In the wake of a fragile ceasefire
Two days after a ceasefire was announced, thousands of Palestinians in northern Gaza returned to the shattered streets and collapsed buildings to search for loved ones believed to be buried under the rubble. The task is unimaginably heavy: some estimate that tens of thousands of people remain missing, their bodies suspected to be beneath 60 million tonnes of debris scattered across the territory. For families who have waited weeks or months for any sign of their relatives, the return to the ruins is a mixture of ritual, grief, and desperate hope.
A personal mission among the debris
Ghali Khadr, 40, from Jabaliya, spent a day methodically sifting through the remains of his parents’ home. He could recover only shards of skull and fragments of hands, the brutal reminder of a sudden attack that ended a life’s quiet routine. “My father, a retired ambulance driver, was known for his strong will and patience. He did not know fear and was always optimistic,” Khadr said, describing a man whose personality had long anchored the family. With his parents’ graves destroyed, Khadr chose to bury them beside whatever small plots of earth still held intact gravestones.
Rescuers face daunting obstacles
The scale of the destruction complicates every stage of the search. Civil defence crews must contend with missing heavy equipment, dangerous rubble, and the constant risk of unexploded ordnance hidden beneath the debris. Khaled al-Ayoubi, 64, head of civil defense for northern Gaza, explained that the initial focus is on recovering bodies lying in the streets, especially where stray animals threaten evidence with further decay. “We are preserving what remains of them,” he said, underscoring the urgency families feel to give their loved ones a proper memory and a space in which to mourn.
With heavy machinery limited by access and safety concerns, many rescuers rely on hand tools—pickaxes and sledgehammers—to breach collapsed structures. The work is slow, painstaking, and physically exhausting, leaving rescue teams exhausted as temperatures climb in the sun. The fear of encountering more danger as they clear each layer of rubble adds to the emotional toll on workers who risk their own safety for closure for thousands of families.
One family’s continuous ache for closure
Muqra’s brother, Sharif, is among those missing since an airstrike on 25 July destroyed his Jabaliya home. After days of waiting and uncertainty, Muqra, 32, visited the ruined building in hopes of finding just a thread of evidence—a piece of clothing, a trace of life that could confirm Sharif’s presence. “We really need heavy machinery to search under the rubble, but these machines are unavailable,” he lamented, revealing how the lack of equipment compounds the pain of not knowing what happened to a loved one.
Why the effort matters
For many Palestinians, recovering bodies is more than a ritual; it is a necessary step toward healing. As Fadi al-Salibi, a civil defense worker, explains, finding and properly burying their “martyrs” gives families a sense of dignity and closure. The act of naming the deceased, laying them to rest, and sharing a final farewell helps turn a chaotic, senseless loss into a narrative that families can endure. In a community accustomed to displacement, the ability to honor the dead becomes a critical part of the coping process.
Looking ahead
Experts anticipate that, if heavy equipment becomes available, the clearance of bodies could extend over six months to a year, depending on access and safety conditions. The path forward remains uncertain, yet the resolve of residents and rescue workers offers a quiet resilience amid ongoing tragedy. For Ghali, for Muqra, and thousands of others, the search is both a personal burden and a collective imperative—to ensure that every life touched by this crisis is acknowledged and laid to rest with dignity.
