Open War: 1967 Naksa Remembered

CrossFireArabia
Features
June 5, 2026

Every year on 5 June, Palestinians and Arabs remember the 1967 war, known as the Naksa (Setback).

This is a pivotal turning point in the history of the Palestinian cause. The war ended with the Israeli occupation of the West Bank, including East Jerusalem, and the Gaza Strip, the Syrian Golan Heights and the Egyptian Sinai Peninsula.

This year it is the 59th anniversary of that terrible war. But the Israeli appatitite for aggression continues. Apart from its genocide on Gaza Israel has moved ahead with its settlement construction, arrests, with its military operations in the West Bank are escalating. It reflects the ongoing repercussions of the Naksa and the occupation policies that have entrenched military control and prevented a just settlement to the Palestinian question.

Six-Day War – Decades of Occupation

The war began at dawn on 5 June, 1967, with a massive Israeli air attack targeting Arab airfields and military bases. Six days later, it ended with the occupation of the remaining Palestinian territories, in addition carving up parts of Syria and Egypt.

The war’s consequences didn’t stop at altering geographical borders but also paved the way for an expansionist settlement project based on land confiscation, displacement of residents, and the imposition of new realities on the ground. These acts were in continuous violation of international law and UN resolutions that demanded an end to the occupation and withdrawal from the occupied territories.

International Resolutions: Ink on Paper

The war was followed by a series of international resolutions, most notably UN Security Council Resolution 242, which called for Israel’s withdrawal from the territories it occupied in 1967. However, the occupation continued its settlement expansion and the imposition of a fait accompli, ignoring repeated international demands to end the occupation and the respect for international law.

Over the following decades, settlements transformed from limited projects into a vast network that spread throughout the West Bank and occupied Jerusalem, undermining the prospects for establishing an independent and geographically contiguous Palestinian state.

Displacement and Settlements: Policy Since the 1967 War

The 1967 war led to the displacement of about 300,000 Palestinians from the West Bank and Gaza Strip. Displacement policies, land confiscation, and settlement expansion continued at an escalating pace in the years since.

Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics data shows of the existence of 645 Israeli settlement sites and military bases in the West Bank as of the end of 2025, including 151 settlements and 350 outposts.

The number of settlers also rose to 778,567 by the end of 2024, while the Israeli occupation authorities continuing to seize Palestinian land and expand their settlement projects, despite their illegality under international law.

Oslo: Political Process Stalled…

The Oslo Accords in 1993 marked a significant political milestone, stipulating a transitional phase to pave the way for the establishment of an independent Palestinian state. However, the continued expansion of Israeli settlements and the imposition of facts on the ground have weakened the prospects for the success of the political process.

With successive Israeli governments, the chances for a settlement gradually diminished, and political negotiations stalled since 2014, amidst Palestinian accusations that Israel is using negotiations as a cover to continue settlement construction and seize more land.

Palestinians believe that successive Israeli policies have emptied the settlement process of its substance by reneging on signed commitments and refusing to implement the political obligations related to ending the occupation and establishing a Palestinian state.

A Military System Governing Every Detail of Palestinian Life

Following the occupation of the Palestinian territories in 1967, Israel imposed a system of military orders that granted it broad control over all aspects of life, from managing land and natural resources to arrests, trials, and civil laws.

The occupation authorities issued dozens of military orders that reshaped the legal system in the occupied territories, while military courts continued to try Palestinians according to procedures that international human rights organizations refuse to consider compliant with international standards of justice.

Prisoner support organizations also confirm that more than one million Palestinians have been arrested since 1967, while approximately 9,500 prisoners and detainees are currently held in Israeli prisons.

War on Gaza: An Extension of a Long Conflict

Palestinians believe that the ongoing war on the Gaza Strip, which began in October 2013, represents an extension of the occupation’s policies based on the use of military force and the imposition of facts on the ground by force, far removed from any political solutions that would end the conflict.

The war resulted in tens of thousands of martyrs and wounded, most of them women and children, in addition to thousands missing and widespread destruction of infrastructure and civilian facilities.

In the West Bank, raids, arrests, and settlement expansion continued, leading to the martyrdom of 1,168 Palestinians, injury of 12,666 others, the arrest of approximately 23,000, and the displacement of 33,000.

The Naksa Anniversary: A Reality Persisting for 59 Years

Fifty-nine years after the June 1967 war, the effects of the Naksa remain present in the Palestinian landscape, through the continuation of the occupation, settlement activity, land confiscation, displacement of residents, and the stalled political settlement process.

As the anniversary is commemorated this year amidst the war in Gaza and the escalation of violence in the West Bank, Palestinians emphasize that the core of the conflict remains linked to the ongoing occupation and Israel’s refusal to implement international resolutions and fulfill its obligations. This has kept the Palestinian cause open to further crises and tensions over the past decades. Palestinian Information Center

CrossFireArabia

Dr. Marwan Asmar holds a PhD from Leeds University and is a freelance writer specializing on the Middle East. He has worked as a journalist since the early 1990s in Jordan and the Gulf countries, and been widely published, including at Albawaba, Gulf News, Al Ghad, World Press Review and others.

