Gaza Tunnels Pose Challenge to Israel in War on Hamas

Islamic Jihad fighters guard a Gaza tunnel in March. (Getty Images)
Islamic Jihad fighters guard a Gaza tunnel in March. (Getty Images)
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Gaza Tunnels Pose Challenge to Israel in War on Hamas

Islamic Jihad fighters guard a Gaza tunnel in March. (Getty Images)
Islamic Jihad fighters guard a Gaza tunnel in March. (Getty Images)

Exactly ten years ago in October 2012, Israel announced the discovery of the “first offensive tunnel” in the Gaza Strip. The tunnel stretched 800 meters, from Khan Younis to a hundred meters into Israeli territory, and was 20 meters deep underground and was two meters in width and height.

Israel did not find any weapons or explosives in the tunnel, with experts speculating that Hamas was using it to kidnap Israeli soldiers. A major Israeli military commander declared to Haaretz at the time: “We will make them regret this and we will push them to despair.”

The army destroyed the tunnel, as it did others it had previously discovered. The military even set up a unit dedicated to the destruction of tunnels. It included scientists whose task was to build electronic devices that can detect the underground passages.

Then commander of the Southern Command Yoav Gallant said: “It is a war of minds between us and Hamas. We are waging it for one sole purpose: victory.” Gallant is now defense minister, and the tunnels now extend far and wide in Gaza. He still speaks of “victory” and even of genocide.

In the past ten years, the Israeli army realized that it could not eliminate the tunnel phenomenon. Rather, the tunnels have since grown and become more developed. At first, they were built to allow Hamas fighters to counter Israeli ground attacks and ambush their troops.

They then used them to kidnap soldiers and succeeded in 2014. Two soldiers were kidnapped, and they are still held by Hamas. Israel then decided to build a massive wall, stretching 65 kilometers, above and below ground to prevent Hamas from building tunnels that can extend into Israeli territory. The wall cost Israel a billion dollars, but Hamas only needed to hire contractor for 200 dollars so he can drive bulldozer into the wall and destroy a portion of it.

The movement then expanded the tunnels deep into Gaza. It constructed a massive network that can only be compared to ones in North Korea. The Israelis have not ruled out the possibility that Pyongyang, not just Tehran, may have aided Hamas in the planning.

Furthermore, Hamas may have even benefited from Israeli expertise. In 1980, it had built a whole underground floor under al-Shifa hospital in Gaza when it was still occupying the enclave.

Underground fortress

Israel preoccupied itself in recent years in monitoring the expansion of the tunnels in Gaza and inside its own territories. To destroy some of the tunnels, it used a material that would expand and harden and use up all empty space, sealing off the tunnels.

Meanwhile, Hamas took its time in enlarging its network of tunnels in Gaza. The tunnels now total around 1,300, reaching around 70 meters underground and extending 500 kilometers. Jacob Nagel, former head of Israel's National Security Council, said the tunnels are probably even longer than that, extending thousands of kilometers.

The Israeli army has claimed that it has “detailed maps” of the tunnels and was preparing the right plans to turn them into “graveyards” for Hamas leaders, who in turn, have said that the tunnels have been heavily developed in the past two years. The technology there will shock the Israelis and turn them into a huge trap for its soldiers, they have warned.

The tunnels have become a major headline of the Gaza war. Hamas leaders and some 20,000 fighters are using the tunnels, which are like an underground fortress.

'Lower Gaza’

There isn’t exactly a life in the tunnels given how difficult it can be to live there. However, they are more than just long passageways that the word tunnel implies. Hamas has in fact built an actual city - “Lower Gaza” - under Gaza. Some people have spoken of two Gazas under the ground, meaning that there is actually a third Gaza below the underground city.

The network boasts rest areas, meeting rooms, and sleeping areas. It is fully equipped and features a modern ventilation system. It holds storage for food, medicine and fuel and has its own encrypted telecommunications system that Israel has failed in deciphering, as demonstrated in Hamas’ surprise attack on October 7.

Israel has weighed its option in how to destroy the tunnels. Experts said it could seal them off with a foam material that expands and hardens in empty spaces and could enlarge to several meters thick. It could use vacuum bombs to destroy them and kill everyone using them. Hamas has stated it is aware of the options at Israel’s disposal and its fighters are ready to defy it.



