Gaza is no longer Gaza. Israel increases the ground offensive in the south of the strip and bombards the entire enclave, also the refugee camps of Al-Bureij, Nusseirat and Maghazi. 70% of the buildings in Gaza are rubble, according to a recent calculation by The Wall Street Journal. Less than a month ago, the Secretary General of the UN, António Guterres, was talking about 60%.
The year is coming to an end and in Gaza the numbers are reaching levels unimaginable just three months ago. In the Israeli offensive against Hamas, 1% of the Gazan population has died, more than 21,600 people in total, more than 200 victims every 24 hours, according to the Ministry of Health of the enclave. And the displaced who flee conflict zones are more than 90% of the 2.3 million Gazans, the UN refugee agency details, and they live a humanitarian disaster due to a lack of food, water or electricity .
But there is no pause. After the attack by Hamas on October 7, which caused more than 1,200 deaths in Israel and dozens of hostages, 129 of whom remain captive, it is clear that Israel is unable to find the leaders of the Islamist organization. And everything accelerates.
The United States just approved sending $150 million in weapons to Israel without going through Congress. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's war cabinet deepens offensive as it fills holes: It was supposed to meet on Thursday to discuss a post-Hamas Gaza, but delayed the meeting until Tuesday because of disagreements over content, in particular the complaints from the ultras of his Government. The possibility of a new ceasefire, the conditions or the future role of the Palestinian Authority is tense.
The war in Gaza drags on, negotiations for a new truce are expected, but have not yet been finalized. Netanyahu is wavering, and nerves are growing in disputed Jerusalem about the consequences. It is a fact that in the old city of Jerusalem, which houses the Al-Aqsa Mosque, the Jewish Wailing Wall and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, where, according to Christian tradition, Jesus died and the tomb is empty, it is feared that the delicate balance between the communities will fall. The Armenian, Christian, Jewish and Muslim neighborhoods are within the same walled city and have been holding their breath since October 7 and the start of the war.
Today, when a non-religious visitor asks at the entrance to the Muslim quarter of the old city which way to go to visit the Esplanada de les Mesquites, he is told that it is better to go through the Christian quarter. Or for the Jew, further away. "Entering for the Muslim is not prohibited, but there are the police and the situation...", he explains.
In the Muslim quarter you see few people walking, Israeli security forces abound with guns in hand and cameras in the most inconspicuous corners. An Italian religious (there are many in the Holy Land) who lives in this neighborhood explains: "You don't see the Muslim neighbors. They prefer to be at home. You can see a lot of ultra-orthodox happening that didn't happen before or at least avoided it."
In the consulting room of the Crescent next to the Muslim quarter, they do not want to talk about how the war is experienced in the communities of the old city. A minor hairdresser who runs a tiny three by three meter shop in the Muslim quarter, neither. On the same street, a man in his thirties who is ordering his souvenir stall, despite the fact that there are no tourists, simply replies: "Now the neighborhood is always empty and it doesn't matter if it's morning or afternoon." In the alleys, the terrain is steep, and talking about the aftermath of war is even more so.
And more so when this Friday the Israeli authorities restricted access to the Al-Aqsa mosque and there were riots. Or when a few days earlier the police arrested an Israeli for desecrating with a donkey's head the Muslim cemetery at the foot of the old city walls.
In the Christian neighborhood, father Samuel del Sant Sepulcre explains to this newspaper, reclining in his armchair, that "here we are used to war, but the minorities are not the problem, they are wars of other parties that are fought here. Everything will be fine. Here it is between neighbours, not between states". Aram is 64 years old, he is Armenian and he lives in the Armenian quarter, a community that here has about half a thousand inhabitants. He is a tourist guide and has not worked since the 7th. Israeli Government Cobra. And he, who has walked its streets since 1967, says that "there are no problems. The residents here have an international education." Then he stops, puts on his brown beret, looks at the empty street and adds: "Well, there are fanatics everywhere."
At various crossroads in the old city, memorial plaques stand out to the Jews killed there. One, shot at eighty. Another, stabbed at ninety. Another, shot in 2021.
Aviad is tall, blond, wears a white shirt and dark pants, like many Jews in Jerusalem. He does not say his last name, like almost everyone today, and believes that the situation "is a point and aside. It's like a divorce and then wanting to go back." Then two friends approach, he tells them that the journalist wants to know what the relationship between the communities is like, and they smile: "It's complicated", they limit themselves to saying.
Everyone looks to 2024 with one word: uncertainty.
