At the border of grief and relief: bodies, trucks, and the fragile pause in Gaza
The night air at the border crossing tasted of diesel and dust, a metallic tang that clung to clothes and memories alike.
At Kissufim, where aid convoys have crawled like a lifeline into Gaza, the slow drama of an uneasy ceasefire played out in three acts: the grim return of coffins, the sudden haircut of aid, and the reappearance of armed men on Gaza’s streets.
“You cannot fix a wound by wrapping it in paper,” said Amal, a nurse in Khan Younis who asked that only her first name be used. “Bodies returned, trucks halted—people will die waiting for the second act of this agreement to arrive.”
What was exchanged — and what was not
In the last few days, Hamas has handed over several coffins believed to contain Israeli hostages killed in the October 7 attacks that detonated this long ordeal.
Israeli authorities say they have received four coffins at a meeting point in northern Gaza; other transfers were confirmed by both Hamas spokespeople and international intermediaries. Hamas officials, speaking through local channels, said their teams were “continuing to oversee the implementation of what was agreed upon.”
Still, according to statements coming from Israeli circles, only eight coffins have been transferred so far — leaving dozens unaccounted for in the eyes of families and officials. Israeli tallies say some 251 people were taken hostage on 7 October 2023, and Israeli investigators estimate around 1,200 civilians were killed in the initial attacks. Gaza health authorities, meanwhile, say at least 67,000 Palestinians have died in the hostilities, figures that have become part of the wider human arithmetic of this conflict.
“When a mother receives a coffin, she does not ask which calendar month brought it,” said Miriam Katz, whose relative remains listed as missing. “She just wants the name back. That’s all.”
Aid reduced, needs magnified
Counterintuitively, amid these transfers Israel announced it would halve the number of humanitarian trucks allowed into Gaza — a punitive move officials described as a response to what they call Hamas’ failure to fully comply with the agreement on handing over remains.
Before the ceasefire, plans called for roughly 600 aid trucks to enter Gaza each day to prevent what United Nations and aid agencies have for months called a looming famine. More than half a million Palestinians, aid organizations say, have faced severe food insecurity. Now, as the clock ticks, the promised flow of goods looks compromised.
“We were told to prepare for 600 every day,” an aid worker at the crossing told me. “Now we wait to see how many will come. You cannot run a hospital, a bakery, a life on promises.”
The reality on the ground is brutal: flattened apartment blocks where children once kicked mango pits; makeshift tents under the shadow of shell-blasted mosques; water-scarce homes and a hospital corridor that smells of disinfectant and exhausted hope. Bulldozers deployed by municipal authorities sweep through rubble, trying to open routes for aid convoys, but roads are dangerous and drivers wary.
Hamas back on the streets — in force
With the partial withdrawal of Israeli ground forces, Hamas fighters have reappeared in Gaza’s urban veins, deploying in uniforms and civilian clothes, manning checkpoints and staging patrols along routes intended for aid deliveries.
Local residents reported seeing hundreds of security personnel — an unmistakable sign that Hamas has rushed to reassert governance and control. But the return has not been peaceful; in one harrowing video widely circulated by both local witnesses and regional media, a group of men were shown bound, forced to kneel and executed in public. Multiple sources verified the location and timing, and a Hamas source later confirmed its fighters were involved.
“When an armed group returns, they bring both protection and fear,” observed Dr. Leila Haddad, a Gaza-based sociologist. “Communities feel safer from external attack, but internal tensions rise. The long shadow of suspicion—who did what during the occupation—comes back like a fever.”
Local security officials reported dozens killed in recent internal clashes between rival factions. In addition, Israeli drones struck several targets, killing civilians who approached truce lines or houses in precarious areas, according to Gaza health authorities and Israeli military statements.
Trump, threats, and the politics of disarmament
Across the ocean in Washington, and after a speech to the Israeli Knesset that declared a “historic dawn”, former US President Donald Trump warned that if Hamas did not disarm, “we will disarm them. And it will happen quickly and perhaps violently.”
Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has insisted the war cannot end until Hamas relinquishes its weapons and cedes control of Gaza — demands that Hamas fighters and many Gazans alike have rejected outright. The result is a brittle bargain: a ceasefire punctuated by shadows of escalation, and a list of unfulfilled conditions on both sides.
“A ceasefire without accountability is simply the pause between two storms,” said Professor Isaac Ben-Ami, an expert in conflict resolution. “Weapons are only one element. The other is political will. Who will govern? Who will rebuild? And who will guarantee the next dawn won’t break into another night of violence?”
The human calculus
This is not just about missiles and militants. It is also about women in markets waiting for bread, about a schoolteacher trying to return to classes for the children who survived, about the forensic teams working in cold rooms to reunite names with faces. Gaza’s Civil Defence Service reported some 250 bodies recovered since the truce began — each recovery a story, each story a wound reopened for families on both sides.
“There is no checklist for grief,” said Omar, a volunteer with a local civil defence unit. “We mark recovery on paper, give a number, but for us it is still one person with a life, a list of things they loved.”
What does peace look like, really?
As readers, we must ask ourselves: what do we mean by an end to conflict? Is peace the absence of bullets, the return of hostages, or the slow, steady work of reweaving social fabric? The events at Kissufim show that the practical steps toward peace — safe corridors for aid, transparent exchanges of the dead, reliable governance — are as vital as summits and speeches.
Worldwide, the Gaza pause fits a larger pattern: asymmetric warfare where civilian life is the first casualty, hostage diplomacy that pressures negotiators, and humanitarian supply chains that hang by diplomatic threads. If the world has learned anything over the last two years, it is that agreements are fragile and that enforcement is messy.
“We should not trade dignity for speed,” Amal said, closing our conversation as the call to prayer echoed across the rubble-strewn skyline. “There are truths that must be faced. Otherwise, whatever bargain is made today may just be the cover for tomorrow’s fire.”
Where do we go from here?
For now, families wait. Aid convoys queue. Fighters patrol. Bodies are counted and not yet all returned. The calculus of life and death is being renegotiated in real time.
It is easy to be numb to numbers: 251 hostages taken, 1,200 killed on October 7, 67,000 Palestinians dead by local tallies, hundreds more missing and trapped under rubble. But behind every statistic is a face, a kitchen table emptied, a call that won’t be answered. For peace to mean anything, the world must do more than broker exchanges; it must ensure that survival and dignity outlast headlines.
What would you ask if you stood at that crossing for even one hour? What would you try to carry home?
