As Israeli tanks rolled deeper into Rafah last week, I watched aid workers scramble to distribute what little food remained in their warehouses. “We’re down to our last sacks of flour,” Mahmoud, a local relief coordinator told me, his voice barely audible over the distant thud of artillery. “When this runs out, I don’t know what these families will do.”
The humanitarian crisis in Gaza has reached catastrophic levels amid intensifying military operations and an increasingly restrictive aid blockade. The UN World Food Programme has suspended food distributions in northern Gaza due to what it calls “complete lawlessness and chaos” after their warehouses were repeatedly looted. Meanwhile, aid trucks sit idle at crossing points, their contents spoiling under the desert sun.
According to the latest UN figures, an estimated 1.1 million Palestinians—nearly half of Gaza’s population—are experiencing “catastrophic hunger,” with children showing signs of severe malnutrition in what was already one of the world’s most densely populated areas. The Israeli military maintains that aid restrictions are necessary security measures to prevent weapons smuggling, but humanitarian organizations argue the limitations go far beyond reasonable security protocols.
“What we’re seeing is the systematic breakdown of aid delivery mechanisms,” explains Francesca Albanese, UN Special Rapporteur on the Palestinian Territories. “The combination of damaged infrastructure, restricted crossings, and ongoing military operations has created a perfect storm for humanitarian disaster.”
The Rafah crossing, once Gaza’s main lifeline, has been operating at severely reduced capacity since Israeli forces took control of the Palestinian side earlier this month. What was once a stream of aid trucks has slowed to a trickle, with deliveries down nearly 80% according to UNRWA officials I spoke with near the border last Tuesday.
Inside Gaza, the human toll of these restrictions is evident everywhere. At Al-Aqsa Hospital in central Gaza, pediatrician Dr. Khalil Nasser showed me children suffering from kwashiorkor—severe protein malnutrition rarely seen outside famine zones. “We’re treating conditions I’ve only read about in textbooks,” he told me while checking on a listless two-year-old. “Even if I had the right medications, which I don’t, these children need food more than medicine.”
The blockade’s impact extends beyond immediate hunger. The collapse of water treatment facilities has led to widespread waterborne illness, compounding the nutritional crisis. A senior World Health Organization official described the situation as “medieval conditions in the 21st century,” with dysentery and other preventable diseases now rampant in crowded displacement camps.
Israel’s military spokesman, Rear Admiral Daniel Hagari, defended the aid restrictions in a press briefing I attended in Tel Aviv. “Hamas continues to divert humanitarian aid for terrorist activities,” he stated, citing intelligence reports claiming militant groups have seized food deliveries. However, multiple aid organizations have disputed the scale of diversion, arguing the military’s claims don’t justify the sweeping restrictions currently in place.
The European Union’s foreign policy chief Josep Borrell called the situation “an intentional denial of food to a besieged population,” while U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken has urged Israel to “dramatically increase” humanitarian access, signaling growing international frustration with the blockade.
For ordinary Palestinians, diplomatic statements offer little comfort. In a makeshift shelter in central Gaza, I met Samira, a mother of four who hasn’t seen fresh vegetables in over two months. “My children cry from hunger at night,” she said, stirring a pot of watery broth. “The world talks while we starve.”
The Israeli government recently announced plans for a “humanitarian corridor” through the Kerem Shalom crossing, but aid workers remain skeptical. “Announcements mean nothing without implementation,” said Thomas White, UNRWA’s Director of Operations in Gaza. “We need sustained, unfettered access across multiple crossing points to avert famine.”
Economic experts warn that beyond the immediate crisis lies a longer-term catastrophe. Gaza’s agricultural sector has been decimated, with an estimated 70% of farmland damaged or inaccessible due to the conflict. Fishing, once a critical food source, has been virtually eliminated by naval restrictions.
“Even if fighting stopped tomorrow, Gaza faces years of food insecurity,” explains Dr. Ephraim Davidi, an economist at Tel Aviv University who studies conflict economies. “The destruction of productive capacity—farms, greenhouses, fishing boats—means dependency on aid will continue long after headlines fade.”
For many Gaza residents, survival now hinges on increasingly desperate measures. At the remnants of a destroyed bakery in Gaza City, I watched as people collected flour from the rubble, sifting it through scarves to remove debris before mixing it with rainwater to make rudimentary bread.
The legal implications of the blockade have also gained increased attention. The International Court of Justice is currently examining whether the restrictions constitute collective punishment—prohibited under international humanitarian law. Several human rights organizations have submitted evidence arguing that the systematic denial of essential goods violates the Fourth Geneva Convention.
Meanwhile, as international attention focuses on the ongoing Rafah offensive, the humanitarian situation deteriorates by the day. UN Secretary-General António Guterres warned last week that Gaza stands “at the precipice of a full-fledged famine,” calling for immediate, unconditional aid access.
For aid workers like Mahmoud, such warnings only confirm what they see daily. “People aren’t just hungry anymore,” he told me as we parted. “They’re disappearing—becoming shadows of themselves. If this continues, there won’t be much left to save.”
