After two catastrophic years, what awaits Palestine in 2026?

After two catastrophic years, what awaits Palestine in 2026?

By Kamel Hawwash, The New Arab, 24 December 2025

As Israel's ceasefire violations continue in Gaza & expulsions escalate in the West Bank, Kamel Hawwash explains why he sees little hope for change in 2026.

I am regularly asked for my view on what will happen in Palestine in 2026. While it is possible to speculate, it is difficult to be certain of the answer to the question.

However, it is important to begin with where we are now. We know that more than 100,000 Palestinians have been killed by Israel including at least 20,000 children. Almost all the infrastructure and the homes in Gaza have been fully or partially destroyed.

Most Palestinians are either living in tents of various quality, in their partially demolished homes, or out in the open. Israel has not allowed the required amount of aid specified in the Trump plan. A deliberate act to further starve the population and expose them to the harshness of winter.

It is not possible for Palestinians in Gaza to begin to return to a semblance of a normal life without schooling, university education or medical help. Israel has mostly destroyed all the infrastructure for this, making the situation even more desperate as the people are also moved to the narrowest area of land possible.

Without dignity, a normal life, and a lack of hope, Israel intends to push them to seek another land, rather than remain steadfast in their homeland. In fact, it seems that Israel works overtime to find ways of enticing them away, going as far as organising flights to take hundreds of them all the way to South Africa – without exit stamps in their passports of course, to really ensure they aren’t able to return to their homeland.

All the while for Palestinians who remain, Israel has divided Gaza into two areas separated by a virtual ’yellow line’ that is not always apparent to Palestinians. This has left many vulnerable to deadly violence by Israel, and for those on the ‘wrong side’ aka Hamas controlled area, they are constantly exposed to attacks.

Israel continues to deny independent journalists free access to Gaza on the pretence of security – those who are taken in are under the ‘protection,’ and therefore censorship, of the IDF. Furthermore, Israel’s spokespeople and allies continue to deny the accusation of genocide, some arguing that less people have been killed by them in Gaza compared with other armies in the past…

Israel has even (once again) appealed to the International Criminal Court – which it declares it does not officially recognise – to revoke the arrest warrants against PM Benjamin Netanyahu and former defence minister Yoav Gallant.

What future?

Given such a horrific reality in Gaza, it should come as no surprise that I feel the future only holds more pain and suffering for Palestinians. And Israel’s plans will lead to further destruction, the total annihilation of any infrastructure needed to sustain life, and the cleansing of Palestinians from their land through death and expulsion.

This process will be intensified through the Trump/Kushner rebuilding plan, which seeks to transform a devastated Gaza into the Mediterranean Riviera, and facilitate the erection of illegal Israeli settlements in the strip. Trump has even repeatedly raised the need for Gazans to leave, explaining that they couldn’t possibly live in the ruins he fails to acknowledge are Israel’s doing.

These plans are also not limited to Gaza. In the West Bank, Palestinians have already been expelled, including from refugee camps in Jenin and Tulkarem.

This all sits into Israel’s broader efforts to erase the identity of Palestinians, and refugees in particular. It’s probably why it has waged war on UNRWA, an agency specifically set up for Palestinian refugees following the Nakba.

Additionally, the recent closure by Israel of the King Hussein Bridge turned the West Bank into an open air prison at a stroke.

No real leadership

Meanwhile, it seems to me that Palestinians in the West Bank, especially those living in the Ramallah bubble, refuse to recognise the real dangers that await them. And the Palestinian Authority just sits paralysed in terms of standing up to Israel, or even recognising it faces the threat of being dissolved.

Indeed, for Palestinians in Gaza, the West Bank and East Jerusalem, the Palestinian Authority is conspicuous by its absence. Settlers are rampaging through the West Bank, including areas A and B but particularly C, whilst they enjoy the protection of the IDF, yet PA security forces have done little to nothing to protect Palestinians.

The same is true in East Jerusalem, home to Al Aqsa. The mosque has been the target of settler incursions, including by Israeli ministers, but once again the PA has been absent.

