The trailer creaked under the weight of mattresses, blankets, tents, a gas cylinder, weathered plastic barrels, burlap sacks of clothes, plastic chairs, gardening tools, various kitchen utensils and a toy tricycle — the collective belongings of Mohammad Abu Warda and his family.
Abu Warda, 34, tugged at the ropes securing the load, and hitched the trailer to his tractor. He glanced for a moment at his mother, 60-year-old Bouthaina Warda, who was braiding his daughter’s hair, then turned to look at the coastal highway heading northward to Gaza City.
It was time to go home.
“The last time we took this highway, we were escaping death,” Abu Warda said, his hands straining against the rope as he tightened it once more.
“Today, we’re chasing what’s left of life.”
All around him others were embarking on a similar journey, stacking whatever they had salvaged of their belongings onto whatever transportation they could manage. Donkey carts and tractors jostled for space with pickups and larger transport trucks, the diesel fumes mixing with dust and the salty sea air.
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Every few hundred yards, more people would join on Al-Rashid Highway from the side streets, adding to the slow-moving deluge of hundreds of thousands returning home to see what — if anything — remained of the lives they had in north Gaza.
The homecoming arrives at a time of hope after two years of war. A breakthrough Israel-Hamas ceasefire continues to hold, with prospects for an enduring peace. President Trump was headed to Israel in time for Monday’s expected release of the last hostages held in Gaza, with Israel set to release hundreds of Palestinian prisoners and plans for a surge of aid into the famine-stricken territory.
Abu Warda had endured displacement early in the war, when he and his family left their house in Jabaliya, a few miles north of Gaza City, in November 2023; they returned 14 months later in January, before Israel’s intensified assault on Gaza City and the northern part of the enclave last month forced them out again.
This time, Abu Warda — whose uncles and cousins had braved the 16-mile trek back from central Gaza’s Khan Yunis to Jabaliya the day before — knew it would be a bitter homecoming.
Mohammad Abu Warda sits amid the rubble in Jabaliya, to which his family returned Sunday. (Bilal Shbeir / For The Times)
“Everything is gone. The house is destroyed,” he said.
Sitting in the trailer, Bouthaina Warda spoke, her voice small and somber.
“People keep saying we’re going home. But home isn’t there anymore,” she said. “We’re just going to see what’s left. A pile of rubble.”
Many of the 2.1 million people living in the Gaza Strip (which at about 140 square miles is less than a third the area of Los Angeles) face similar circumstances, with nearly the entire population being forced to move over the last two years and more than 90% of homes damaged, according to expert estimates.
Some parts of the enclave are suffering from famine as a result of a months-long Israeli blockade, say the U.N. and other aid groups, which also have accused Israel of genocide. Israel denies the charge and says it acted to destroy the militant group Hamas.
Meanwhile, the enclave’s infrastructure, whether in healthcare, water or sanitation, has been devastated; especially in Gaza City, according to Asem Al-Nabih, spokesman for the Gaza City municipality.
“I can’t explain to you the massive amount of damage we’re seeing,” he said.
He added that the Israeli military had deployed booby-trapped armored assault vehicles, which inflicted damage not only to structures above ground but also to water wells, underground piping and sewage pumps, not to mention roadways.
“Our priority now is to get water, and we’ve started clearing the main roads so people can get to what’s left of their homes,” he said. “But at the same time, we’ve lost most of our heavy and medium equipment over the last two years, so we can’t do much to relieve people’s suffering.”
The war began Oct. 7, 2023, when Hamas-led militants attacked southern Israel, killing 1,200 people — two-thirds of them civilians, according to Israeli authorities — and kidnapping about 250 others.
In retaliation, Israel launched a massive military offensive that has killed more than 67,000 people, over 3% of the enclave’s population, according to the Gaza Health Ministry. Though it does not distinguish between civilians and fighters in its tally, its figures are seen as reliable and have been used by the United Nations and the Israeli military.
Abu Warda gunned the tractor’s engine, pushing it faster as he passed the shell of a seaside cafe where his family once stopped for tea and grilled chicken on weekend sojourns. Lining the side of the road were abandoned sandals, plastic water bottles hardened by the sun, and broken toys — remnants of the exodus in months gone by.
With every mile the family came closer to Jabaliya, the landscape shifted, with fewer tents, more ruins and more dust lining people’s faces. Entire apartment blocks leaned into each other, like carelessly toppled dominoes.
Finally, six hours later, Abu Warda parked the tractor before a heap of masonry and distressed rebar in Jabaliya: home.
“I remember my window was there,” Abu Warda said, pointing to a hollow space between fallen slabs of concrete.
A trailer holds the possessions of Mohammad Abu Warda’s family, which fled northern Gaza months ago to escape attacks by the Israeli military. (Bilal Shbeir / For The Times)
A school notebook, dusty and dog-eared, peeked from the rubble. He fished it out and brushed off the cover. His son’s name was still visible, written in red marker.
Abu Warda’s sister, 25-year-old Amal Warda, bent to the ground and grabbed a handful of gray dust.
“This is what we came back for,” she said quietly. “To touch the truth with our own hands.”
As the afternoon wore on, the family used rope scavenged from a neighbor’s courtyard to secure a tarp between two taller chunks of concrete. Abu Warda found an old metal kettle and lighted a small fire with scraps of wood, then brewed tea he poured into dented cups and passed around.
A few neighbors and cousins emerged from similarly destroyed ruins, exchanging greetings that sounded both joyous and fragile. Someone offered water. Another shared news of which wells in the area were still functioning, along with information about U.S. assistance.
The children started playing, scampering up piles of debris. Bisan, Abu Warda’s 12-year-old niece, grabbed a stick and traced a drawing of a house with four windows and a tree. She added her family standing outside, with smiles on their faces. When the wind blew it away, she drew it again.
“Gaza still breathes through its people,” Amal Warda said. “As long as people are back here, life will slowly get back too.”
By sunset, the sea breeze turned cool. The family stretched out the blankets they had brought with them and slept under the tarp. Abu Warda looked up at the sky.
“I’m not sure what tomorrow is going to bring,” he said.
“But I do know this: Being here, even if it’s in ruins, is better than waiting for news in a tent.”
Special correspondent Shbeir reported from Jabaliya and Times staff writer Bulos from Jerusalem.
This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
