A warehouse, a truce and the weight of a war: Inside the fragile pause in Gaza
There is an oddness to the place: a cavernous, rented warehouse in southern Israel converted into a nerve centre, its concrete floors softened by a strip of artificial grass and its walls lined with screens pulsing maps, satellite feeds and lists of names. Uniforms of many nations shuffle past one another. Coffee cups multiply on a cluttered table. Hope and skepticism hang in the air like dust.
It is here, amid the hum of radios and the quiet urgency of people who have not slept properly for months, that the future of a fragile ceasefire is being debated. US Secretary of State Marco Rubio arrived as part of a diplomatic flurry — a visit after the US vice-president and a sign that Washington is leaning hard into stabilising a conflict that has ravaged Gaza for two long years.
“We have to put the stabilisation force in as soon as it is ready,” Rubio told a small press grouping inside the warehouse. “Countries have volunteered; Israel must feel comfortable with who is on the ground.”
Who can be trusted to hold the peace?
That line — Israel’s comfort — is the hinge on which everything turns. The deal being pushed by the US administration proposes an international force to enter Gaza to ensure security as Israeli forces stand down after a devastating war that began with Hamas’s October 7, 2023 attack.
But comfort is a complicated thing in the Middle East. Turkey, a NATO power and the first Muslim-majority nation to recognise Israel decades ago, is now in fraught political orbit with Jerusalem. Under President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, Ankara has hosted Hamas leaders and has accused Israel of atrocities — charges Israel rejects. As a result, Istanbul’s potential participation has reportedly raised Israeli objections.
Other offers are on the table: Indonesia, the world’s most populous Muslim-majority nation, has said it could send troops. The United Arab Emirates — which normalised ties with Israel in 2020 and has experience in ceasefire monitoring — has already been involved in aspects of the truce. The United States may seek a United Nations mandate to give countries the political cover they need to deploy.
- Turkey — reportedly objected to by Israel
- Indonesia — has said it is ready to participate
- United Arab Emirates — already engaged in monitoring
- Multiple Western countries — personnel seen at the coordination centre
“If they send forces that Israel can’t live with, the whole thing collapses,” said an Israeli defence official who asked not to be named. “We will veto; we must be certain this is not a ticking time bomb.”
Between politics and the people
For those who live with the day-to-day consequences of the war, the debates about vetoes and mandates can feel remote. In Khan Yunis, in southern Gaza, vendors have begun to reopen stalls. A small cluster of oranges, a crate of tomatoes, a bar of locally made cheese — these are almost miraculous after months of siege and bombardment.
“You come to buy a kilo of onions and feel like you have bought the sea,” laughed Samira, a market vendor, her hands still shaking from the afternoon’s bustle. “We had lost everything. The pause has given the children bread again.”
Yet the pause has not fixed the deeper wounds. The World Health Organization has issued a stark plea: the inflow of aid is still far below what is needed. While the WHO has helped evacuate nearly 7,800 patients from Gaza since the war began, it estimates roughly 15,000 people still need advanced medical care outside the territory — a figure that includes about 4,000 children.
“The situation still remains catastrophic because what’s entering is not enough,” WHO Director-General Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus said. Rik Peeperkorn, the WHO’s representative in the Palestinian territories, put it bluntly: only 14 of 36 hospitals in Gaza are even partially functioning for a population that tops two million. At the pace of current evacuations — just 41 patients since the new ceasefire took effect — clearing the backlog could take years.
“Open the medical corridors,” Peeperkorn urged from Geneva. “If crossings were functioning as before the war, we could move hundreds, not dozens, of patients every day. It would be a game-changer.”
Power plays, promises and the politics of reconstruction
There is also a larger political dance taking place. The US administration driving the ceasefire deal is one that has, until recently, pulled back from certain United Nations engagements. Its architects are trying to thread a needle: reassure Israel while persuading Arab states and Muslim-majority countries to engage in a mission that will be watched — and judged — globally.
At the same time, domestic Israeli politics loom. Proposals in the Israeli parliament to advance laws on annexation of parts of the West Bank raised alarm among regional capitals and in Washington. “We don’t think it’s going to happen,” Rubio said of the immediate push to annex territory, a line that hints at quiet diplomatic pressure behind the scenes.
Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, meeting Rubio, sought to frame the visits as a reaffirmation of friendship. “This is a circle of trust and partnership,” he told reporters, careful to underline the strategic bond between the two countries.
Can an international force answer the moral test?
Ask yourself: what kind of mandate does a stabilisation force need to truly protect civilians? Is peacekeeping the right tool after an offensive that some describe as one of the most destructive in recent memory? And who gets to write the rules — the victims, the victors, or distant capitals?
These are not idle questions. More than 700 people have reportedly died waiting for medical evacuation since the war began. Buildings across Gaza lie in rubble. Millions live amid displaced-person camps and the constant ache of loss. To local civilians, the force is not a matter of geopolitics but of whether their children will awake from nightmares, whether hospitals can treat a fractured arm, whether an elderly patient can receive dialysis.
“We want peace,” said Ahmed, a father of three, as he watched aid trucks crawl slowly toward a nearby crossing. “Not flags or speeches. We want the quiet to last long enough to rebuild a house and plant a tree.”
What happens next?
The coming weeks will be decisive. Will countries rally around a model that balances Israel’s security concerns with the urgent humanitarian needs of Gazans? Will a UN mandate be secured to give participating nations the legal authorization they need? Can the fragile logistics of aid, medicine and evacuations be scaled up fast enough to spare lives?
The answers will tell us more about the international community than about any single ceasefire. They will reveal whether global institutions and alliances can translate diplomatic language into safe passage, functioning hospitals and a real chance for longer-term recovery.
For now, the warehouse continues to flicker with activity: maps overlay maps, lists are updated, and people argue and make concessions in hushed tones. Outside, in Gaza, a child clutches an orange like a small sun. Inside, officials try to stitch together a force that can keep that sun from being eclipsed again.
What would you want to see from the international community if you were in their place: robust boots on the ground guided by community leaders, a strictly monitored air and sea embargo, or a different architecture of peace altogether? The debate is no longer abstract. It is happening in that rented room with the artificial grass, and in streets where families are slowly, tremblingly, beginning to live again.
