In the weeks after a ceasefire took hold, families are walking back into neighbourhoods that no longer look like home, and the Abu Dalfa family's return to Sheikh Radwan in Gaza City shows how a pause in fighting can open a harder question: where do people live when everything is gone? Their rubble-strewn street stands among a landscape that United Nations analysis describes as two-thirds of Gaza's buildings damaged or destroyed, a scale of loss that reaches far beyond one family's walls. Here, a father digs with his hands, a mother searches for her dead sons' belongings, and a daughter looks
Drone Footage Lays Bare Gaza City's Ruin as Families Return to Rubble During Ceasefire
"So where will we go?"
Why does this story start with one family rather than the satellite numbers?
Because the numbers only say how much is gone. The Abu Dalfas show what people do next: Hamdi digs with his hands, Samar looks for her sons' blankets, Yusra looks for her pencils.
Hamdi says the tents never came. What do we know about that?
Only that he said it. The report doesn't say who promised the tents or whether deliveries are planned, so it's his account of what happened to his family.
And the damage figures? They seem very precise.
They're the UN Satellite Centre's, covering the period to September 6. Satellite analysis counts structures, not people, and categories like "possibly damaged" are estimates. Bombing continued for about a month after, so the figures are out of date.
That's why Gaza City's 8,578 destroyed structures is probably a floor.
What about the rubble itself?
The UN says there are tens of millions of tonnes, contaminated with unexploded ordnance and asbestos. Families are digging through it by hand.
The story doesn't say how many people are returning or how many have been hurt by that contamination. It says the danger exists, not how often it has struck.
What should we watch?
Winter. Rain turns dust to mud, and Hamdi says tents won't hold.
And whether shelter actually arrives. That's still unknown.
Der Puls
- A family returns a week into the ceasefire to find their Sheikh Radwan home reduced to dust and concrete.
- Promised tents and shelters have not arrived, leaving displaced people asking where they are supposed to go.
- Hamdi Abu Dalfa digs through rubble by hand and plans a sturdier shelter, since ordinary tents cannot withstand wind and rain.
- Unexploded ordnance, asbestos and thousands of unrecovered bodies make the ruins dangerous, while winter rain and cold are closing in.
In the weeks after a ceasefire took hold, families are walking back into neighbourhoods that no longer look like home, and the Abu Dalfa family's return to Sheikh Radwan in Gaza City shows how a pause in fighting can open a harder question: where do people live when everything is gone? Their rubble-strewn street stands among a landscape that United Nations analysis describes as two-thirds of Gaza's buildings damaged or destroyed, a scale of loss that reaches far beyond one family's walls. Here, a father digs with his hands, a mother searches for her dead sons' belongings, and a daughter looks for her school books, all carrying the weight of a war that has changed the shape of ordinary life. As winter comes, the story is less about the end of fighting than about the long, uncertain work of making a place to stand.
The Abu Dalfa family stood in the middle of Sheikh Radwan, in Gaza City, where apartment blocks and families once filled the streets. A week into the ceasefire, they returned to find dust and ruins, with homes, green spaces and the neighbourhood pool barely recognisable after months of Israeli strikes.
The family had fled south when Israeli troops moved into Gaza City, which Israel calls Hamas's main stronghold. Now they have nowhere to go. Father Hamdi told the ABC there are no shelters, and that the tents they were promised never came. "So where will we go?" he asked. Two of his sons were killed by Israeli bombs during the war, and he is digging through the rubble with his bare hands, saying it is better than sitting where he cannot live.
His wife Samar pulls blankets and pillows from beneath the concrete, searching above all for her son's blanket, which still carries his smell. She speaks of Ahmad and Mustafa, and keeps every recovered item close, even their certificates. "My life was beautiful, thank God," she said.
Their 10-year-old daughter Yusra sifts the wreckage for her books and pencils. It has been two years since she went to school. Her father is trying to build a stronger shelter among the collapsed walls, since ordinary tents will not hold against the weather.
Their story sits within a far larger picture. The UN says Gaza holds tens of millions of tonnes of rubble, much of it contaminated by unexploded ordnance and asbestos, and thousands of bodies remain beneath it. Satellite analysis to September 6 found two-thirds of Gaza's buildings destroyed or damaged, and Gaza City was among the hardest hit, with further bombing since. Winter is coming, and families like the Abu Dalfas will likely spend those months in the ruins.
The Abu Dalfa family stood in the middle of Sheikh Radwan, a part of Gaza City that was once crowded with apartment blocks and families. A week into the ceasefire, they had come back to find dust and ruins. The homes, the green spaces and the neighbourhood pool were barely recognisable after months of Israeli missiles and shells.
The family had fled south when Israeli troops moved into Gaza City, which Israel calls Hamas's main stronghold. They were among hundreds of thousands of Palestinians who left as the Israel Defense Forces launched a major offensive there. Now, back at what remains of their home, they have nowhere else to go. Father Hamdi Abu Dalfa told the ABC there are no shelters. He said they had been promised tents and many other things, and received nothing. "So where will we go?" he asked.
Two of Hamdi's sons were killed by Israeli bombs during the war. He is digging through the rubble with his bare hands, trying to recover what he can. He said it is better than sitting in places where he cannot live.
His wife Samar is pulling blankets and pillows from beneath layers of concrete, and she is searching especially for anything that belonged to her sons. She said she longs to find her son's blanket because it still carries his smell. She named Ahmad and Mustafa as she spoke of the memories the house has stirred. Whenever the family finds something of theirs, she asks to hold it, and she has kept even their certificates. "My life was beautiful, thank God," she said. "I wasn't lacking anything and my children were around me and my husband."
Their 10-year-old daughter Yusra is sifting through the wreckage too. She was looking for her books and pencils, and said it has been two years since she went to school. She is watching her parents try to build a shelter inside the collapsed building. Her father says ordinary tents are too weak to withstand wind and rain, so the plan is to make a sturdier one where the family can sit and be stable.
Their experience sits within a far larger picture. The United Nations says Gaza holds tens of millions of tonnes of rubble, much of it contaminated by unexploded ordnance and asbestos. Thousands of bodies remain unrecovered beneath it. The UN's Satellite Centre, in an analysis running to September 6, found that two-thirds of Gaza's buildings were destroyed or damaged. That is 163,778 structures: 52,564 destroyed, 18,913 severely damaged, 35,591 possibly damaged and 56,710 moderately affected.
The Gaza governorate was the most affected region, with 46,370 structures impacted. In Gaza City, 36,611 structures were damaged, of which 8,578 were totally destroyed. Those figures predate about another month of heavy Israeli bombing of the city, so the real toll there is higher. Israeli fire also wrecked much of Gaza's critical infrastructure, including electricity, water and sanitation.
Winter is now approaching, bringing rain and cold that will turn Gaza's dust to mud. Families like the Abu Dalfas will likely spend those months in the ruins.
Bemerkenswerte Zitate
There is no other place. There are no shelters.— Hamdi Abu Dalfa, to the ABC
I long to pull out my son's blanket, because it still has his smell.— Samar Abu Dalfa