The arrival of dawn brings another chaos-filled morning at the Kerem Shalom crossing. Hundreds of aid trucks sit idle under the scorching sun, their contents—medicine, flour, and bottled water—still hours or days away from reaching desperate civilians in Gaza. What should be a straightforward humanitarian operation has become a maze of shifting policies, political calculations, and contradictory statements.
“We’ve been waiting here for six days,” explains Mohammed, a Palestinian aid worker who requested I use only his first name. “The paperwork was approved, then rejected, then approved again with new conditions. Meanwhile, children are drinking contaminated water.”
The humanitarian crisis in Gaza has reached catastrophic proportions as aid restrictions intensify despite international outcry. Recent data from the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) reveals that aid deliveries have dropped by nearly 50% since January, with only about 95 trucks entering daily—far below the pre-war average of 500 and drastically short of current needs.
The Israeli government’s approach to humanitarian aid has evolved through several phases since October. Initially, a near-complete blockade was implemented before international pressure forced a limited opening of crossings. Today’s reality reflects what many observers describe as a deliberately complex system that technically allows aid while practically ensuring minimal delivery.
Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has publicly stated that Israel “allows humanitarian aid to enter Gaza,” but this narrative contradicts what I’ve witnessed on the ground. At the Kerem Shalom crossing last week, Israeli officials denied entry to six trucks carrying surgical supplies, claiming they contained “dual-use” items—materials that could potentially serve military purposes. The surgical equipment in question? Basic sterilization chemicals that have entered Gaza regularly for decades.
Dr. Rik Peeperkorn, the World Health Organization representative for the Palestinian territories, told me during an interview in East Jerusalem: “When medical supplies are blocked or delayed, it’s not just an inconvenience—it’s a death sentence for patients waiting for surgery or chronic disease management. Each day of delay translates directly to preventable deaths.”
The restrictions extend beyond medical supplies. According to the World Food Programme, approximately 1.1 million Gazans—nearly half the population—face catastrophic levels of food insecurity. Aid workers report that high-protein foods, including many therapeutic foods for malnourished children, face regular rejection at crossings.
“The system appears designed to fail,” explains Sarah Vuylsteke, a humanitarian coordinator with Médecins Sans Frontières who spoke with me via encrypted call from their Gaza operations center. “When we prepare shipments according to one day’s guidelines, we discover the next day that new restrictions have been implemented overnight without notice.”
A former Israeli military official involved in crossing operations, speaking on condition of anonymity, confirmed what many aid organizations have suspected: “There is no single, coherent policy. Different ministries issue contradictory directives, the military has its own protocols, and political considerations often override humanitarian assessments.”
This bureaucratic maze has real consequences. In northern Gaza, where access has been particularly restricted, doctors at Al-Awda Hospital report treating children with advanced malnutrition, including cases of marasmus—severe wasting that hadn’t been commonly seen in Gaza before the current crisis.
“We’re seeing third-world diseases emerge in what was a functioning health system just months ago,” Dr. Amjad Al-Shawa explained during my visit to the facility last month, before the area became inaccessible again. “Diarrheal diseases are spreading due to contaminated water, and we lack basic antibiotics to treat them.”
The international response has grown increasingly frustrated. Last week, U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken warned that continued restrictions on humanitarian aid could trigger American policy changes, though he stopped short of specifying what these might entail. The European Union has similarly increased pressure, with Josep Borrell, the EU’s foreign policy chief, directly accusing Israel of “using starvation as a weapon of war”—a claim Israeli officials vehemently deny.
Israeli Defense Forces spokesperson Lt. Col. Nadav Shoshani insists that Hamas bears responsibility for any humanitarian shortfalls. “Hamas diverts aid from civilians and uses crossing points for attacks,” he stated in a press briefing I attended in Tel Aviv. However, when pressed for evidence of recent large-scale aid diversions, specific details weren’t provided.
What’s particularly striking about the current situation is the contrast between official statements and on-ground realities. The Israeli government points to statistics showing hundreds of aid trucks approved for entry, but these figures don’t account for trucks that receive approval but remain stalled at crossings due to last-minute inspection demands or security procedures that can take weeks.
For Palestinians living through this crisis, the technical debates over crossing procedures feel divorced from their daily struggle. In Khan Younis, I met Fatima, a mother of four who hadn’t received food assistance in over three weeks. “Politicians debate while we starve,” she said, cradling her visibly malnourished infant. “My children don’t understand geopolitics—they only know hunger.”
As international pressure mounts, some incremental changes have appeared. Last weekend, Israeli authorities announced expanded hours at the Kerem Shalom crossing and promised “streamlined procedures” for medical shipments. However, aid organizations remain skeptical after similar announcements in previous months yielded little practical improvement.
Until systemic changes occur in how aid access is managed, Gaza’s humanitarian catastrophe seems poised to deepen. The situation represents more than a logistical challenge—it has become a profound moral test for all involved. As one veteran aid worker put it to me as we watched another day’s convoy turned back: “This isn’t just about policies anymore. It’s about whether we still believe in the most basic principle—that suffering civilians deserve food and medicine, regardless of which side they happen to live on.”
