After World War II ended in 1945, much of Europe lay in ruins. Bombs devastated cities such as Berlin, Germany; Warsaw, Poland; and Rotterdam, Netherlands. Homes, roads, factories, and public utilities had all been destroyed. Yet despite the destruction, there was a clear political will on the part of world governments to rebuild. International support arrived quickly, with the first major foreign aid arriving in 1948, and, through initiatives such as the United States’s Marshall Plan, Western Europe received financial aid, materials, and institutional support to help its economies and societies recover and rebuild within five years.
For many Palestinians in Gaza today, the prospect of a similar rebuilding feels painfully distant.
In Gaza, reconstruction has become something people speak about like a promise that never comes to fruition. It is posited in international conferences, repeated in news headlines, and mentioned in political statements by the United Nations and world governments. On the ground, displaced families are living among ruins and overcrowded tents, having received little aid in the aftermath of Israel’s war on the enclave.
As a college graduate who studied English literature, I often think of Samuel Beckett’s famous play, Waiting for Godot. In the play, the two main characters, Vladimir and Estragon, spend their days waiting for someone named Godot, who never comes. Their lives are shaped by uncertainty, repetition, and the endless cycle of hope and disappointment. In Gaza, life feels painfully similar to Beckett’s work.
The Godot the people of Gaza are waiting for is reconstruction. Their version of Godot is the safety, resources, and autonomy that would grant them the ability to rebuild their homes, restore their dignities, and recover the semblance of ordinary life that existed before the war—a life with stability, privacy, electricity, work, and safety.
Seven months after the announcement of a so-called ceasefire, the large-scale bombardments have slowed, and some families are at least able to find enough food to survive. But daily life remains extremely difficult.
When I walk through the streets and ask people about reconstruction, many struggle to find the words; they are fed up with waiting and see it as hopeless. Most speak about it with exhaustion rather than hope. Again and again, I hear different versions of the same sentiment: nothing is changing. Israel continues to bomb Gaza and occupies 60 percent of Gaza’s territory. Most of the population in Gaza remains displaced, and around 80 percent of buildings are damaged or destroyed. As infectious diseases spread, the enclave’s health care system remains collapsed and Israel continues to block essential medical supplies.
For Saqer, a father of three who has been living in a tent near Gaza’s shoreline since October 7, 2023, survival itself has become exhausting. Like many parents in Gaza, Saqer no longer speaks about dreams or plans for the future; hope has become less of a belief and more of a necessity to hold onto for the sake of their children. He says his children are the only reason he continues pushing through each day.
“I live only for my children. I have no other choice,” he tells me. “We are living a temporary life. We do not know what tomorrow will bring. The war could restart at any moment.”
According to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA), around 67,000 displaced people are still living in eighty-three emergency shelters across Gaza. Families crowd into schools, damaged buildings, and tents, trying to create some sense of normalcy in impossible conditions. Every day is shaped by uncertainty. People in Gaza wake up to rat bites and have to endure the soaring heat of summer. They face inflated prices throughout the Strip and the constant challenge of finding food and clean water.
Abu Yousef Manasra, a father of three in his fifties living in Gaza City, begins each morning by rushing to a water tank to stand in long lines for drinking water. Arguments often break out between exhausted residents waiting for their turn. After returning, he searches for wood and cardboard to make a fire for cooking because cooking gas remains scarce. Like many people in Gaza, Abu Yousef says he constantly hears promises on the news about reconstruction plans.
“We hear a lot of talk that reconstruction is coming soon, but nothing has actually happened on the ground,” Manasra says. “What you read in the news is one thing. What is happening here is something completely different.”
Manasra says he imagines that rebuilding Gaza could take at least a decade. The U.N. and European Union have warned that reconstruction in Gaza would require $71.4 billion over the next decade. Success would require a complete ceasefire, Palestinian-led governance, and extensive coordinated international support and resources.
“The situation is catastrophic,” he says. “We are not talking about a few destroyed buildings. Entire cities in Gaza have been destroyed.” He points to the enormous piles of garbage near Firas Market in central Gaza as one small example of the scale of destruction.
“When you see the amount of garbage alone, you understand how much work it will take just to clean the streets,” he says. “That could take years.”
He also believes that uncertainty about Israeli military control continues to make reconstruction nearly impossible. While nine countries pledged $7 billion in aid for Gaza to President Donald Trump’s so-called Board of Peace, several are reluctant to contribute these funds due to stalled diplomacy and lack of progress on the ground. Since the ceasefire agreement last October, Israeli forces still control the majority of Gaza, and there have been no actionable plans for demilitarization or reconstruction.
President Trump’s twenty-point Gaza peace plan proposed in September of 2025 explicitly states that Israel Defense Forces must withdraw and cannot occupy or annex Gaza. But Israeli Defense Minister Israel Katz has since stated that Israel will not withdraw from Palestinian land in Gaza it has seized and declared that Israeli forces “will remain in the security zones in Lebanon, Syria, and Gaza indefinitely.”
“We hear about agreements that say Israel should withdraw,” he says. “But on the ground, things keep changing.”
When I ask him what keeps him going despite everything, he pauses before answering.
“Forget about hope,” he says finally. “There is no hope. I am forced to live this way because I have no other choice.”
“The war is not over,” he adds, describing a sentiment that encapsulates how many displaced people still feel, even after months without major bombing. “As long as I am still living in a tent and not inside my home, the war is still continuing.”