For Israelis, the war in Gaza ended on that joyful October day when the living hostages were released and Trump addressed the Knesset. But what is happening now in the lives of Palestinians in Gaza?
According to Iyad, who writes for us under a pseudonym, the war is not over. Rather, the catastrophe is taking on a new form. His testimony reflects what has changed over the three months of the ceasefire, and how distant full recovery remains, the recovery he and his family are desperate for.
Over the past six months, I have been in regular contact with a friend from Gaza City who has been displaced, like most of its residents. Iyad used to be my client when I was still a lawyer in Israel. I represented him for years, and we kept in touch since. Today he the father of four little children. My family and I moved to the United States, while Iyad and his family remained stranded in Gaza.
The reality on the ground is simply a continuation of the war that has shed one guise and assumed another
Although we maintained close contact since the war began in October 2023, he never once asked for financial assistance, until June 2025, when he wrote: “I can’t go on anymore. I need help”. Since then, I have been raising funds for his seven‑person household: Iyad and his wife, his mother and their four children, Thankfully, the donations collected were enough for them to rent a small storeroom without a bathroom in one of Gaza’s multiple displacement camps. At least they are protected from the rain.
In the process, I have been learning from Iyad about the daily hardships in Gaza, about the desire to live a full life, and about the ongoing despair of living with no way out, no consolation, and no explanation for the continued suffering. In our efforts to find independent sources of income for him, I suggested that Iyad write in Hebrew, in which he is fluent. I hope we can continue to publish his letters:
Iyad’s story – January 2026
The announcement by the American president on October 10, 2025, that the war in Gaza had ended created the impression that the war had finally come to an end. In the absence of vivid images of mass killing, the combined activity of the Coordinator of Government Activities in the Territories [COGAT], the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit, the spokespersons of the U.S. Embassy in Israel, and the media—all are working to make us believe the war is over.
In practice, however, the reality on the ground is simply a continuation of the war that has shed one guise and assumed another.
Still, after more than two years, we cannot send a child—whose friends have scattered everywhere—to school. Loud echoes of explosions can still be heard and the sound of shelling does not cease, especially at night, reifying the fears of a population already exhausted by war.
The policy of remote management of commercial systems and Israel’s control over all types of goods, as well as the quantities allowed into the Gaza Strip—especially those prohibited—points to one clear intention: entrenching the status quo. These practices manifest in every realm of life, as no real solution is provided to any urgent need except in dribs and drabs, if at all.
In the monetary sphere, there are still no banking services and thus no cash coming into Gaza; all that’s found in the market are bills unfit for use due to tearing and overuse, and even the notes themselves are a commodity sold at black‑market prices.
There is still no running water. Nearly three months have passed since that festive declaration on the end of the war and we are still running around with jerrycans, crowding and struggling to obtain water
The same shortages apply to food. Contrary to what is reported publicly—that there is no longer famine in Gaza—food is indeed permitted to enter in larger quantities for traders, consisting mostly of canned goods and frozen food.
But international agencies that used to distribute food are no longer allowed to do it for free, which means the food is sold on the market (as are other types of goods and products) at exorbitant prices, so that obtaining filling food is a privilege enjoyed by the wealthy alone—a tiny minority of the population.
Permission is still not granted to bring in sufficient amounts of humanitarian aid to provide shelter or protection from the weather. The displacement camps scattered throughout the Strip, housing families with children, the elderly, women and infants, have in effect made Gazans homeless. We cannot cope with the upheavals of winter and the elements, find a place safe from disease, or provide ourselves and our children with a decent environment fit for humans.
It is inconceivable that Israel is withholding basic products, including over-the-counter medicines. By the time you finally find what you need at a pharmacy, you find out that the price is sky‑high, and that you cannot buy it even at that price, since your faded and tattered banknotes are rejected by the vendor—so you return empty‑handed without obtaining your medicine.
The physical environment has become a recipe for disease for which there is no adequate medical response
The lack of medicine is not confined to the private market. UN clinics and hospitals that provide medications, especially for chronic illnesses, do so sparingly, with long intervals and with substitute drugs that are in effect placebos.
There is still no running water. Nearly three months have passed since that festive declaration on the end of the war and we are still running around with jerrycans, crowding and struggling to obtain water for all human needs; and if you don’t manage to fill up, you must wait until the next day. You must therefore calculate your water consumption with precision and use it according to priorities, to the point that it is barely possible to bathe once a month.
