Last week, a significant ceasefire was announced following two tumultuous years in Gaza, where the impacts of conflict have left deep scars on the region. While the bombs have ceased falling, the remnants of widespread devastation are all too visible. Many homes, schools, hospitals, universities, and commercial structures lie in ruins, casting a pall over what was once a vibrant urban landscape. Aerial views of Gaza now reveal a stark terrain, where lush agricultural lands and greenery have been replaced by desolation.
The objective of prolonged hostilities has been perceived as not merely to displace the Palestinian population of Gaza but also to obstruct their self-sufficiency. This strategy inclines toward uprooting communities and severing their intrinsic ties to the land.
In the eastern section of the Maghazi refugee camp, this sentiment is personified by the assault on family-owned land — the very land entrusted to my grandfather, Ali Alsaloul, during the Nakba of 1948. Forced from his village, Al-Maghar, by advancing forces, Ali settled on this land, planting olive trees, date palms, and figs to cultivate a thriving homestead. Over the years, he diligently acquired the plot through an agreement with its original owner, forever anchoring our family’s legacy to this fertile ground.
While my father and relatives eventually created their own homes, this cherished land remained a gathering point for family traditions, especially during the autumn olive-picking season. This annual ritual fostered unity, as we came together to harvest olives and create homemade olive oil, jams, and other delicacies that enhanced our connection to the land.
However, the outbreak of conflict in 2023 transformed our once safe haven into a perilous place. Our land was struck multiple times, thwarting our olive harvests in both 2023 and 2024. Amid escalating famine conditions, we resorted to secretive trips to our plot, gathering firewood and fruits to sustain our family and those of our neighbors, risking encounters with military forces.
The grim reality was given weight by reports in August, confirming the widespread uprooting of over 600 trees in the Maghazi region—a distressing blow that further diminished our agricultural potential. Alarmingly, the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations revealed that nearly all of Gaza’s agricultural lands have been compromised, adding urgency to an already dire food security crisis.
As the community hungers for aid amidst the ceasefire, we face a stark dependence on external assistance that can be manipulated by occupying powers. Currently, an overwhelming 100 percent of Palestinians in Gaza live with some form of food insecurity. Many continue to struggle under the biologically and economically constricting hand of a system designed to stifle their growth and prosperity.
Despite past losses, families in Gaza remain resolute about restoring their lands and nurturing their ties to tradition and agriculture. Revitalizing our agricultural roots is vital not only for survival but also for the preservation of our cultural identity. The resilience of these communities is commendable, as they continue to fight against both the physical and psychological uprooting they have faced repeatedly throughout history.
As we navigate this complex landscape, the need for recognition, compassion, and understanding from the global community has never been greater. Together, we must champion the restoration of rights and lands, ensuring that the vibrant heritage of the Palestinian people not only survives but thrives again.
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