Gaza ceasefire: Our losses are immeasurable but our joy is an act of resistance
In Gaza, time is measured in blood. Every additional hour of war increases the likelihood that someone living in Gaza will either become a victim or lose loved ones.
Killing and loss are always tragic, but even more so in the final hours. From the moment the ceasefire deal was announced in Doha, and in the hours leading up to its expected implementation, local medical sources reported the killing of more than 120 Palestinians in Israeli strikes on Gaza.
These victims survived 15 months of extermination and thousands of tons of explosives dropped by Israel over their heads. They survived starvation, the sorrow of losing loved ones, and the hardships of displacement and cold. They endured all these horrors and overcame them, with only hours left until salvation.
In those final hours, they anxiously awaited news from the negotiations in Doha. In tents, they spoke of preparing their few belongings for the journey back home, as they anticipated the end of their forced displacement after 15 months of war.
A glimmer of relief appeared on their faces after months of bleak sorrow, and hope was rekindled in their hearts. They believed they were on the verge of starting a new life, and leaving behind the long days of fear and grief.
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It was as if a new spirit had begun to emerge among the people of Gaza. But the Israeli machine of extermination is disturbed by joy; it seeks to keep sorrow perpetually looming over the Palestinian people.
With just hours to go until the ceasefire took hold, Israel pounced on more victims, snuffing them out, exacerbating the anguish and heartbreak of their loved ones, and shattering their dreams.
The will to survive
It is no literary exaggeration to say that Israel is an enemy of joy and life itself. Joy strengthens the will to survive, and Israel does not want Palestinians to survive.
Commenting on the air strikes in the final day before the ceasefire, Israeli journalist Gideon Levy was right when he told CNN: “A thirst for blood is what drove the killing of 24 women and 19 children in the war’s last day.”
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The dreams of Palestinians in Gaza are profoundly simple: to end the war and return to quiet days, free of loss. A recurring phenomenon in recent months, particularly at night, has been the spontaneous eruption of chants from displacement camps: “Truce, truce!” This became more frequent in the final nights before the ceasefire deal was signed.
Those celebrating this imagined event were not trying to deceive anyone. Rather, it was an attempt to vent; to seize a brief moment of joy and embody a sense of happiness, even if fleeting; to momentarily escape the overwhelming grief and tragedy.
Finally, after more than 15 months of anticipation, the dream became a reality. As news of the deal spread, people had only one thing on their minds.
All we want now is for the death toll to stop climbing. When this happens, a driving force within us will reignite
As I walked through the darkness among the tents, I heard a small child ask his father: “Baba, when will we go back to Gaza [City]?” The father responded: “Inshallah, soon.” Later, I heard a man tell his friend: “As soon as the road to Gaza opens, I’ll dismantle my tent and walk the distance.”
I eventually came across a group of young men gathered around one of their phones, waiting for news on the radio. The same question echoed from everyone passing by: “Have they signed the agreement? When will the truce begin?”
When news came from Doha that the agreement had been signed, people clapped, cheered and shouted praise. This time, it wasn’t a rumour; the news was real. For the first time since the war began, people went to sleep with a sense of relief, feeling that they would soon awaken from a long nightmare.
But their peace would not last through the night. Palestinians were jolted awake by the sound of a massive explosion shattering the night’s quiet. An Israeli warplane had bombed one of the tents, wiping out an entire family - or perhaps several families. They had gone to bed just moments earlier, feeling the joy of near-salvation, but Israel decided to extinguish their happiness forever.
Joy as resistance
Why will Palestinians in Gaza rejoice after the ceasefire comes into effect? The reservoir of tragedy and suffering runs deep. No household has been spared its share of heartbreak during this genocidal war - whether through the killing of loved ones, destruction of homes, loss of possessions, or months of hunger and fear.
These losses are immeasurable. But we in Gaza are thirsty for joy, which empowers us to mend our fractured lives and begin anew.
This is why the Palestinian people have fought to overcome their profound pain, and to create moments of joy, despite all the hardships. Joy is an act of resistance.
When the ceasefire took effect, we returned to our destroyed homes. We searched through the rubble, hoping that some fragments of our memories have survived the machinery of Zionist destruction. People will move their tents and set them up on the ruins of their homes. We will visit the graves of our loved ones.
I am not sure whether I will find the grave of my young son, Abdullah, who was killed by Israel at the start of the war and buried in a cemetery in Rafah, which we were forced to leave eight months ago. Israeli tanks and bulldozers reportedly levelled the cemetery afterwards, obliterating the graves.
I will go there myself to confirm. If his grave is still intact, I will sit silently beside it and speak to Abdullah. I will apologise for not being able to protect him from this monster. Abdullah believed that a father was a source of safety and strength, someone who could shield him from all of life’s dangers.
I hope I will be able to cry. My tears have been bottled up since the war began, because we have not had a chance to grieve.
I will wander through the destroyed streets: here was my school, the alley where I used to play, the mosque where I prayed. All these memories have been erased. Rafah no longer exists.
But we will return. The people of Rafah will return, set up tents, and begin the battle for life once again. This will not be easy; there are no houses, no infrastructure and no electricity. But our will to survive is strong.
We have overcome the most difficult phase of the war. Just months ago, we felt we had no hope of surviving. All we want now is for the death toll to stop climbing. When this happens, a driving force within us will reignite, propelling us to fight the battle of rebuilding and rising from the rubble.
The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Eye.
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