Now is the time to grieve in Gaza The Israeli-Palestinian conflict

It has been a week since the ceasefire was announced in Gaza. For the first time in 15 months, silence replaced the constant sound of explosions. But this silence is not peace. It is a silence that screams loss, destruction and grief – a pause in the destruction, not its end. It’s like you’re standing in the ashes of a house, searching for something, anything that’s left alive.

The images coming from Gaza are painful. Children with hollow eyes stand under the rubble of what used to be their home. Parents hold onto leftover toys, pictures, and clothes – parts of a life that no longer exists. Each face tells a story of trauma and survival, of a life interrupted and torn apart. I can barely bring myself to look, but I force myself to because turning away feels like abandoning them. They deserve to be seen.

When I called my mother after the ceasefire was announced, the first thing she said to me was: “Now we can grieve.” Those words pierced through me like a blade. For months, there was no room for grief. Fear of impending death consumed every waking moment, leaving no room for mourning. How do you grieve what you lost while fighting to survive? But now, as the bombs stop falling, the grief comes rushing in like a flood, overwhelming and relentless.

More than 47,000 people have died – men, women and children. Forty-seven thousand souls have been extinguished, their lives stolen in unimaginable ways. More than 100,000 people were injured, many of them maimed for life. Behind these numbers are faces, dreams and families that will never recover again. The scale of the loss is so great that it is impossible to comprehend, but in Gaza, grief is never abstract. It’s personal, raw, and omnipresent.

People in Gaza are grieving for their loved ones, as well as for their homes. The loss of a home is more than just the loss of physical structure. A friend of mine in Gaza, who also lost his home, told me: “A house is like your child. It takes years to build, you care for it, and you always want it to look its best.

In Gaza, people often build their homes brick by brick, sometimes with their own hands. Losing your home means losing security, comfort, and a place where love is shared and memories are made. A home is not just bricks and mortar; It is the place where life unfolds. To lose it is to lose a piece of yourself, and in Gaza, countless families have lost this piece over and over again.

My father’s house, the house that housed my childhood memories, was gone. It had been burned to the ground, and was now a pile of ash and twisted metal. The homes of six of my brothers were also destroyed, their lives uprooted and scattered like rubble from their walls. What remains are the stories we tell ourselves in order to survive – perhaps stories of resilience, endurance and hope. But even they feel fragile now.

For those of us outside Gaza, the grief is compounded by guilt. Guilt for not being there, for not enduring the same horror as our loved ones, and for living a relatively safe life while they suffer. It’s unbearable tension – wanting to be strong for them but feeling completely helpless. I try to hold on to the idea that my voice and words can make a difference, but even that seems insufficient in the face of the amount of pain.

My family’s story of loss is just one of tens of thousands. Entire neighborhoods have been wiped out, and communities reduced to dust. The scale of the devastation is beyond comprehension. Schools, hospitals, mosques, homes – all turned into rubble. Gaza has been stripped of its infrastructure, its economy has been shattered, and its people have been traumatized. However, they somehow endure.

The resilience of the Palestinian people is both inspiring and heartbreaking. Inspiring because they continue to survive, rebuild, and dream of a better future despite the odds. Heartbreaking because no one should have to be this resilient. No one should have to endure this level of suffering just to survive.

But even as we feel relieved now, we know that any ceasefire is temporary, by default. How can there be anything else when the root cause of this devastation – the occupation – remains? As long as Gaza remains besieged, as long as the Palestinians are deprived of their freedom and dignity, as long as their land is occupied, and as long as the West supports Israel in moving with impunity, the cycle of violence will continue.

Ceasefires are not solutions; They are merely interruptions, pauses, and temporary reprieves in the cycle of violence that has defined Gaza’s reality for too long. Without addressing the underlying injustice, these efforts are doomed to fail, leaving Gaza trapped in an endless cycle of destruction and despair.

True peace requires more than just ending the bombing. It requires ending the siege, occupation and systematic oppression that have made life in Gaza unbearable.

The international community cannot turn a blind eye now that the bombs have stopped falling. They must hold Israel accountable for its actions. Working to rebuild Gaza is important, but working to address the root causes of this conflict is even more urgent. It requires political courage, moral clarity, and an unwavering commitment to justice. Anything less is a betrayal of the people of Gaza.

For my family, we have a long way to go. They will rebuild, as they always do. They will find a way to create a new sense of home amidst the ruins. But the scars of this genocide will never fade. My mother’s words – “Now we can grieve” – will resonate with me forever, a reminder of the enormous human cost of this conflict.

As I write this, I am overwhelmed with a mixture of emotions: anger, sadness, and a glimmer of hope. Anger at the world for allowing such atrocities to happen, grief for the lives lost and homes destroyed, and hope that one day my people will know peace. Until then, we grieve. We mourn the dead, the living, the life we ​​once knew, and the life we ​​still dream of.

The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.