With the Ceasefire in Gaza Comes an Agonizing Challenge: Counting and Collecting the Dead

 An aerial photograph taken by a drone shows Palestinians walking through the destruction caused by the Israeli air and ground offensive, in Rafah, Gaza Strip, Friday, Jan. 24, 2025. (AP)
An aerial photograph taken by a drone shows Palestinians walking through the destruction caused by the Israeli air and ground offensive, in Rafah, Gaza Strip, Friday, Jan. 24, 2025. (AP)
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With the Ceasefire in Gaza Comes an Agonizing Challenge: Counting and Collecting the Dead

 An aerial photograph taken by a drone shows Palestinians walking through the destruction caused by the Israeli air and ground offensive, in Rafah, Gaza Strip, Friday, Jan. 24, 2025. (AP)
An aerial photograph taken by a drone shows Palestinians walking through the destruction caused by the Israeli air and ground offensive, in Rafah, Gaza Strip, Friday, Jan. 24, 2025. (AP)

The corpses keep coming every day, sometimes dozens at a time, brought to morgues in the Gaza Strip after being pried from under 15 months of rubble and pulled from battle zones long too dangerous for search-and-rescue teams to reach.

These bodies, dug up as a ceasefire took hold this week, are Gaza's "missing," the uncounted dead haunting families scattered by the war. For the Gaza Health Ministry, they were reduced to a bullet-point caveat beneath every daily death toll: "A number of victims are still under the rubble and on the streets, and cannot be accessed."

On Sunday, as a deal between Israel and Hamas paused the deadliest war in a century of Israeli-Palestinian conflict, families across the enclave scrambled to reunite with their loved ones — the living, the dead and the missing.

Palestinians crowded the ruins that were once their homes, watching anxiously as civil defense teams hacked at the rubble in search of missing bodies. Each day of the ceasefire, the ministry has logged 50 to 120 recovered corpses.

"From the moment the truce began, we were searching and searching," said Samira Alshaar, 58, who returned Sunday to the house she fled nine months earlier when the southern city of Rafah came under attack. She watched as her son, Ibrahim Qeshta, was killed by an airstrike before he could escape with her.

"We left our son behind," she said.

Ibrahim's younger brother, Abdullah Qeshta, clawed Wednesday with his bare hands through blasted concrete and twisted rebar, his face shining with sweat and smeared with the dust of his family’s life together. For three days, running on adrenaline, and anguish, he and the civil defense workers said they took breaks only to perform daily prayers and to sleep.

Alshaar, looking on, said she felt herself losing hope.

But suddenly, the men began to shout. They heaved stones and shards of concrete to the side.

In the dirt were ragged pieces of 37-year-old Ibrahim's navy blue pajamas, the ones he was wearing on May 6, 2024, when Israeli airstrikes sent everyone running. Ibrahim was running in the opposite direction, shouting to his mother that he’d be back in a second and was grabbing blankets inside. Then the house was struck, the walls collapsing onto him.

"That’s my brother's hair, I’m certain, it is him," Abdullah Qeshta said, his voice trembling. "Oh God, thank you, God."

Ibrahim's body was in a state of decay. But in some sense, Alshaar said, she felt "content." She could give her son the dignity of a proper burial. She could find a place to mourn him.

"He can rest now," she said.

In an interview, Gaza health official Zaher al-Wahidi put the number of disappeared people and unrecovered bodies at roughly 8,000, based on reports from families about their missing loved ones.

It's an estimate that's impossible to verify more than 15 months after Hamas launched its cross-border attack on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, abducting some 250 people, killing about 1,200, mostly civilians, and triggering the Israeli military’s retaliatory campaign.

But rescue teams, experts and rights groups agree the Health Ministry’s official death toll — 47,283, as of Friday, with no distinction between civilians and combatants — is a significant undercount. Israel blames Hamas for the heavy civilian casualties because the group embeds itself in residential areas.

"Missing" could mean bodies like Ibrahim’s rotting under the ruins or in the blazing sun for months, authorities say. In parts of northern Gaza, where constant Israeli airstrikes and crossfire had blocked ambulances and rescue workers, residents tell of finding bloated corpses strewn in the streets.

The missing, al-Wahidi said, also includes Palestinians killed and buried before they could be identified, or those marched into Israeli detention centers.

Families who accept that their missing are dead have flocked to Gaza’s forensics offices since the ceasefire took hold.

