By Vivian Yee and Bilal Shbair
Just moments after the cessation of hostilities in the Gaza Strip on Sunday, Islam Dahliz, alongside his father and brother, ventured to the area where they had resided until being forced out by Israeli forces. They were searching for their family residence, yet the surroundings bewildered them. Recognizable landmarks, streets, and neighbors’ homes — everything lay in ruins.
Then, Dahliz spotted the local wedding hall, or what was left of it. That indicated their home was located behind them, in a place they had already passed without realization, the very house built by Dahliz’s father over five decades ago.
“It took us a few moments to process that this heap of debris was our home,” recounted Dahliz, 34, who collaborates with local humanitarian organizations. They stood in silence, lost for words.
His 74-year-old father, Abed Dahliz, expressed feeling as if the air had been knocked out of him. His sons had to assist him back to their tent for rest.
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw my entire existence — everything I labored for — reduced to rubble,” said Abed Dahliz, a lifelong farmer, his voice low and quavering. “The house I dedicated so many years to constructing, pouring my savings into, is no more.”
This was not the moment they had envisioned and hoped for all these past months, as they had been forced to transition from tent to tent, relocating four times in total. They had imagined a return, a revival of their lives.
In their latest temporary tent in a park in western Rafah, the southernmost city in Gaza, they had gathered on Sunday morning, anticipating the ceasefire, their ears glued to the radio. Islam Dahliz was on his phone, refreshing social media for the newest updates. The entire family tensed upon hearing that the truce might falter due to a last-minute snag: Hamas, Israel claimed, had not provided the expected list of Israeli hostages to be released from Gaza.
Then, at 11:15 a.m., the radio announced that the ceasefire was in effect. The father and brothers climbed into the car and set off for home.
Home had been a spacious two-story structure on al-Imam Ali Street in Rafah, established in 1971 and inhabited, like many homes in Gaza, by three generations of the same family. The parents resided in one apartment, while Dahliz, his wife, and their children occupied another. He had invested his savings into a new kitchen, furniture, and bedding upon his return to Gaza from Hungary, where he had studied agricultural sciences, he recalled.
His brothers Mohammed and Anas had also lived there with their families, while another brother resided half a mile away. The house was spacious enough that during the first seven months of the war, the Dahlizes could accommodate around 10 other families who had fled from different parts of Gaza.
Adjacent to their home was their farm, started by their father and maintained by Mohammed, 40. Olive trees and date palms grew side by side with greenhouses where they cultivated parsley, lettuce, and arugula. They used to have rabbits, chickens, and 40 sheep, which Mohammed would take to the fields to graze each morning.
The Israeli military stated that it targeted residential areas because Hamas fighters were embedded within civilian structures, though a New York Times investigation indicated that Israel had also reduced civilian protections to facilitate bombing Gaza during the conflict.
When Israeli forces raided Rafah in May and ordered everyone in eastern Rafah to evacuate, Islam Dahliz remarked that the vegetables were just beginning to emerge. The families sheltering with the Dahlizes scattered. The Dahlizes gathered clothes, tarpaulins, and other supplies for a temporary tent and located a spot as close to home as possible.
However, they didn’t catch a glimpse of it for months, even though they were only a few miles away.
Occasionally, their cousins managed to sneak into the neighborhood, providing updates. Their home remained standing, they reported. Later, they indicated it was still intact, yet with some doors and windows blown out.
In autumn, the Dahlizes examined satellite images circulating on social media: still standing. Then they checked again on December 8, Islam Dahliz recollected. All they could view where their house once stood was a gray shadow.
Now their palm and olive trees had been toppled, trunks strewn across the ground. Israeli tanks had left tracks throughout their land. Only a few concrete pillars with rebar protruding from them remained standing on their property.
“I feel adrift, completely adrift,” said Mohammed Dahliz, before growing angry and declaring: “This was an agricultural zone, a realm of tranquility. It posed no threat to anyone, no risk to soldiers. We had no political connections, no reason to be embroiled in this violence.”
Islam Dahliz’s daughter Juan, 9, screamed upon seeing images of the devastation, he stated. “Remember, Daddy, when you threw me a birthday celebration in the big hall?” she asked, sobbing.
On Monday morning, the brothers and their father ventured back to their neighborhood a second time, traveling down a road congested with other families, each vehicle overflowing with passengers and bundled belongings. Everyone was there to salvage whatever they could. Across Rafah, individuals filled tattered flour sacks and patched bags with scraps of metal they could potentially sell or reuse, as well as wood they might burn.
While rummaging through the debris, Islam Dahliz stumbled upon his old school certificates, which brought a fleeting smile. Yet, aside from that, they hadn’t discovered much else — some firewood, a few pillows, and an empty tank they hoped to fix.
He was holding onto plans, however tenuous.
If — if — the two parties could negotiate a lasting conclusion to the conflict, as they are expected to attempt during the initial phase of the ceasefire, the Dahlizes would enlist a bulldozer to clear the rubble, starting with the farm and then the house. They would install some pipes, construct a simple toilet, and set up a water tank, he mentioned.
“It won’t eradicate the suffering,” he continued, “but at least it will be closer to the home where we created so many memories.”
But for now, dusk was approaching. They would need to return to their tent. The remnants of the Dahlizes’ former lives scarcely filled the back of a small car.