Frankly, the PA’s failure to lead Palestinians towards liberation renders it irrelevant. An put simply, it is allowed to continue to exist by Israel to spare it the load of administering and securing the occupied territory – which is the cost of its illegal occupation.

Whilst Palestinian citizens of Israel continue to exist, which in itself is a form of resistance, I expect Israel will look for ways to make their lives a misery too, with an eye to push them out.

Even the over 10,000 Palestinian prisoners languishing in Israeli jails – the backbone to the Palestine liberation movement – are now faced with the prospect of being executed.

Does Israel really expect to achieve ‘security’ through all these oppressive, repressive and violent efforts? Whether it is the case or not, however, one thing is true: a colonised people will always find ways to exercise their right to resist, until they are free.

Furthermore, millions around the world have joined solidarity efforts in the face of over two years of genocide in Gaza. The movement has only grown in its conviction that Palestine must be free, whereas Israel is battling a crisis amongst its soldiers and its population that is increasingly looking to leave for safety reasons.

The only way to lead the Holy Land to a more hopeful future is for the US to cease its support of the lawless government in Tel Aviv. It must act to protect it from itself and would likely have the support of the 20 or so leaders who witnessed the signing of the Trump plan in Sharm El Sheikh. But judging by the inaction in the face of Israel’s constant breaches of the ceasefire, I do not imagine this will happen any time soon.

It's clear that in 2026, Palestinians will face more of the same unless Washington drastically changes its approach. Nevertheless, we will continue to hope that the new year brings Palestinians liberation and justice, and that the Israeli government is held accountable for its crimes by being tried at The Hague.

Author

Professor Kamel Hawwash is an academic at the University of Birmingham and a long-time campaigner for justice.

Disclaimer

Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The New Arab editorial team or that of CEMAS Board.

After two years of genocide, Gaza's universities gradually resume in-person classes

After two years of genocide, Gaza's universities gradually resume in-person classes

By Sally Ibrahim, The New Arab, 04 December 2025

It is not simply the reopening of a university; it is the slow, fragile rebirth of an entire academic community that Israel's war sought to erase.

Mohammed Hassan, a medical student, stood at the entrance of Gaza's Al-Azhar University with his dental tools wrapped in a small plastic bag, staring at a campus he could barely recognise any more.

Two years earlier, he had rushed through these same gates with friends, joking about exams and clinical sessions. Now, much of the building had been reduced by Israeli attacks to cracked pillars and broken windows, with dust still settling on the remnants of the dental labs he once trained in.

"When I stepped inside, I felt something between grief and victory. I studied from tents and shelters all this time. Just standing here again made me feel that a small part of my life survived," he told The New Arab.

For Hassan and countless other Palestinian students, this isn't simply about a reopening of a university; rather, it is the slow, fragile rebirth of an entire academic community that Israel's war sought to erase.

A return rooted in emotion, identity, and defiance

Over the course of Israel's two-year genocidal war on Gaza, Palestinian university students experienced one of the longest interruptions in higher education since the establishment of their institutions.

The Israeli war flattened lecture halls, collapsed libraries, destroyed laboratories, paralysed electricity networks, and displaced nearly all faculty and staff.

Students scattered into tents, shelters, and overcrowded homes, attending online classes on unstable networks, if they had devices at all.

Today, despite the devastation surrounding them, two of Gaza's largest universities, Al-Azhar University and the Islamic University, are taking cautious but determined steps toward in-person learning.

"When I walked into the dental lab, even though half the equipment was missing, I felt I was getting closer to my dream again," Hassan said, adding that "opportunities are limited, but giving up would be far worse."

Medical student Nour al-Hatu was equally overwhelmed. "After two years of displacement, I didn't imagine I would return to my classroom," she remarked to TNA.

"The lecture hall has no proper equipment, but just wearing my stethoscope inside the university made me feel like life was coming back," she said.

For Al-Azhar University's Vice President, Mohamed Shubair, reopening the campus was not just a logistical decision but a national one.

