The Electronic Intifada 2 February 2025
Palestinians walk north along al-Rashid Road to return to what remains of their homes in Gaza’s north, 27 January.
ActiveStillsAfter 15 months, the declaration of a ceasefire was finally announced, with the most important condition being the return of displaced people to their homes in Gaza’s north.
I had been displaced from Jabaliya refugee camp in the north to Khan Younis, then to Rafah and finally to Deir al-Balah.
Even if we were returning to rubble, the priority was to go back. It was announced that displaced people would be able to start going back north on Sunday, 26 January, after a week of the ceasefire agreement taking effect.
Everyone was waiting for this day with great excitement and joy – the day we would return to northern Gaza.
Saturday, 25 January
For the first time since last May, I saw Deir al-Balah empty and devoid of displaced people. For months there were tents in every corner, the crowded streets resembling a busy marketplace.
People began heading to Tibbet al-Tanouri, the point where they would start walking toward the north via Rashid Street along the coast. Transportation by vehicles was only allowed along Salah al-Din Street, Gaza’s central north-south road.
Everyone was carrying as much as they could – mattresses, clothes, water. Many left half of their belongings behind because they couldn’t carry everything.
My family of eight – including my parents and my five younger siblings – reached Tibbet al-Tanouri on Saturday afternoon and sat there waiting until 8:00 am on Sunday – the hour of return.
The weather was cold, but the feelings of joy filled the place with warmth. Everyone was sitting and talking about what they would do when they arrived, how they had dreamed of this moment every single day and how much they missed the north.
On Saturday evening, Israeli soldiers opened fire on us while we were camping and waiting for the order to return. But we stood our ground. The news quickly spread that Israel wanted the release of a specific captive, and that if she wasn’t released there would be no return for us.
Panic spread among the people; but we never left the place or gave up on our dream of returning to our land.
Sunday, 26 January
The day we had been waiting for finally came, after we spent the night in the street with thousands of people in the cold, fearing another betrayal from the occupation.
Morning arrived, but we were still waiting for the order allowing us to return.
We stayed in the street, with the number of people increasing, the congestion worsening and the fear growing that all our joy might vanish into nothing. After a long day full of fear, tension and rumors spreading among the people, we learned about the new agreement reached through mediators and that the return of the displaced would begin the next day.
Monday, 27 January
The morning of our celebration arrived – the celebration of returning to the north. The day we had dreamed of for more than a year.
We started walking, joy visible on everyone’s faces, as if they had forgotten the war and everything they had lived through. The chants of “Allahu akbar” (God is great) and “La ilaha illa Allah” (There is no god but God) echoed, and Palestinian flags were raised high. We were going back to the place where we were born and lived all our days. We were going back home.
This scene reminded me of the displacement in October 2023 but our emotions were completely the opposite. Back then, we were fleeing into the unknown, filled with fear and terror. Now, we were returning home.
I knew there was no home with four walls to return to. But the idea of going back to the place where I had lived my whole life, where I had spent all my days before the war, was very comforting. Now that the day I had been thinking about for 15 months had actually arrived, I finally felt at peace.
Our neighbors during displacement, the Sabah family, had their own story.
Khaled Sabah, a man in his 40s, said, “I left my family in the south and went ahead of them to our destroyed house in Jabaliya to retrieve the bodies of my three daughters – Iman, Nour and Suad – so that their mother and the rest of the family wouldn’t have to relive those emotions or see that scene again. Now, I am on my way north.”
Another displaced person, Iman al-Madhoun from Beit Lahiya, whom I met along the way, pleaded for help: “I have five children and two of them can’t walk. I beg anyone to help me and take me back to Gaza.” No one hesitated to help her. We looked for a cart to carry the two children.
The road was long, but we didn’t feel its length. Paramedics in ambulances were present to treat those who fainted from exhaustion. Many people stopped midway because their children couldn’t complete the journey.
On Rashid Street, near the Netzarim junction, we found the decomposed body of a martyr. No one had been able to retrieve the body due to the lengthy Israeli military presence in the area.
After long hours of walking, we finally arrived at Jabaliya at around 8:00 pm. My feet were swollen from walking, but just arriving at the streets where I grew up made me forget all the exhaustion.
Despite the darkness, I recognized the place. I reached our neighborhood and prostrated in joy. I kissed the ground as soon as I arrived.
Our house was destroyed, having been demolished at the beginning of the war. But at that moment nothing mattered – except that we were back on our land. We set up a tent on the rubble.
The feeling was amazing, as though I had been away from my neighborhood, my home, and the streets of my childhood for so many years. This was the place that had witnessed every stage of my life until now.
The longing was overwhelming – I missed the streets, the alleyways, the neighbors. I missed walking through these places and just being there.
I had finally returned home.
Moaaz Redwan is a student at Al-Aqsa University who grew up in Jabaliya refugee camp.