Sweida’s Druze, Bedouin Tribes Locked in Historic Grievances

Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)
Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)
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Sweida’s Druze, Bedouin Tribes Locked in Historic Grievances

Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)
Druze woman from Israeli-Occupied Golan gazes toward Syria (Reuters)

Sweida, a province in southern Syria, is teetering on the brink after days of deadly violence and clashes between local communities and government security forces, an unrest that signals deeper turmoil across the war-battered country.

The latest flare-up has laid bare tensions that go beyond the provincial borders, raising concerns about the future of coexistence and civil peace in a region long known for its rich tapestry of religious, social, and cultural diversity.

While the Syrian government in Damascus seeks to reassert control over all of its territory, local groups are renewing calls for greater recognition of their rights and “distinct identity.” The result is a fragile and combustible equation in a strategically vital region.

Sweida has long been a flashpoint, shaped by decades of uneasy relations between Druze communities and neighboring Bedouin tribes. That legacy of mistrust now intersects with a crumbling economy, a lack of essential services, the rise of armed factions, and a newly entrenched central authority in Damascus, factors that together threaten to turn the province into a flashpoint for wider instability.

Competing narratives have further muddied the waters, with each side offering starkly different versions of recent events, accounts that are often shaped not just by what happened in the past few days, but by long-standing grievances and buried animosities. The deepening rift and absence of trust among local communities highlight just how far Syria remains from reconciliation.

As pressure builds, observers warn that without a sustainable political solution that acknowledges local demands while maintaining national cohesion, Sweida may be a harbinger of further unrest in Syria’s uncertain future.

Power Struggles and Fractured Alliances

In Syria’s Sweida, power is fragmented among a complex web of religious authorities, influential families, and rival armed factions, a fractured landscape that reflects the broader divisions tearing at the country.

Local leadership is split between traditional Druze clerical authorities and prominent families, each with their own loyalties and varying degrees of influence on the ground. Political rivalries run deep, and military factions are equally divided, some aligning with the government in Damascus, while others openly challenge it.

Among the most prominent pro-government groups is the “Madafat al-Karama” faction led by Laith al-Balous, son of the late Druze leader Sheikh Wahid al-Balous. He is seen as a key ally of Damascus, alongside Suleiman Abdel-Baqi, commander of the “Ahrar Jabal al-Arab” group.

On the opposing side are factions such as the “Military Council in Sweida” and “Liwa al-Jabal” (Mountain Brigade), which collectively field around 3,000 fighters. These groups are seen as aligned with the views of influential Druze spiritual leader Sheikh Hikmat al-Hijri, who has been increasingly critical of the central government.

A newer alliance has also emerged under the banner of “Counter-Terrorism Forces” or the “Syrian Brigade Party,” bringing together factions such as “Dir’ al-Tawhid,” “Forces of Al-Ulya,” “Sheikh al-Karama,” “Saraya al-Jabal,” and “Jaysh al-Muwahideen.” This coalition formally severed ties with Damascus following Sheikh Hijri’s speech on July 15, in which he rejected the government’s announcement of a ceasefire agreement with local notables.

Also active in the province is the “Men of Dignity Movement,” a relatively large faction led by Abu Hassan Yehya al-Hajjar. Though not officially aligned with the new coalition, the group is also staunchly opposed to the Syrian government.

The growing number of factions and rival power centers has deepened instability in Sweida.

Bedouin Tribes in Sweida Say They Are Marginalized, Blamed and Forgotten

Even after government forces withdrew and a fragile ceasefire took hold in Sweida, clashes reignited, this time between Druze residents and Bedouin tribes, underscoring the deep and historical grievances simmering beneath the surface of the country’s sectarian fault lines.

The Bedouin, who see themselves as long-marginalized stakeholders in the region, say they have been caught in the crossfire - blamed for violence they did not initiate and excluded from political life and public services.

“We are the perpetual scapegoats,” said Mohammad Abu Thulaith, a lawyer and member of the Sweida Tribal Council. A descendant of one of the Bedouin tribes long at odds with the Druze population, he told Asharq Al-Awsat that “Bedouins are the weakest link in the local power struggle.”

