some of the displaced Palestinians moved again, but this time, there was no joy in their hearts at returning, only the shock of loss and the fact that the Gaza they knew was no longer the same.

Conflicting feelings

During the long journey of displacement, there was Basma Al-Absi, a mother of three children, who was holding their hands. When Basma was displaced from her home in Gaza City to the city of Nuseirat in the middle of the Strip, her husband was with her. Today, she is returning to Gaza without her husband, who was killed in an Israeli airstrike that targeted a gathering of citizens in Nuseirat in March 2024.

Al-Absi told The New Arab, “I am happy to be returning to Gaza, but I am returning without my husband, who dreamed of this moment more than me.”

When Al-Absi arrived at her residential neighbourhood, there was no house waiting for her, only piles of stones and dust. She turned to her children who were searching with their eyes for anything familiar, then the youngest of them whispered to her: “Mama, where is our home?”

She did not have an answer, so she sat on a stone on the side of the road and went into a continuous fit of crying.

Amidst the rubble of the abandoned road, the Sweidan family crossed the Wadi Gaza, returning to their neighbourhood in the northern part of the Strip, where their home once stood as a witness to their lives and dreams. The father, Mahmoud Sweidan, 49 years old, walked holding the hands of his wife and children, while conflicting feelings of joy and fear crowded his mind.

When his feet set foot on the land of the neighbourhood, he sighed deeply and said to TNA, “I did not expect this moment to come.”

Sweidan looked around, searching for his home, but all he saw was scattered rubble. There were no walls, no roof to shelter his family, only piles of stones telling a story of bombing and destruction.

Amid the joy of returning, fear of the future crept into his heart, especially if the war breaks out again. How would he rebuild his life after his home was razed to the ground? But he quickly made up his mind and said in a voice full of defiance: “I will put up a tent over the rubble of my house. I will not leave northern Gaza again, no matter what the reasons.”

Sweidan looked at his children playing in the rubble, as if searching for remnants of their memories. Then he turned to his wife and said, “We will start over… here on this land, we will not be displaced again.”

Although the road to stability was still long, Sweidan knew that returning to northern Gaza, even if it was over the rubble, was still better than being displaced far from home.