The truce that began on a Sunday in Gaza has brought a glimmer of hope to a conflict-weary region, potentially ending the longest and deadliest war in a century of Israeli-Palestinian hostilities. It was a moment of cautious relief, as individuals on both sides of the divide described their heavy burdens seeming to lift — yet they both tempered their emotions with lingering uncertainties and fears.
Ziad Obeid, a civil servant in Gaza, voiced a sentiment that likely reverberated throughout his community: “We have survived.” Displaced multiple times during the war and now in exile in Egypt, he expressed tentative optimism while grappling with the daunting realities ahead, such as the unknown condition of his northern Gaza home and whether rebuilding will even be feasible. Meanwhile, in Israel, Dov Weissglas, a former politician, shared a similar, albeit more guarded sense of relief, describing the removal of a “rock lying on my heart.” For many Israelis, the priority is clear: recovering hostages, but this comes bundled with apprehensions about what the future holds.
This uneasy mix of hope and doubt defined the mood as Israelis and Palestinians processed the truce. For Palestinians, the agreement, which promises at least six weeks of halted strikes on Gaza, offers a critical respite. It is a time to begin addressing the catastrophic aftermath: over 45,000 lives lost, homes decimated, and countless others buried under rubble. The scenes broadcast from Gaza reflected this precarious hope — confetti in the air, crowds dancing amidst ruin, and journalists shedding their flak jackets as if hoping to signal the symbolic end of an era. Yet the question looms: Can this pause truly provide a meaningful pathway to reconstruction and healing?
The truce carries immense significance for Israelis as well. It paves the way for the gradual release of at least 33 hostages from Hamas captivity, who have endured 470 days of harrowing conditions since the brutal Oct. 7, 2023 raid. The attack, which killed as many as 1,200 people in Israel, triggered 15 months of relentless military retaliation against Gaza. While scenes of jubilation erupted upon hearing the news of the first hostages’ release, the joy was tinged with a deep awareness of the cost — as well as the scars, both literal and emotional, that may accompany those who eventually return home.
However, beneath the surface, uncertainties abound. The agreement’s implementation encountered delays, as debates about which hostages would be released ensued. Tragically, even in the early hours of the truce, Israeli strikes — a holdover from the pre-truce fighting — claimed more lives, according to Gaza’s health authorities. Meanwhile, Israeli forces continue to control large portions of Gaza, barring many, like Ziad Obeid, from returning to their former homes. The fate of displaced residents and detained individuals on both sides remains murky, casting doubt on whether peace will extend beyond the stipulated six weeks. As Weissglas poignantly asked, “What happens after 42 days? Nobody knows.”
For families like that of Reema Diab, uncertainty is personal and painful. Her husband, a horse trainer, has been missing since he was taken for interrogation by Israeli forces in December 2023. Without word of his fate, the truce brings little solace. “I’m relieved the bloodshed is coming to an end, but my heart aches,” she said. Such stories underscore the human toll of the conflict, reminding us that even amidst relief, the pain lingers deeply.
On the Israeli side, the mood is similarly complex. Columnists, such as Ben Caspit of the daily newspaper Maariv, struck a somber tone, reflecting on the collective wounds inflicted by the Oct. 7 attacks. “Let us study our conscience, let us suffer the disaster,” Caspit urged, highlighting a day of reckoning rather than unchecked celebration. Many Israelis remain wracked with fears about the 65 hostages who may not be freed if the deal falters or with bitterness about the exchange terms, which require freeing hundreds of Palestinian detainees. Some of these detainees were convicted of deadly attacks, while others are uncharged teenagers. For Palestinians, these individuals are seen as political prisoners or freedom fighters. For Israelis, the terms are emotionally grueling, with Weissglas lamenting the “stream of murderers being released.”
Such emotional highs and lows are compounded by the frankly unsettling visuals emerging from both sides. Hamas fighters were seen triumphantly surfacing from hiding, a gut-punch for Israelis who hoped to see the group’s military infrastructure dismantled by the war. For many Gazans, this was a rallying vision of resilience, but for others, it only heightened the uncertainty about what lies ahead in terms of governance.
That question of Gaza’s future leadership looms large. Obeid, like some other Gazans, still works for the Palestinian Authority (P.A.), even though Hamas took control of Gaza nearly two decades ago. In recent days, Obeid has been coordinating with P.A. leadership in the West Bank to lay groundwork for potential rebuilding efforts. Whether such plans can materialize, though, depends on whether Hamas retains control of Gaza or if some shift in power dynamics occurs during the truce or in its aftermath. For displaced Gazans like Obeid, currently sheltering in Egypt, the issue is both political and personal. When will it be safe to return? And to what?
On the other side of the divide, the Israeli public is also reckoning with broader implications. The truce forces an introspection not only about the war’s impact but also about the failures that enabled the devastating Hamas raid in the first place. Any relief felt is tempered by the fragility of the moment and anxiety over the unpredictable next steps. Israelis know that the weeks ahead will not provide easy answers: the safe return of hostages, the lingering impacts on their collective psyche, and the future of their security remain unresolved.
Amid this uncertainty, some Israelis are already bracing for the possibility that Hamas, despite the exhaustive toll inflicted by the war, has emerged militarily weakened but politically emboldened. The haunting question persists: Was this devastation worth it if Hamas remains intact? For many, footage of celebrations in Gaza and the group’s fighters in positions of apparent strength only deepens this existential wound.
And yet, for all the weight of unanswered questions, there are glimpses of humanity — a shared craving for reprieve and normalcy. As fraught as the truce may be, it marks, at least for now, the end of relentless bloodshed. For Palestinians, it means moments of joy amid the rubble, a tentative distancing from constant violence, and maybe a first step toward rebuilding their lives. For Israelis, it represents hope in seeing loved ones returned and a measure of pause after months of relentless heartbreak.
As Ziad Obeid said, the focus right now is simple, even if temporary: “I can breathe oxygen again.” On both sides, amid the fissures of mistrust and heartbreak, this fragile truce provides an opportunity — however slim — to begin contemplating a different way forward. Whether this uneasy peace will endure or unravel in six weeks is a question neither Israelis nor Palestinians can answer today. For now, though, they carry the cautious weight of relief, tinged with lingering sorrow and disbelief at all that has been lost. Peace, even fragile and fleeting, is a step toward survival. And in a place so marked by conflict, survival itself can feel revolutionary.