The sense of injustice voiced by Abu Thulaith runs deep and is rooted in historical narratives. According to his account, the Druze - who migrated to the Jabal al-Arab area around two centuries ago - gradually expanded their influence, curbing the pastoral livelihoods of the Bedouin, particularly livestock herding. This, he said, led to the forced migration of nearly half of the Bedouin tribes from the mountain region toward Jordan, rural Damascus, and Daraa.

He cited the example of Saad Hayel al-Surour, a former speaker of the Jordanian parliament, who remains a Syrian citizen to this day. His father, Hayel al-Surour, once headed the Syrian parliament before the 1958 union between Syria and Egypt.

Many in the Bedouin community consider themselves the original inhabitants of the land, victims of what they describe as “a prolonged injustice” that denied them citizenship rights, political representation, and even basic services.

Abu Thulaith argues that the source of current tensions must be addressed at its roots. “We are blamed because the other side does not dare confront the real actors behind the violence,” he said, referring to armed groups operating in the area.

He called on the Druze tribal leadership - often referred to as “the people of the mountain” - to assume responsibility for protecting the Bedouin community and ending decades of exclusion. “We’ve suffered from a double injustice,” he said. “One at the hands of the Assad regime and Baathist rule, and the other from our neighbors. We have no access to employment, no political representation, and we’re deprived of the most basic public services.”

Despite the mounting frustration, Abu Thulaith insists that the Bedouin do not seek confrontation. “We don’t have the means to fight,” he said. “All we want is to live in peace with our neighbors. No one can erase the other. Since the fall of the former regime, tribal communities have hoped the state would step in to offer protection and ensure the most basic rights.”

As tensions in Sweida continue to spiral, voices like Abu Thulaith’s are demanding a deeper national conversation about identity, land, and the future of Jabal al-Arab - one that addresses long-neglected wounds before they erupt into further conflict.

Druze Grapple with a Perpetual Identity Crisis

For Syria’s Druze minority, identity is not just a question of culture or belief, it is a matter of survival. That fear of erasure has long shaped their political instincts, social structures, and geographic presence in the country.

“The Druze, like many minorities, live with a constant sense of threat,” said Khaldoun Al-Nabbouani, a professor of political philosophy at the University of Paris and a native of Sweida. “This persistent anxiety drives them to close ranks around their identity in a collective effort of self-preservation.”

Speaking to Asharq Al-Awsat, Al-Nabbouani explained that the community’s inward turn is not only symbolic or cultural - it also manifests demographically. “Just as the Alawites are concentrated in the coastal mountains, the Druze have built their stronghold in Jabal al-Arab. It reflects a broader pattern among minorities to cluster in specific regions where they can reinforce their social cohesion and safeguard a perpetually anxious identity.”

That reflex dates back centuries. The very formation of the Druze sect, he said, was a political and cultural rebellion against traditional Islam. “Since its inception, the community has developed a deep need for internal solidarity and social insulation,” he said. “Even today, that’s visible in things like marriage practices - interfaith unions remain extremely rare.”

This insularity, he noted, extends to the political realm. The community has historically resisted the appointment of governors or officials from outside the Druze fold, a trend dating back to the 1930s and continuing into recent decades. One of the more controversial examples was the appointment of a non-Druze governor under the government of Ahmad Al-Sharaa, which sparked uproar, resignation, and a political standoff before the governor ultimately returned.

Tensions between the Druze and the central government are nothing new. Under President Adib Shishakli in the early 1950s, relations with Damascus deteriorated sharply. Shishakli accused the Druze of plotting against the state and in 1954 ordered artillery strikes on Jabal al-Arab, an assault that killed civilians, displaced families, and left deep scars that still echo in local memory.

When the Baath Party seized power in 1963, Damascus shifted tactics, pursuing what Al-Nabbouani described as a policy of “soft containment.” Symbolic appointments of Druze figures to government positions were coupled with tight security oversight in Sweida, a strategy aimed at managing rather than integrating the province.

As new waves of unrest ripple through southern Syria, the Druze community once again finds itself wrestling with existential questions caught between historical trauma, present instability, and an uncertain future.