JABALIYA, Gaza Strip — The caravan creaked under the weight of mattresses, blankets, tents, a gas cylinder, weathered plastic drums, burlap clothing bags, plastic chairs, gardening tools, various kitchen utensils and a toy tricycle – the collective possessions of Mohammad Abu Warda and his family.
Abu Warda, 34, pulled the ropes holding the load and hitched the trailer to his tractor. He glanced for a moment at his mother, Bouthaina Warda, 60, who was braiding her daughter’s hair, then turned toward the coastal road heading north toward Gaza City.
It was time to go home.
“The last time we drove down this highway, we were escaping death,” Abu Warda said, his hands straining against the rope as he tightened it once more.
“Today we are chasing what is left of life.”
All around him, others were embarking on a similar journey, piling whatever they had salvaged from their belongings into whatever transportation they could manage. Donkey carts and tractors jostled for space with larger vans and transport trucks, diesel fumes mixing with dust and salty sea air.
Every few hundred meters, more and more people joined the Al-Rashid Highway from side streets, adding to the slow deluge of hundreds of thousands returning home to see what—if anything—was left of the lives they had lived in northern Gaza.
The return home comes at a moment of hope after two years of war. A revolutionary ceasefire between Israel and Hamas continues to hold, with prospects for lasting peace. President Trump visited Israel in time for Monday’s planned release of the last hostages held in Gaza, as Israel prepares to free hundreds of Palestinian prisoners and plans to increase aid to the famine-stricken territory.
Abu Warda was displaced at the start of the war, when he and his family left their home in Jabaliya, a few kilometers north of Gaza City, in November 2023; they returned 14 months later, in January, before Israel’s intensified assault on Gaza City and the northern part of the enclave last month forced them to leave again.
This time, Abu Warda – whose uncles and cousins had braved the 26km journey from Khan Yunis in central Gaza to Jabaliya the day before – knew it would be a bitter return.
Mohammad Abu Warda sits amid rubble in Jabaliya, where his family returned on Sunday.
(Bilal Shbeir / For time)
“Everything is gone. The house is destroyed,” he said.
Sitting in the trailer, Bouthaina Warda spoke in a small, dark voice.
“People keep saying we’re going home. But home isn’t there anymore,” she said. “We’ll just see what’s left. A pile of rubble.”
Many of the Gaza Strip’s 2.1 million residents (which, with an area of about 140 square miles, is less than a third the size of Los Angeles) face similar circumstances, with almost the entire population forced to move in the past two years and more than 90 percent of homes damaged, according to experts’ estimates.
Parts of the enclave are suffering from famine due to a months-long Israeli blockade, say the UN and other humanitarian organizations, which have also accused Israel of genocide. Israel denies the accusations and says it acted to destroy the militant group Hamas.
Meanwhile, the enclave’s infrastructure, whether health care, water or sanitation, has been devastated; particularly in Gaza City, according to Asem Al-Nabih, spokesperson for the Gaza City Municipality.
“I can’t explain to you the extent of the damage we’re seeing,” he said.
He added that the Israeli army deployed booby-trapped armored assault vehicles, which inflicted damage not only on above-ground structures but also on water wells, underground pipes and sewage pumps, not to mention roads.
“Our priority now is to have water, and we have started to clear the main roads so people can access what remains of their homes,” he said. “But at the same time, we have lost most of our heavy and medium equipment in the last two years, so there is little we can do to alleviate people’s suffering.”
The war began on October 7, 2023, when Hamas-led militants attacked southern Israel, killing 1,200 people – two-thirds of whom were civilians, according to Israeli authorities – and kidnapping around 250 others.
In retaliation, Israel launched a massive military offensive that killed more than 67,000 people, or more than 3 percent of the enclave’s population, according to Gaza’s health ministry. Although it does not distinguish between civilians and combatants in its count, its figures are considered reliable and have been used by the United Nations and the Israeli military.
Abu Warda started the tractor’s engine, pushing it faster as he passed the shell of a seaside cafe where his family once stopped for tea and grilled chicken during their weekend stays. By the side of the road were discarded sandals, sun-hardened plastic water bottles and broken toys – remnants of the exodus of months past.
As the family got closer to Jabaliya, the landscape changed, with fewer tents, more ruins and more dust covering people’s faces. Entire buildings leaned against each other, like carelessly toppled dominoes.
Finally, six hours later, Abu Warda parked the tractor in front of a pile of distressed masonry and rebar in Jabaliya: his home.
“I remember my window was there,” Abu Warda said, pointing to a hollow space between fallen concrete slabs.
A caravan contains the belongings of the family of Mohammad Abu Warda, who fled northern Gaza months ago to escape attacks by the Israeli army.
(Bilal Shbeir / For time)
A school notebook, dusty and dog-eared, emerged from the rubble. He fished it out and brushed the cover. Her son’s name was still visible, written in red marker.
Abu Warda’s sister, Amal Warda, 25, bent down to the ground and grabbed a handful of gray dust.
“That’s why we came back,” she said softly. “To touch the truth with our own hands.”
As the afternoon wore on, the family used rope scavenged from a neighbor’s yard to secure a tarp between two taller pieces of concrete. Abu Warda found an old metal kettle and started a small fire with sticks, then brewed tea, poured it into dented cups and passed it around.
A few neighbors and cousins emerged from equally destroyed ruins, exchanging greetings both joyous and fragile. Someone offered me water. Another shared information about wells in the area that were still functioning, as well as information about U.S. aid.
The children started playing, collecting piles of debris. Abu Warda’s 12-year-old niece Bisan grabbed a stick and drew a picture of a house with four windows and a tree. She added her family standing outside, with smiles on their faces. When the wind blew it away, she took it off.
“Gaza still breathes through its people,” said Amal Warda. “As long as people are back here, life will slowly return to normal as well. »
As the sun set, the sea breeze became cool. The family spread out the blankets they had brought and slept under the tarp. Abu Warda looked up to the sky.
“I’m not sure what tomorrow holds,” he said.
“But I know this: being here, even if it’s in ruins, is better than waiting for news in a tent.”
Special correspondent Shbeir reported from Jabaliya and Bulos, editor of the Times, of Jerusalem.
