عربي English Türkçe اردو فارسى
Logo
Latest News
Features

What’s Happening in Forgotten Gaza?

Fighters from Hamas' Al-Qassam Brigades in the Gaza Strip. (Reuters file)
Fighters from Hamas' Al-Qassam Brigades in the Gaza Strip. (Reuters file)
TT
TT

What’s Happening in Forgotten Gaza?

Fighters from Hamas' Al-Qassam Brigades in the Gaza Strip. (Reuters file)
Fighters from Hamas' Al-Qassam Brigades in the Gaza Strip. (Reuters file)

While the world is focused on the war in Lebanon and its dangers, the situation in Gaza has been largely overlooked.

Despite ongoing suffering, it has received little attention, especially with winter rains approaching, which are adding to the hardships faced by its residents.

Israeli forces are continuing their military operations in Gaza, although they have eased somewhat.

On Tuesday, the Palestinian Ministry of Health reported that Israeli airstrikes led to four massacres in the last 24 hours, killing 23 people and injuring 101.

The latest attack targeted displaced people in the al-Fattah neighborhood, resulting in numerous casualties.

As the conflict enters its 361st day, the toll in Gaza has reached 41,638 dead and 96,460 injured since October 7, worsening the humanitarian crisis.

The Israeli army claims to have destroyed 90% of Hamas’s military capabilities, including half of its tunnels and assassinating several of its leaders.

However, it admitted that Hamas has regained control and is suppressing dissent violently.

Israeli officials allege that Hamas has been monopolizing humanitarian aid entering Gaza, taking a portion for its leaders and selling the rest at high prices.

As a result, the cost of a single cigarette has soared to 20 shekels (about $6), and Hamas still controls smuggling operations for goods through its members in the West Bank.

Goods entering Gaza through private wholesalers face heavy taxes from Hamas. The Israeli army claims that Hamas has set up a trade system with the West Bank and Türkiye, allowing it to pay salaries to its members.

This system enables traders in Gaza to buy goods from the West Bank, with payments processed through Hamas. Money sent from Türkiye is used to pay wholesalers in Hebron or Nablus.

Hamas also posts on Telegram, inviting healthcare workers to Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis to collect their salaries, as well as teachers to specific schools for payment.

Hamas leaders maintain command centers in various neighborhoods, which are known to the public.

Those who go to these centers seeking help may face serious consequences, including detention for questioning, punishment, or even death for minor offenses like theft.

Israeli generals say the failure to recruit local leaders for Gaza is largely due to fear of Hamas’s violent crackdown.

With the Palestinian Authority refusing to take on any responsibilities in the enclave, Hamas remains the only group managing affairs.

In response, Hamas is working to reopen markets, shops, and restaurants selling traditional sweets like knafeh and baklava across Gaza. They are also cleaning streets, removing debris, and improving drainage systems.

In light of the situation, the Israeli army is preparing to appoint a “temporary military governor” to oversee Gaza.

It recognizes that military rule will involve daily interactions with the local population and Hamas operatives, leading to a prolonged occupation and resistance.

Most Viewed

 
 
Features

The Border Zone with Lebanon: A Refuge for Syrians Fearing ‘Change’

The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
TT
TT

The Border Zone with Lebanon: A Refuge for Syrians Fearing ‘Change’

The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).

The road from Beirut to Damascus is now lined with unfamiliar scenes. In just a few days, everything has changed for those traveling to the Syrian capital by land from Lebanon. Once an economic lifeline for Damascus, the route bustled with visitors—Syrians and Lebanese alike—and large trucks carried goods from Beirut’s port to Syria, a necessity brought on by international sanctions that have forced the country to rely on this corridor.

The journey to Damascus via Lebanon begins at the Masnaa border crossing, which, during the early days of Syria’s upheaval, saw unprecedented traffic heading into Syria. While outbound traffic has returned to normal—or even declined—inbound activity has surged again. Hundreds of Syrian families line up at the border, hoping for “humanitarian exceptions” to enter Lebanon. However, the influx has clogged the route for everyone, even those eligible for entry. For days, the road was virtually impassable until Lebanese authorities intervened to reopen it. Still, complaints from Syrians about alleged abuses at the border prompted General Security chief Major General Elias al-Baysari to launch an investigation into these violations, followed by measures to reduce the number of entries to just a few hundred.

Some Syrians leave after being denied entry, only for others to arrive, clinging to the hope that Lebanon might eventually open its doors. Entry is now restricted to those with valid residency, travelers transiting through Beirut’s airport, or individuals with official documentation.

Families wait in cars, with children and women inside while men gather around fires outside. Ayman, a man in his fifties from rural Damascus, anxiously waits for permission to cross after being denied entry by the checkpoint. He mentions receiving a promise that his case will be reviewed. “We are in danger. I won’t take my children back to die,” he says, refusing to elaborate on the exact threat. Determined, he vows to remain in the deserted zone indefinitely if necessary.

Despite no reports of targeted violence against former regime supporters or religious minorities—especially Shiites—fear remains pervasive. Bilal, a Syrian from the predominantly Shiite town of Zahraa near Aleppo, recounts how a relative was killed and claims that his name is on a wanted list. “I’ll never go back,” he says firmly.

The scene repeats itself just past the first opposition-held checkpoint, opposite the abandoned Syrian passport office. Crossing is straightforward and no longer requires ID for Lebanese citizens, unlike in the past. A friendly greeting and a wave from the armed guards suffice, often accompanied by a smile and “Welcome!” This is a stark contrast to the past, when multiple military checkpoints, infamous for soliciting bribes in the form of bread, cigarettes, or cash, made travel cumbersome.

Now, entering and exiting Syria via land is remarkably easy—no paperwork, no questions, and no inspections.

Near a victory arch along the road, adorned with images of deposed Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and his late father Hafez, stands a young man. His old car is parked nearby, with his wife and three children—all under ten years old—waiting inside. Hesitantly, he approaches a Lebanese traveler, asking whether he can enter Lebanon without the “yellow card” once issued by Syrian authorities for outgoing vehicles. Syrian border guards had turned him away, warning that Lebanese authorities might confiscate his car.

The man, from the Shiite-majority village of Foua near Idlib, is determined to reach Lebanon. “I’ve arranged for work with someone there, and I need to leave as soon as possible,” he explains nervously. Though he insists no one has harmed him, his unease is evident as he prepares to leave.

The Assads’ towering portraits remain intact, likely due to their height, while those at ground level have been torn down or trampled. Military checkpoints have been vandalized or destroyed.

Abandoned vehicles litter the roadside, some still smoldering, while others have been stripped of all valuables—tires, parts, and accessories. Military vehicles, tanks, and armored carriers, some still loaded with ammunition, lie deserted along the route from the border to Damascus. These remnants tell the story of a collapsed regime and an uncertain future.

Scattered among the wreckage are vehicles destroyed by Israeli missile strikes targeting Syrian air defense systems, including anti-aircraft launchers mounted on military trucks.

The stretch of abandoned military hardware extends from the Syrian border to the outskirts of Damascus. These vehicles were once meant to defend the capital but now lie powerless, deserted by soldiers who left their uniforms discarded along the roadside as they fled. The old Syrian flag lies tattered and forgotten in multiple locations, untouched—neither reclaimed nor mourned.