"We started with a political and national vision […] Our goal was to fulfil the students' dream of returning to in-person classes, even with the smallest resources," he told TNA.

Al-Azhar began with the faculties of Medicine and Dentistry, where practical training is essential. Inside partially restored labs, some without doors, others held together with makeshift repairs, students perform simulations and limited clinical exercises.

The university has allowed around 1,000 students to return physically. Meanwhile, more than 12,000 others continue classes online, relying on the Moodle platform despite unstable internet and constant power outages, according to Shubair.

"We barely have desks or whiteboards […] Before the war, we had over 300 academic staff. Today, in the practical faculties, we have only ten lecturers in dentistry and five assistants in medicine," Shubair said.

He emphasises that the university refuses to be entangled in political disputes. "We distance ourselves from all conflicts. Our mission now is life and education. Rebuilding will come through Arab support and international volunteers."

But even in ruins, Al-Azhar witnessed an unexpected phenomenon: a dramatic rise in postwar enrolment. "We were shocked. More students registered than before the war. This shows that young people are searching for hope despite everything," he added. "Education is part of our revival […] It's a message to the world that we are still here."

A short distance away, the Islamic University is experiencing a similar resurrection, though its destruction was even more severe.

Most of the buildings were flattened entirely, while a few now house displaced families who lost their homes in the war. Still, the university initiated its return weeks earlier, determined not to let its academic legacy fade.

Inside a building repaired just enough to stand, medical students sit in tightly packed rooms where shrapnel scars line the walls. A single generator provides weak lighting. Yet despite the harsh conditions, spirits are high.

"This is our first time back since the war. Education is not a luxury for us, it's our only lifeline," Salma Mohammed, a medical student, told TNA.

She described the experience as "a mix of joy and shock," saying that returning in person "means the university is rising again."

Administrative staff say that during the war, around 4,000 students graduated through online learning. Thousands more are still waiting to complete their degrees in person after two years.

Other universities still rely on online education

While Al-Azhar and the Islamic University move forward, other institutions are far from reopening to students.

Universities such as Al-Aqsa University and the University College of Applied Sciences, as well as several campuses in southern Gaza, continue to rely entirely on online education. Destroyed buildings, unsafe roads, power outages, and the loss of academic staff have made in-person teaching nearly impossible.

Many students attend classes from tents or shelters, sharing devices between family members. Power often cuts off mid-lecture. Some students record lessons so they can listen later when electricity briefly returns.

Faculty members say the challenges are overwhelming. Some professors were killed, others displaced, and many forced to flee. "We would return in a second," one lecturer says, "but the buildings are gone."

According to Shireen al-Dhani, a faculty member at Al-Azhar's College of Arts and Humanities, universities have taken on roles far beyond academics. "From the first days of the war, we launched online learning voluntarily. Faculty inside and outside Gaza helped us. Our goal was continuity; the occupation wanted to break that continuity," she told TNA.

Staff have been meeting students in person whenever conditions allowed, helping them choose majors, providing guidance, and offering psychological support.

During the toughest periods of the war, the university formed internal support networks for employees, especially families of martyred staff. They offered emergency aid, counselling, and free community services.

"We know how difficult the financial situation is, so we apply only proportional fees. We try to ease the burden on students as much as possible," al-Dhani said.

The Government Media Office in Gaza estimates that 165 educational institutions were fully destroyed and 392 partially damaged. Nearly 300,000 people still require temporary housing, turning campus surroundings into crowded shelters.

Experts argue that reopening universities, even partially, is essential to prevent the collapse of Gaza's intellectual and cultural life. As Shubair puts it, "Education is the only battle Gaza must win after all this devastation."

But he acknowledges that survival depends on Arab and international support. With resources nearly depleted, even Al-Azhar and the Islamic University face uncertainty.

Here are all the universities that Israel has destroyed in Gaza

The Al-Azhar University

The Islamic University

University of Palestine

Al-Isra University

Al-Quds Open University — Gaza Branch

Author

Sally Ibrahim is The New Arab's correspondent from Gaza

Disclaimer

Views expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect those of CEMAS editorial team.