At the main forensics center in Rafah on Wednesday, workers wrapped bodies and small piles of remains in white plastic body bags and placed them on the pavement. Inside, a man brought in to identify a loved one gasped, blinking at a pile of bones. He recognized the scarf and shoe of a family member that was found with them — exactly who was unclear. He was too distraught to talk. He let out a moan as he doubled over.

Investigators scrawled names on the bags in green marker. If the identity remained unknown, they labeled the bags with numbers in hopes of the long-blockaded Gaza Strip one day obtaining the DNA testing that would allow authorities to return the unclaimed dead to their families.

"We leave the numbered bags in a specially designated place where the ministry can identify them in the future," said Dr. Ahmed Zuhair, director of Rafah’s Department of Forensic Medicine. "All we can do is ask international bodies to please, please help us."

On Wednesday, officials said some of the recovered bodies had surfaced when recent rains washed away layers of dirt or had been dug up by wild dogs that ripped and scattered people's limbs.

The rest of the remains were found following hours, sometimes days, of digging and hurling aside mountains of rubble with little more than shovels. Civil defense workers reported that Gaza has no more than three excavators — the kind of heavy machinery needed for rescue work.

"We need help from hundreds of rubble removal specialists and thousands of large machines," said al-Wahidi. Otherwise, he warned, "we will not be able to recover the bodies."

Each day of the ceasefire so far, Mohammad Deifallah, like dozens of other Palestinians, has come to the forensics center in Rafah filled with despairing hope.

On Wednesday, he unzipped body bag after body bag, cupping his hand over his nose because of the smell. His brother — who he lost 50 days ago, he said, in the chaotic search for safety as Israel’s bombardment of Rafah intensified — was nowhere to be found.

"I don’t know where to go. I checked all these bodies," Deifallah said, lifting a tarp to find a skeleton. "Nothing resembles him. Nothing is even recognizable."



Palestinian Families Flee West Bank Homes in Droves as Israel Confronts Militants

Israel expanded its West Bank operation, which began last month, to Nur Shams in recent days © Zain JAAFAR / AFP
Israel expanded its West Bank operation, which began last month, to Nur Shams in recent days © Zain JAAFAR / AFP
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Palestinian Families Flee West Bank Homes in Droves as Israel Confronts Militants

Israel expanded its West Bank operation, which began last month, to Nur Shams in recent days © Zain JAAFAR / AFP
Israel expanded its West Bank operation, which began last month, to Nur Shams in recent days © Zain JAAFAR / AFP

By car and on foot, through muddy olive groves and snipers’ sight lines, tens of thousands of Palestinians in recent weeks have fled Israeli military operations across the northern West Bank — the largest displacement in the occupied territory since the 1967 Mideast war.

After announcing a widespread crackdown against West Bank militants on Jan. 21 — just two days after its ceasefire deal with Hamas in Gaza — Israeli forces descended on the restive city of Jenin, as they have dozens of times since Hamas’ Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel.

But unlike past operations, Israeli forces then pushed deeper and more forcefully into several other nearby towns, including Tulkarem, Far’a and Nur Shams, scattering families and stirring bitter memories of the 1948 war over Israel’s creation, The AP reported.

During that war, 700,000 Palestinians fled or were forced from their homes in what is now Israel. That Nakba, or “catastrophe,” as Palestinians call it, gave rise to the crowded West Bank towns now under assault and still known as refugee camps.

“This is our nakba,” said Abed Sabagh, 53, who bundled his seven children into the car on Feb. 9 as sound bombs blared in Nur Shams camp, where he was born to parents who fled the 1948 war.

Tactics from Gaza Humanitarian officials say they haven’t seen such displacement in the West Bank since the 1967 Mideast war, when Israel captured the territory west of the Jordan River, along with east Jerusalem and the Gaza Strip, displacing another 300,000 Palestinians.

“This is unprecedented. When you add to this the destruction of infrastructure, we’re reaching a point where the camps are becoming uninhabitable," said Roland Friedrich, director of West Bank affairs for the UN Palestinian refugee agency. More than 40,100 Palestinians have fled their homes in the ongoing military operation, according to the agency.

Experts say that Israel's tactics in the West Bank are becoming almost indistinguishable from those deployed in Gaza. Already, President Donald Trump's plan for the mass transfer of Palestinians out of Gaza has emboldened Israel's far-right to renew calls for annexation of the West Bank.

"The idea of ‘cleansing’ the land of Palestinians is more popular today than ever before," said Yagil Levy, head of the Institute for the Study of Civil-Military Relations at Britain’s Open University.

The Israeli army denies issuing evacuation orders in the West Bank. It said troops secure passages for those wanting to leave on their own accord.

