The New Yorker:

Since President Trump announced his plan for a ceasefire, people I know have been killed. One relative described torture during a year in Israeli custody.

By Mosab Abu Toha

Last month, my father and siblings, who have been displaced many times since October 7th, 2023, were forced to flee Israeli strikes in Gaza City. In the weeks that followed, they often asked me if a ceasefire was coming, or if more aid would reach them. Because I live in the U.S. and follow the news constantly, they looked to me for answers, for some kind of reassurance. But the truth was that I had started to lose hope. I did not want to tell them that I no longer really expected a ceasefire. I used to call them just to chat, but now I focussed on practicalities. Did they need blankets, tents, medicine? Did my nieces and nephews have enough clothes?

On the morning of September 25th, I woke up to news from Gaza. According to a Telegram post, an Israeli air strike had targeted a house in Al-Shati refugee camp where a branch of the Abu Toha family lived. I immediately feared for my extended family. I called Ashraf, my first cousin once removed. Ashraf told me that Mohammad Ayman Abu Toha, his nephew, had been killed, along with his wife and four of his children, who were ten, six, four, and two years old. They had been born in the camp, like I was, and they were killed in the camp. Only one of Mohammad’s children, twelve-year-old Anas, was still alive. He was what physicians in Gaza call W.C.N.S.F.—wounded child, no surviving family.

Then, on October 3rd, President Donald Trump posted on social media that Hamas negotiators, whom Israel had attempted to kill in Qatar less than a month before, had agreed to what he called a “peace plan.” He wrote that “Israel must immediately stop the bombing of Gaza.” The following day, Israel struck more homes in Gaza City, reportedly killing dozens, including a three-month-old baby. Ashraf messaged me to say that another cousin, Abdallah, the father of a two-year-old and a six-month-old, had been killed. “I called friends who are first responders to help get Abdallah’s body,” Ashraf told me. “Israeli quadcopter drones open fire on anyone in the area.”
Still, I began to hear cautious optimism in the voices of my loved ones. There was a sense that this time might truly be different. At 6:51 p.m. on October 8th, Trump posted on Truth Social, “Very proud to announce that Israel and Hamas have both signed off on the first Phase of our Peace Plan.” Israeli forces were to stop their attacks and fall back, the flow of aid was to be restored, hostages held by Hamas were to be exchanged for nearly two thousand imprisoned or jailed Palestinians, and a technocratic, apolitical Palestinian transitional committee was to take over Gaza temporarily. Those in Gaza knew that Israel could break off the ceasefire, as it had after a similar agreement in March. But soon enough there were celebrations in the streets—not of victory, because no one felt victorious, but of survival. People had lost homes, family members, and any sense of normalcy, but they were alive, and that alone was worth something.

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