There is still not enough fuel and cooking gas, which makes heating in winter a luxury no one can afford, with the price of a liter of diesel ranging from NIS 60–70 [~$20]. The shortage and the price of gas also affect cooking, since cooking gas costs about NIS 100 per kilogram. As this is beyond our means, we still prepare food by burning wood, which can be bought for an unreasonable price, yet is still a more affordable option than gas.
The smoke from the burning of wood affects all who are forced to inhale it, and aggravates chronic health problems such as the eye disease I suffer from. The exacerbation of the illness requires prescriptions and drugs whose prices have skyrocketed and as noted, are hard to obtain.
In the absence of fuel and roads, carts designed for hauling animals were converted during the war for use by people, and they still serve as the primary means of transport
The general living environment—both in the displacement camps where we reside and in the cities—remains that of an actual war, from which only the daily killing is mostly absent. Gaza is still unfit for human habitation, with streets that have turned extremely narrow for passage due to piles of rubble and construction debris and are still filled with sewage water that washes over every patch of ground and fills every alley.
The physical environment has become a recipe for disease for which there is, as noted, no adequate medical response; indeed, in addition to ordinary winter illnesses, there are cases of leptospirosis and unidentified symptoms of various ailments.
The clearest sign, in my view, that the war has not ended is that we are not permitted to fish, and consequently do not eat fish. In a city that is made up entirely of one long stretch of coastline, fishing is a major source of livelihood and a primary, vital source of nutrition. Unfortunately, thousands of people are not allowed to enjoy this natural resource, and what is offered on the market these days is frozen fish at decidedly unaffordable prices.
Another indicator that the war is still raging is transportation. In the absence of fuel and roads, carts designed for hauling animals were converted during the war for use by people, and they still serve as the primary means of transport. Whether within or outside the city, you must endure exposure to the wind all the way and return to your shelter after every trip as if you were coming back from a grueling day’s work.
As hard as it is to ignore the “improvements” that followed the announcement of the ceasefire, the same fairness requires clarifying that there has been no meaningful improvement that can be pointed at
The absence of electricity is yet another clear sign that we are still at war, as if the ceasefire has never been declared. When night falls, Gaza becomes one vast graveyard whose quiet used to be disturbed only by bombardments; now it is a real grave that only at first light begins to awaken yet again to the same constricted reality of sickness and pain.
The lack of electricity causes terrible suffering to the entire population in every sphere of life, making people miserable and hindering attempts to manage amidst the shortages. The existing alternatives to electricity are insufficient to meet even a minimum of urgent needs in both private and community life.
Under these living conditions, people truly have no strength left and no desire to live. This is a sentiment shared by growing sections of the population, especially among the elderly, to the point that many can be heard saying, “fortunate is the one who died at the outset”.
Throughout the long months, the war has repeatedly shed one form and assumed another. My descriptions of what we are experiencing here are only an attempt to capture the current state of life, which cannot be called life. As hard as it is to ignore the “improvements” that followed the announcement of the ceasefire, the same fairness requires clarifying that there has been no meaningful improvement that can be pointed to as indicating that the war has ended or is even on its way to becoming a thing of the past. On the contrary, the ongoing insistence not to allow infrastructural improvements is perceived here as an intention to resume the fighting.
The main thing is the despair over the inability to escape this situation. This whole complex is the struggle itself, a genuine war of survival
The terrible suffering of these days—ostensibly the aftermath of the intensive fighting—is not only invisible because it is not reflected in any Israeli media, but even denied by the authorities, which boast images of aid trucks entering Gaza. These images are deceptive, because what enters is insufficient for the ordinary consumption of even a single neighborhood in peacetime.
The misery that characterize our days can be seen from every corner and in every action. The suffering is not only due to having to find our way amid the ruins and destruction the war has left behind, but also to the policy that follows, which offers no hope of rehabilitation.
This policy aims to tighten the remote control of all aspects of life throughout the Strip. Thus, for example, concentrating commerce in the hands of a few merchants (on top of the chaos) creates monopolies on the one hand, and a market limited to certain preselected goods on the other. In this way, what is truly needed cannot be found, and what is available is beyond all reach.
Combined, these degraded and subhuman conditions constitute fertile ground for uncertainty, for illnesses and epidemics. But the main thing is the despair over the inability to escape this situation. This whole complex is the struggle itself, a genuine war of survival. In this war, only those with physical strength and financial means can survive and prevail, particularly since one must act under conditions of complete uncertainty. And what is war if not making fateful decisions of life and death under conditions of uncertainty.
