Ali AwDoll
In the scorched ruins of Gaza, where more than 83 percent of structures in Gaza City lie damaged or destroyed after nearly two years of relentless bombardment, the ceasefire that took effect on October 11, 2025, offers only a fleeting reprieve.
Palestinians are trickling back north through the rubble, dodging unexploded ordnance and clan skirmishes over dwindling aid, while Israeli forces have pulled back to pre-agreed lines south of the enclave. This marks Phase One of a U.S.-brokered deal, pushed by President Donald Trump under a 20-point plan signed in Egypt. It begins with a staggered hostage-prisoner exchange: twenty living Israelis released by Monday, Palestinian detainees transferred to holding facilities for eventual freedom.
Aid convoys, long bottlenecked at Rafah, are finally streaming in, easing the famine that has gripped two million people. Yet amid the tears of relief and bursts of celebratory gunfire that greeted the truce, Gazans now confront an unbearable grief: sifting through debris for traces of lost loved ones, standing before homes that will never rise again, and asking, “It is over—then what?”
A Pause for Survival, Not Victory
For Palestinians, this is not victory, it is survival deferred.
Hamas, battered but unbroken after enduring 200,000 tons of explosives, casts the deal as proof of Israeli retreat and a safeguard against reoccupation, with full withdrawal and unrestricted aid promised in later phases. The group has redeployed its Interior Ministry forces to police aid distribution and curb looting, filling a vacuum Israel left behind.
But whispers from Gaza’s streets and social media suggest this interim role for Hamas—tacitly accepted by Washington—only entrenches its grip, delaying any real demilitarization or transition to a neutral governing authority.
Even as bodies of hostages are prepared for exchange, reports of Israeli tanks firing on civilians near Deir al-Balah expose the ceasefire’s hollowness. A journalist covering child starvation was shot dead—his killing a brutal punctuation to this fragile “peace.”
Human Rights Watch warns that without accountability for tens of thousands of civilian deaths, this truce is no justice, merely a reset—a temporary pause before the next cycle of displacement and despair.
Israel’s Calculated Retreat
For Israel, the ceasefire is a tactical victory packaged as magnanimity.
Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu touts it as a step toward “demilitarizing Gaza” and disarming Hamas, freeing the IDF to refocus on Iran’s proxies in Lebanon and Syria. In Tel Aviv’s calculus, Hezbollah’s arsenal remains a more pressing threat than a weakened Hamas.
Yet, as Haaretz notes, the deal, rushed under Trump’s pressure, skirts the most urgent questions: Who governs Gaza post-Hamas? How will reconstruction unfold without creeping annexation?
Netanyahu’s warning that Israel would “return the easy way” if demands falter reveals the deal’s fragility—a sword of Damocles over any Palestinian gain. At home, he spins partial hostage returns as total triumph, even as public anger simmers over the 22-month delay in securing them.
Regional Ripples and Realignments
Zooming out, the truce has redrawn the regional chessboard.
Iran, the shadow architect of the October 7, 2023 attacks through its Hamas lifeline, now finds itself sidelined. The Tehran Times laments what it calls America’s “failure to shape the new Middle East order,” as Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Qatar, and Turkey step forward as pragmatic brokers, sidelining Iran’s “resistance” narrative.
Hamas, once Tehran’s prized proxy, signals a quiet pivot, no longer governing Gaza but remaining a political spoiler, with its armed factions likely regrouping amid reconstruction. This shift weakens Iran’s hand across the “axis of resistance,” from Yemen’s Houthis to Lebanon’s Hezbollah, revealing the limits of proxy warfare in an Arab world increasingly driven by stability over ideology.
The U.S., deploying 200 troops to monitor the truce while Trump’s envoy shuttles between Cairo and Sharm el-Sheikh, seeks to reclaim diplomatic relevance—though at the cost of empowering Gulf mediators who now view Gaza less as a jihadist battleground and more as a humanitarian liability draining regional resources.
Fragile Peace, Familiar Script
Globally, the ceasefire reduces the immediate risk of escalation: no Houthi drone swarms over Tel Aviv, no Hezbollah rockets from the Litani. That lull could free diplomatic bandwidth for other crises, like Ukraine.
The UN cautiously calls it a “pathway to peace” if later phases deliver a lasting truce, full withdrawal, and Palestinian self-determination. But that’s a distant if in a plan silent on borders, sovereignty, and occupation.
Absent those root solutions, this deal risks cementing the status quo: a demilitarized Bantustan for Palestinians, a fortified garrison for Israel, and a Middle East where global powers referee grievances they helped sustain.
Ceasefire or Reset?
In the end, this ceasefire is less a milestone than a marker of exhaustion.
It stops the bleeding but does not heal the wound of dispossession that birthed October 7. Hamas survives to fight another day; Israel regroups with eyes fixed on Iran; and the Arab street—from Gaza’s ruins to marches in Montevideo—demands more than ink on paper.
Unless this pause births accountability instead of amnesia, Gaza’s rubble will whisper a familiar truth: we have seen this script before.