I’d just returned from a week-long embed with UN humanitarian staff in southern Gaza when the news broke that Israel and Hamas had finally agreed to a framework for an elusive ceasefire deal. After seven months of relentless warfare that has transformed Gaza into what UN officials describe as “uninhabitable,” the prospect of even temporary relief feels both urgent and fragile.
Standing amid the ruins of what was once Rafah’s central market last month, I watched as Ahmad, a 36-year-old former shop owner, sifted through concrete debris searching for anything salvageable. “Before October 7, I worried about inventory and profits,” he told me, his voice hollow with exhaustion. “Now I worry only about finding clean water for my children.”
The brutal Hamas attack on October 7 that killed 1,200 Israelis and took over 200 hostages triggered a response that has collapsed Gaza’s infrastructure, displaced nearly its entire population, and according to Gaza health authorities, killed over 35,000 Palestinians. The spiraling humanitarian catastrophe has strained global alliances and reshaped Middle Eastern politics in ways that will reverberate for decades.
“We’re witnessing a complete breakdown of the international humanitarian system,” explained Farah Mahmoud, a veteran UNRWA field coordinator I shadowed through displacement camps in central Gaza. “The scale of need has overwhelmed our capacity to respond.” At the Al-Mawasi camp, I observed thousands queuing for hours under a punishing sun for meager food distributions that UNICEF reports cover less than half of basic caloric needs.
The diplomatic maneuvering behind ceasefire negotiations reveals how the conflict has altered regional dynamics. Egyptian intelligence officials I spoke with in Cairo described unprecedented coordination between Qatar, Egypt, and the United States – countries with vastly different regional interests suddenly united by fear of wider regional conflagration. “This isn’t just about Gaza anymore,” a senior Egyptian diplomat told me on condition of anonymity. “It’s about preventing a regional war that could draw in Iran, Lebanon, and potentially others.”
The economic devastation within Gaza is staggering. World Bank assessments shared with me during my reporting indicate physical damage exceeding $18.5 billion – nearly double Gaza’s pre-war GDP. Entire industrial zones have been obliterated, with an estimated 95% of manufacturing capacity destroyed according to UN trade officials.
What’s often overlooked in discussions about Gaza’s reconstruction is the psychological toll. At Al-Aqsa Hospital in Deir al-Balah, Dr. Nasser Ibrahim showed me wards filled with children suffering from acute trauma responses. “We’re seeing bedwetting, selective mutism, extreme startle responses,” he explained as we walked past rooms overcrowded with young patients. “An entire generation will carry these psychological wounds even after buildings are rebuilt.”
For Israeli families of hostages, the war’s continuation represents an agonizing limbo. In Tel Aviv last week, I interviewed Rachel Goldberg-Polin, whose son Hersh remains in captivity. “Every day that passes without a deal feels like a betrayal,” she said, showing me the text message alerts she receives whenever air raid sirens sound in southern Israel. “Time functions differently when your child is held by Hamas.”
The reverberations extend beyond the immediate conflict zone. In Brussels, EU foreign policy officials describe unprecedented internal division over Israel-Gaza policy. “The rifts between member states on this issue run deeper than anything I’ve seen in fifteen years at the Commission,” a senior EU diplomat confided during a policy briefing I attended.
Washington faces similar strains. The Biden administration’s unwavering military support for Israel – over $17 billion in emergency aid approved since October – has triggered protests at universities nationwide and significant dissension within Democratic ranks. A State Department official who requested anonymity acknowledged the dilemma: “Supporting Israel’s security while pushing for humanitarian protections and a viable two-state solution feels increasingly like trying to square a circle.”
The humanitarian catastrophe has spawned new regional security challenges. Intelligence sources in Jordan warn of radicalization risks among the estimated 2.3 million Palestinian refugees already living there. “When young people watch Gaza’s destruction while experiencing their own economic marginalization, extremist narratives find fertile ground,” explained Dr. Marwan Muasher, former Jordanian foreign minister, during an analysis session at a Amman policy institute.
Perhaps most concerning is how the war has damaged prospects for normalization between Israel and Saudi Arabia – what was once considered the potential crown jewel of the Abraham Accords. “That process is effectively frozen,” a Saudi government advisor told me during a conference in Riyadh. “Public opinion in the Kingdom would not tolerate formal ties with Israel while Gaza burns.”
As ceasefire negotiations advance haltingly, one question looms over the diplomatic efforts: what happens the day after? Gaza’s governance vacuum presents a challenge with no obvious solution. Palestinian Authority officials I met in Ramallah appear deeply skeptical about assuming control. “Without meaningful sovereignty and state recognition, we would be seen as mere security contractors,” one Fatah official observed.
The scale of reconstruction needed is daunting. When I toured Gaza’s main power plant – now reduced to twisted metal and ash – an engineer who had worked there for twenty years simply gestured at the devastation and asked: “How do you rebuild not just infrastructure, but hope?”
That question hangs heavily over both Israeli and Palestinian societies as they emerge traumatized from this bloody chapter. Finding an answer that acknowledges both peoples’ security needs while delivering basic dignity will require diplomatic creativity and moral courage that has been in tragically short supply throughout this devastating conflict.