Gaza's amputee children fight to reclaim their lives shattered by Israeli attacks

'Why did they do this to us?': Gaza's amputee children fight to reclaim their lives shattered by Israeli attacks

By Sally Ibrahimm, 09 December 2025

Where children once played freely, the streets of Gaza now hear the careful steps of survivors, walking on legs made from scraps they've salvaged from the ruins

Just a year ago, nine-year-old Rateb Aqliq ran barefoot through the narrow alleyways of his neighbourhood, laughing as his mother called him home for lunch.

Life seemed ordinary, full of small joys — until one afternoon, when an Israeli airstrike destroyed his home, killing his mother, father and older brother, and leaving Rateb to wake days later without his right leg.

Devastated and overwhelmed, Rateb now sits in a torn, wind-battered tent in Deir Al-Balah, central Gaza, struggling to rebuild his life.

Carefully, he balances on a plastic tube leg made with a friend's help, wobbling with each unsteady step as dust rises from the bare floor. Clearly in pain, he refuses to let go.

Rateb's uncle, Mohammed, will never forget the instant his nephew's eyes fluttered open after the coma. "He didn't ask about his mother," he said, his voice low and trembling. "When he learned she was gone, the pain of losing his leg felt smaller than the pain in his heart."

Despite the brutal conditions of the tent, Mohammed says Rateb still finds the strength to keep practising to walk, picking up his plastic tube every few days to walk, fall, laugh and try again.

Rateb himself explains why he keeps going. With his small, bandaged hands gripping the leg pipe tightly, he says, "I keep going so I can walk again. I want to visit my mother's grave and play with the other children once more."

According to Rateb, he and his friend Yousef made the leg from whatever materials they could find. Last month, when a relief team was distributing aid, they came across a long piece of discarded plumbing pipe behind a damaged water tank. Using a shard of broken glass, they cut it to size, then filled the hollow end with cloth, sand, and cardboard to cushion Rateb’s injured stump, securing it to his thigh with a worn shoelace.

Yousef explains their thinking: "We saw older boys using sticks as crutches, so we thought we could make something better for him — something that actually looked like a real leg."

He adds that, although the leg is uneven, painful to wear and far from stable, it still represents dignity for Rateb, and each time he tightens the strap, it feels as though he is stitching back a piece of himself that the genocide tried to take away.

Looking ahead, Rateb shares his hopes for the future: "I want to go back to a normal life. This is just the beginning. I need to travel for treatment and get a permanent prosthetic foot so I can live like everyone else."

'We had no weapons, only a ball'

Similar to Rateb's fate, 15-year-old Obaida Atwen now sits in a wheelchair.

He watches a group of boys playing football on the sand in Deir Al-Balah, unable to stop thinking about the life he once had.

Before the genocide, Obaida trained at a youth football academy and dreamed of wearing Barcelona's number 10 shirt, hearing his name cheered from the stands. Football was more than a game; it was the rhythm of his life, the language he spoke best.

But in March, a missile struck his family's tent, taking his right leg and left hand in an instant.

"I had just come back from the market and sat down to rest for a minute. Then everything went dark. When I woke up, my leg and hand were gone," he recalls.

His father, Mohammed, sitting beside him, looks away. "He used to sleep holding his football," he murmurs. "Now, he dreams of walking again, instead of scoring goals."

In the long, sleepless nights, Obaida asks questions no one can answer. "Why did they do this to us?" he whispers to his father. "Why did Israel bomb our tent? We weren't soldiers. We had no weapons, just a ball."

His father tries to respond, but words fail him. "He keeps asking who they were trying to kill," Mohammed says quietly. "I tell him I don't know — maybe they didn't see him, maybe they didn't care."

For Obaida, these questions weigh more heavily than the loss of his limbs. "I don't understand," he says. "If they wanted to stop fighters, why did they take my leg? Why did they take my hand?"

Still, his spirit remains unbroken, and he is determined to play again, even with a prosthetic leg.

