The beginning of 2026 has brought a painful new reality for many Palestinians who worked for the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA). Throughout the past two decades that Gaza has been under siege, this agency provided workers with a stable income and a way to support their families. But that stability is slowly disappearing as funding cuts have severely hampered the agency’s services.
Last year, the U.N. agency placed hundreds of employees who had fled the war and were now living outside of Gaza on unpaid “exceptional leave.” They were told to wait, without salary, for nearly a full year. In January, the agency announced that it would officially terminate the contracts of about 600 of those staff members who were living outside the enclave; most were teachers who fled to Egypt.
Since its creation in 1949, UNRWA has been the main humanitarian organization providing food, education, and health care to millions of Palestinians in Gaza, the West Bank, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria. UNRWA relies on U.N. member states’ donations, which began to shrink or disappear after Israel baselessly accused the aid organization in 2024 of being staffed by Hamas. While the agency’s commissioner-general, Philippe Lazzarini, acknowledged the decline in funding, Israel’s explicit antagonism and violence is also affecting the organization’s ability to operate in Gaza. In late January, Israel bulldozed the agency’s headquarters in East Jerusalem.
For these employees, the layoffs aren’t just about losing a job. Before the decision was announced, they had already survived a year without pay, but were holding out hope that they would eventually return to work. Instead, they were laid off. For many families, this has meant losing their only source of income and worrying about rent, food, school fees, and basic daily expenses.
For Hanan, an UNRWA teacher since 2010, teaching wasn’t just a job—it was her daily routine, her passion, and a source of income. During the war, Hanan lost everything. Israeli bombing destroyed the house that she and her husband had worked for years to buy. Their car was destroyed. Their belongings were buried under the rubble; she wasn’t able to recover a single item from their home.
At the time in February 2024, Hanan was navigating a high-risk pregnancy. She was also caring for her four young children, whose education had been disrupted by the war. With no stable shelter, limited access to medical care, and growing fears of famine and ongoing bombardment, she decided that staying in Gaza was a threat to her health and the safety of her unborn child. Her family fled the enclave for Turkey.
“I didn’t leave because I wanted to,” Hanan says. “I left to protect my children and my baby.”
Like many others who left Gaza throughout the war, she believed her displacement would be temporary. She fully intended to return once the genocidal war ended to rebuild her life and resume teaching. Instead of returning to her UNRWA classroom, Hanan received notice that her contract had been terminated.
“The decision was shocking,” she says. “This was my stable source of income. I fled because of extremely dangerous security conditions . . . . How is it fair to punish us for trying to survive?”
Today, Hanan says she feels not only financially vulnerable, but deeply wronged. After losing her home, her belongings, and her stable life, losing her job was like losing the last shred of hope she was holding onto.
While some employees outside Gaza lost their jobs, those who remained inside the enclave faced a different but equally painful reality. In January, UNRWA implemented a 20 percent salary reduction for nearly all staff, citing its ongoing financial crisis. For employees in Gaza—where the economy has collapsed—this cut is a blow to families that are already struggling to survive.
Iman, a teacher with UNRWA since 2007, currently teaches mathematics at a middle school in al-Mawasi in southern Gaza. On teaching days—Saturdays, Mondays, and Wednesdays—she wakes up early to complete household tasks before leaving for school, which takes her about an hour to reach from her home in al-Mawasi in southern Gaza amid the lack of reliable transportation. Sometimes, she can find a car ride, but most days she travels to school on a donkey cart or a trailer pulled behind a vehicle, making for an exhausting and uncomfortable commute. She teaches from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.; by the time she returns home around 3 p.m., she’s drained.
Throughout the rest of the week, she washes clothes by hand for her family of seven. She cleans the tent they now live in and prepares their daily meals. She also teaches her own children at home to make up for gaps in their schooling. When the 20 percent salary reduction was announced, she says she felt deep disappointment.
“After all these years of effort, experience, and commitment, we became the easiest target,” she says.
Before the cut, her monthly salary was approximately $1,000. Now, it is closer to $800. With the low exchange rate and skyrocketing prices in Gaza, that difference is devastating.
Though her home was destroyed during the war, she is still paying installments on it. She is also paying for the medical treatment of her son, Ahmad, who was injured when a nearby home was bombed and now requires ongoing physiotherapy, treatment that costs about $350 dollars each month. Although there are hospitals that offer therapy, transportation is extremely difficult and costly, so home treatment, in which a medical expert comes to treat him, is often the more practical option.
As a math teacher, she could earn a good income by giving private lessons. However, UNRWA regulations restrict dual employment, limiting her ability to improve her financial situation.
“Even before the deduction, my salary was not enough to live properly in Gaza. Prices are soaring,” she explains. “Now I will have to begin a series of rationing and cutting even basic needs.”
After two years of genocide and hardships, these decisions add new burdens to already exhausted families. For staff who have lost their homes, salary cuts and terminations feel like abandonment. At a time when they need support, many employees say they feel left to carry even more weight on their own.
Despite everything, Iman insists that her students will not suffer.
“I will continue to do my job to the best of my ability,” she says. “But I go to work feeling wronged, without my usual spirit.”