Between Ceasefires: Who, In Gaza, Can Ever Truly Return Home?

When the first ceasefire of the year was first announced, on January 19th, 2025, at around 10:00 a.m., celebrations broke out all over Gaza. For those who had remained steadfast in the north, the truce meant the killing had finally stopped, and those who had been displaced to the south were celebrating because, after a year and four months, they would finally have the chance to return home. But ceasefires in Gaza offer only fleeting moments of hope. Beneath the temporary calm lie fear, displacement, and loss that no truce can erase.

That day, my friend Mohammed, who had been besieged by the Israeli army for more than twenty days, called me, overwhelmed with emotions, and said: “I can’t believe I survived.”

On January 28th, the first day the road reopened, I walked from Deir Al-Balah in southern Gaza to the Al-Nasser neighborhood in the western part of northern Gaza—a six-hour journey on foot. I went to see my other family members and some dear friends who had stayed there. My home in Al-Wihda tower was partially destroyed, so my family could not return.

I remained in northern Gaza for a week, visiting every neighborhood in the city and enjoying the company of friends and relatives I had not seen for a long time. When I went back to southern Gaza, I was determined to persuade my father we should return. I suggested we rent an apartment or live in my grandfather’s house, but I was shocked to learn it was too late: he had already rented two warehouses in Deir Al-Balah.

He had gotten a job in Shuhada Al-Aqsa Hospital, which meant that we would have to remain in the south for a few more months. At least, I managed to convince him to go back one last time to take some of our belongings with us; the sort of things we would need if we were going to stay for a while, like utensils and clothes.

About two months later, my uncle Ayman visited us, and planned to spend the night of March 17th with us in the south. But around 2:00 a.m., the Israeli occupation began targeting civilians across the Strip again, in violation of the ceasefire. The sound of bombardments was ear-piercing. It was in that moment that I realised the genocide would continue.

My uncle did not sleep that night. I remember thinking that we had to sleep, even though it was impossible, to face the daily sufferings ahead of us. But he stayed awake, praying for the chance to return to the north the next morning, and reunite with his family, even though none of us even knew whether the road would still be open.

At 7:00 a.m., just as the sun rose, my uncle left us to rejoin his family. He safely made it back to his wife and children, but about two weeks later the army targeted Ayman’s home while the whole family was sleeping, killing his wife and injuring him and his children. They fled to the south to seek medical treatment and they are still displaced to this day, because they don’t have any place to return to.

When another ceasefire was announced on October 9th, around 10:00 p.m., it was unexpected for many. In the two weeks preceding it, thousands of families evacuated to the south. Some left their belongings behind, hoping to find them later; others sold everything they had, believing nothing would remain in Gaza; and some spent all their money to leave, thinking there would be no return.

When the truce was first declared, Osama, one of my old neighbors from the north who had also been displaced in Deir Al-Ballah, refused to return home. October passed, and Osama remained in southern Gaza, fearing this truce might be a trap like the last one. “If I return home, I will be evacuated again when the Israeli occupation violates the truce,” he told me.

My friend Mohammed chose to evacuate instead. He had to sell some of his belongings to secure enough money for his entire family to flee. He sold vegetables at a stall during the famine, and together with his brother, who is an accountant, he paid $160 to transfer his family from the north to the south. Mohammed told me they were afraid of losing the house, so they moved whatever they could, which cost them $1,500. They both spent everything they had.

While Mohammed’s home is still standing, he remains stuck in the south because he cannot afford the transportation costs to move his family and all of their belongings again. He also told me that, while still habitable, his home was severely damaged by the bombardments that hit his neighborhood and if they were ever going to return home, they would need around $1000 to fix it.

For others, there is no amount of money that would allow them to return; like Yehya, another acquaintance of mine, who is only seventeen. I met him because he lived in a tent in a camp next to mine. He was displaced in Deir Al-Ballah after his family lost their home in Jabalia refugee camp. During the January ceasefire, Yehya and his family were, at first, able to return to their partially destroyed home in Jabalia. But when they were forced to evacuate once more, in May 2025, Yehya knew there would be no going back. They couldn’t even take any of their belongings, because their home was under threat, and they had only a few minutes to evacuate.

Despite the new ceasefire being announced on October 9th, Yehya and his family are still in southern Gaza because nothing of their old neighbourhood remains. “My father doesn’t have any plans to return; surviving in tents is all we can do,” he said.

Although my partially destroyed home in the Al-Nasser neighbourhood is still standing, and my father could, in theory, transfer his work to Gaza, we have not returned either. Everyone in Gaza fears that the Israeli occupation might violate the ceasefire agreement once again.

According to the Guardian, the Israeli occupation has violated the October ceasefire agreement 47 times. According to Al-Jazeera, since the announcement of the ceasefire, around 342 people in Gaza were killed and hundreds more were injured. Yet the numbers tell only part of the story. Families remain homeless, schools and hospitals lie in ruins, and the streets are filled with the echoes of loss.

Even under the fragile calm of ceasefires, fear and uncertainty linger, as every family wonders if the truce will hold and whether they can ever truly return to what was once their home.

Khaled Al-Qershali is an English graduate working as a journalist in Gaza.