The announcement of a ceasefire agreement in Gaza undoubtedly marks a critical moment in the ongoing conflict. For those of us who have witnessed, experienced, then observed, mourned and pleaded from afar, this pause in hostilities provides an opportunity to reflect on the past 15 months and the heavy price paid for this fleeting calm.
As a Palestinian, receiving this news is like finding yourself in the eye of a storm, in a moment of ghostly calm surrounded by chaos and destruction. To me this at least marks the end of the bloodshed, but the fact is that those we lost will never return and those scars will never heal. How could a ceasefire change this fact?
Ceasefires are often hailed as diplomatic victories, but to me they seem more like breaks in a constant nightmare. This latest agreement reminds us that, for the population of Gaza, survival often depends on political fragility. Children, mothers and fathers bear the unbearable weight of uncertainty. I wonder: is this really a step toward peace, or just another chapter in a story of delayed justice and prolonged suffering?
The terms of the ceasefire, reached under immense international pressure, include a halt to airstrikes and rocket attacks, as well as provisions allowing humanitarian aid into Gaza. These measures are desperately needed. But their necessity also constitutes an indictment of the international community’s failure to act sooner to prevent the crises that make such measures crucial. Aid is vital, but it cannot heal the wide open and bleeding wounds of oppression. Temporary peace cannot replace the right to live freely and dream beyond survival.
The International Court of Justice (ICJ), the International Criminal Court (ICC) and their arrest warrants, meant to answer for crimes committed against our people, are overshadowed by political inaction. Will the world continue these mechanisms once the war is over, or will justice be buried under a mountain of bureaucracy and indifference? The failure to enforce accountability before, during and after conflict reveals how deeply flawed these institutions are.
Aid is vital, but it cannot heal the wounds of oppression. Temporary peace cannot replace the right to live freely and dream beyond survival. This raises another crucial question: Will the Palestinians ever be granted the right to have full control over their political and diplomatic journey toward justice, or will they always be eliminated from the political scene and presented as adapting to the role victim? While international recognition of our plight is essential, we must chart a path toward independence from unreliable global powers.
For Palestinians, especially those in Gaza, the siege is a kind of war in its own right. It’s violence without bombs, but no less devastating. The blockade, now in its 17th year, has eroded the vital fabric. It has deprived families of their opportunities, denied them access to basic rights and imposed a daily struggle that defies the limits of human endurance. How can we rebuild a life in such conditions, knowing that this ceasefire could collapse as quickly as it happened? How can we dream of a future when the present resembles eternal mourning?
During the war, decisions such as cutting funding to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA) exacerbated the humanitarian crisis. The failure of the international community, including entities as disparate as the UN, G8 or BRICS, to intervene in time to restore these vital lifelines to Palestinians further underlines its inability to protect civilian life and to ensure respect for humanitarian law. What happens when safety nets, already too fragile, are arbitrarily removed without a global resistance powerful enough to alleviate the crisis?
The international community, particularly Western powers, must assume its role in preserving this cycle. Statements of support for ceasefires ring hollow when they are not accompanied by meaningful action, accountability, protection of civilians and a real commitment to addressing the root causes of this conflict. The imbalance of power, the brutal reality of the occupation, the stifling blockade – these are not secondary issues. They are at the heart of the problem.
How can we trust the same US administration – led so far by Biden and soon to be Trump – that pushed for this ceasefire when its actions have consistently undermined peace in the region? The decisions of President-elect Donald Trump’s first administration to move the U.S. embassy to Jerusalem and recognize the Golan Heights as part of Israel are stark reminders of an agenda that prioritizes power over justice. Furthermore, fears remain that this administration will focus on the West Bank, transferring the same policies of violence and displacement there. Such decisions show that any pause in violence does not equate to a change in policy or priorities.
As I process this moment, I feel both a glimmer of hope and a wave of anger. Hope that this pause could save lives, and anger that it took so much suffering to reach even this fragile point. The cameras will soon turn away, the world’s attention will shift, but for us, this is not the end. Ceasefires are not peace. These are moments of calm in an endless storm. Until justice is achieved, until dignity and equality are more than distant dreams, the cycle will continue.
This in no way diminishes the importance of the ceasefire for those whose lives are at stake every day. For many, it means the difference between life and death. But as a Palestinian, I cannot ignore the deeper truth: peace is not just the absence of war. It is the presence of justice. It is the freedom to live without fear, to rebuild without certainty of destruction, to dream without limits. Anything less is not peace. It’s survival. And survival is not enough for people who deserve much more.
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Tel Aviv Tribune.