A lifetime of recovery

Across Gaza, stories like those of Rateb and Obaida no longer shock anyone; they reflect the reality facing an entire generation.

According to the Ministry of Social Development, more than 12,000 people in Gaza have been permanently disabled since the genocide began, including around 2,500 children.

Of these, more than 4,500 amputations have been recorded since October 2023, with children making up roughly 15 percent of all cases.

Over the two-year genocide, an average of ten children have lost a limb every day, whether due to direct shelling or unexploded ordnance.

At the Artificial Limbs and Polio Centre in Gaza City, engineer Mohammed Issa moves through crowded rooms, the noise of drills and patients' cries filling the air.

He shares with The New Arab, "We used to serve around 2,000 patients a year. Now we're seeing that number three times. But the occupation prevents the entry of materials, resins, fibres, and even screws, so we have to recycle old parts over and over."

Gesturing toward the dozens of children waiting, some on crutches and some crawling, Mohammed continues, "We make temporary limbs so they can stand, but most need advanced prosthetics that we simply can't provide here."

Outside the clinic, the challenge continues, with physical therapist Khaled Matar from Al-Wafa Rehabilitation Hospital in Gaza City explaining that the destruction across Gaza makes rehabilitation nearly impossible.

"The streets are filled with rubble and shrapnel," he says. "A child with a prosthetic leg can't even walk safely. There are no ramps, no pavements — only ruins."

He adds, "We teach them to walk again, but outside, the streets strip them of that ability."

A broken childhood

Beyond the physical injuries these civilians endure, the psychological impact is equally severe and often overlooked.

In Khan Younis City, in southern Gaza, psychologist Hala Al-Banna moves carefully between rows of children waiting for therapy at a small clinic, observing the weight of trauma on their young faces.

"The physical wounds heal, but the psychological ones grow deeper every day," she tells The New Arab. "Many of these children feel guilty for surviving when their siblings didn't. Some refuse to sleep at night. Others burst into tears at the sound of planes or even fireworks."

Her team, supported by a few international NGOs, provides short-term counselling sessions, drawing therapy, breathing exercises and group storytelling circles where the children are encouraged to speak about their dreams rather than their fears.

But as she puts it, these efforts are barely scratching the surface, with most centres destroyed during the genocide, many staff members displaced or killed, and a pain that cannot be measured in numbers or words.

As she shares this, she looks outside the clinic, where the noise of generators and ambulance sirens serves as a constant reminder that trauma is never far away.

Hala adds, "Gaza's health system is collapsing under the weight of need. Over 60 percent of amputees are still waiting for treatment. Fuel shortages delay surgeries, and power cuts interrupt therapy mid-session. Sometimes, we lose connection just as a child begins to open up."

She recalls one young patient, eight-year-old Amira, who lost both legs when a missile struck her home in Rafah.

"Every time I ask her to draw what she misses most, she draws a swing," Hala says, her voice breaking. "She tells me she dreams of feeling the air on her feet again."

"We're trying to teach them how to live again," she adds. "But how do you heal a child who no longer believes there's a safe place left to stand?"

For Mahmoud Shaath, who runs the ministry's rehabilitation programme, these tragedies signal the beginning of a new social reality.

"Thousands of children will grow up with prosthetic limbs or wheelchairs," he explains. "We must adapt our schools, our streets, and even our mindset to include them. But for now, survival still takes priority over rebuilding."

He notes that international aid groups face the same impossible dilemma. "Funds are drying up," Mahmoud adds. "Every day we delay, another child loses a part of their childhood."

As Gaza reels from Israel's ongoing destruction, with neighbourhoods flattened and hospitals struggling for fuel, every child learning to stand again is an act of resistance against erasure.

For Rateb, Obaida, and thousands like them, survival is no longer just about breathing — it is about reclaiming the right to move, play, and dream.

And in a land where even hope has been bombed, these children, Gaza's new generation of amputees, are proving one unbreakable truth: a dream, unlike a limb, can never be taken away.

Author

Sally Ibrahim is The New Arab's correspondent from Gaza