Seven minutes to leave home. Over a dozen displaced Palestinians interviewed in the last week said they did not flee their homes out of fear, but on the orders of Israeli security forces. Associated Press journalists in the Nur Shams camp also heard Israeli soldiers shouting through mosque megaphones, ordering people to leave.

Some displaced families said soldiers were polite, knocking on doors and assuring them they could return when the army left. Others said they were ruthless, ransacking rooms, waving rifles and hustling residents out of their homes despite pleas for more time.

“I was sobbing, asking them, ‘Why do you want me to leave my house?’ My baby is upstairs, just let me get my baby please,’” Ayat Abdullah, 30, recalled from a shelter for displaced people in the village of Kafr al-Labd. “They gave us seven minutes. I brought my children, thank God. Nothing else."

Told to make their own way, Abdullah trudged 10 kilometers (six miles) on a path lighted only by the glow from her phone as rain turned the ground to mud. She said she clutched her children tight, braving possible snipers that had killed a 23-year-old pregnant woman just hours earlier on Feb. 9.

Her 5-year-old son, Nidal, interrupted her story, pursing his lips together to make a loud buzzing sound.

“You’re right, my love," she replied. “That’s the sound the drones made when we left home.”

Hospitality, for now In the nearby town of Anabta, volunteers moved in and out of mosques and government buildings that have become makeshift shelters — delivering donated blankets, serving bitter coffee, distributing boiled eggs for breakfast and whipping up vats of rice and chicken for dinner.

Residents have opened their homes to families fleeing Nur Shams and Tulkarem.

“This is our duty in the current security situation,” said Thabet A’mar, the mayor of Anabta.

But he stressed that the town’s welcoming hand should not be mistaken for anything more.

“We insist that their displacement is temporary,” he said.

Staying put When the invasion started on Feb. 2, Israeli bulldozers ruptured underground pipes. Taps ran dry. Sewage gushed. Internet service was shut off. Schools closed. Food supplies dwindled. Explosions echoed.

Ahmad Sobuh could understand how his neighbors chose to flee the Far’a refugee camp during Israel's 10-day incursion. But he scavenged rainwater to drink and hunkered down in his home, swearing to himself, his family and the Israeli soldiers knocking at his door that he would stay.

The soldiers advised against that, informing Sobuh's family on Feb. 11 that, because a room had raised suspicion for containing security cameras and an object resembling a weapon, they would blow up the second floor.

The surveillance cameras, which Israeli soldiers argued could be exploited by Palestinian militants, were not unusual in the volatile neighborhood, Sobuh said, as families can observe street battles and Israeli army operations from inside.

But the second claim sent him clambering upstairs, where he found his nephew’s water pipe, shaped like a rifle.

Hours later, the explosion left his nephew's room naked to the wind and shattered most others. It was too dangerous to stay.

“They are doing everything they can to push us out,” he said of Israel's military, which, according to the UN agency for refugees, has demolished hundreds of homes across the four camps this year.

The Israeli army has described its ongoing campaign as a crucial counterterrorism effort to prevent attacks like Oct. 7, and said steps were taken to mitigate the impact on civilians.

A chilling return The first thing Doha Abu Dgheish noticed about her family's five-story home 10 days after Israeli troops forced them to leave, she said, was the smell.

Venturing inside as Israeli troops withdrew from Far'a camp, she found rotten food and toilets piled with excrement. Pet parakeets had vanished from their cages. Pages of the Quran had been defaced with graphic drawings. Israeli forces had apparently used explosives to blow every door off its hinges, even though none had been locked.

Rama, her 11-year-old daughter with Down syndrome, screamed upon finding her doll’s skirt torn and its face covered with more graphic drawings.

AP journalists visited the Abu Dgheish home on Feb. 12, hours after their return.

Nearly two dozen Palestinians interviewed across the four West Bank refugee camps this month described army units taking over civilian homes to use as a dormitories, storerooms or lookout points. The Abu Dgheish family accused Israeli soldiers of vandalizing their home, as did multiple families in Far’a.

The Israeli army blamed militants for embedding themselves in civilian infrastructure. Soldiers may be “required to operate from civilian homes for varying periods," it said, adding that the destruction of civilian property was a violation of the military's rules and does not conform to its values.

It said “any exceptional incidents that raise concerns regarding a deviation from these orders” are “thoroughly addressed,” without elaborating.

For Abu Dgheish, the mess was emblematic of the emotional whiplash of return. No one knows when they’ll have to flee again.

“It’s like they want us to feel that we’re never safe,” she said. ”That we have no control.”