Features

Pottery Jug Quenches Thirst of Gazans

CrossFireArabia
July 19, 2026

With a complete power outage, destruction of water infrastructure, and the sweltering heat of summer, the overcrowded tents and shelters in the Gaza Strip have become veritable ovens.

Amid this suffering, the earthenware jug, a product of the siege and displacement, has become a true lifeline, serving as an indispensable “natural refrigerator” for thousands of families searching for a drop of cool water under the burning plastic sheeting.

As temperatures exceed normal levels inside the camps, water stored in plastic containers becomes hot and undrinkable, posing a health risk with prolonged exposure to the sun.

This is where the earthenware jug comes in. The natural porosity of the clay allows water to seep through and evaporate, significantly lowering its temperature and providing displaced people with a refreshing dose of cool water to alleviate the scorching heat.

Craft Resisting Extinction

From the heart of the rubble, this historic craft has been revived. After the ongoing Israeli war destroyed the pottery district in Gaza’s Old City, artisans relocated their makeshift workshops to the central and southern parts of the Gaza Strip, restarting production with rudimentary tools and increased physical effort.

Craftsman Abu Muhammad al-Hissi told Quds Press: “It’s true that the workshops were destroyed by the bombing, and cooking gas is no longer available to power the kilns for drying and firing pottery. However, we now rely on the scorching sun to dry the pottery, then fire it using pieces of wood, cardboard, and whatever rubble we can find from destroyed houses and buildings.”

Despite this revival and increased demand, acquiring a piece of pottery is no longer easy. The scarcity of materials, the difficulty in obtaining firewood, and the complete reliance on primitive transportation via animal-drawn carts or even carrying the pottery by hand have caused a significant price increase, making it an additional financial burden for families who have lost everything.

The price of a 10-liter water jug costs around 80 shekels ($25), while larger jugs, exceeding 15 liters, cost approximately $50.

Faced with this reality, Gazans resort to ingenious methods to maximize the use of these clay pots. They place an ice cube, purchased from the market, inside, allowing the clay’s porous structure to retain cold water for more than 12 hours.

This rudimentary method has become an alternative source of income for some displaced families, who now sell bags of cold water to passersby in markets and at intersections, creating a new space for survival and continuity from clay and thirst.

Features News

Journalist Account of Gaza Destroyed But Refused to be Beaten

CrossFireArabia
July 19, 2026

By Shaimaa Eid

For 1000 days, Gaza existed between life and death. Our endurance is no longer breaking news; it has become a painful question confronting the world.

As a journalist from the Gaza Strip, I have lived through the genocide since its very first day. I am still trying to remain strong, not for my own sake, but for the mission I believe I was born in Gaza to fulfill. It is a mission that goes beyond personal pain, becoming a testimony to an entire era in which human beings are being erased before the eyes of the world.

What has happened in Gaza since October 7 cannot be reduced to statistics, news headlines, or even thousands of journalistic reports. It is an entire chapter in the history of humanity unfolding before the world’s eyes. It is a story that must be documented, preserved, and taught to future generations, not only as a record of destruction, but as a testament to what human beings can endure when every essential means of survival is stripped away.

For 1000 days, Gaza has existed between life and death. Our endurance is no longer breaking news; it has become a painful question confronting the world: How much suffering can a human being endure? And how many tragedies can the world witness before deciding that what has happened has crossed every possible line?

This war has touched every family in Gaza. There is not a single home that has been spared grief, fear, displacement, or loss. Families who once believed their homes were the safest places on earth found themselves sleeping in tents, schools, hospitals, or out in the streets. Parents carried their children through the ruins, while children learned the sound of bombs before they ever learned what safety felt like.

https://www.palestinechronicle.com/a-circus-tent-amid-the-rubble-a-safe-space-for-gazas-war-weary-children/embed/#?secret=swygMTbmBr#?secret=YT6VPcuy31

We moved from one place to another, not because we wanted to leave, but because survival demanded it. Every time we were told there was a “safer place,” we gathered what little we had left and made our way there, hoping to find temporary shelter. But fear followed us wherever we went. Areas described as humanitarian zones became places of death, and safety became a word that appeared more often in official statements than in reality.

For many people around the world, home is associated with comfort, memories, and a sense of belonging. For Palestinians in Gaza, home has become a memory of what was lost. Entire neighborhoods have disappeared, and streets once filled with families have been reduced to fields of rubble. The places that once held our childhood memories now remind us only of those who are gone.

Yet despite everything, people in Gaza wake up every morning searching for a reason to keep going.

They search for water, struggle to find bread, and try to obtain medicine. They hold their children close throughout the night when the sound of explosions returns, and they rebuild small pieces of their lives again and again, knowing they may lose them once more.

This is what the world must understand: Gaza’s resilience is not a romantic story, nor is it an easy choice. It is the result of people being forced to fight for the most basic of human rights: the right to exist.

What Israel has done to Gaza, in full view of the international community, has forced us to question the very meaning of the principles the world claims to uphold. What does justice mean if those who suffer are left without protection? And what value do international laws have if civilians, hospitals, journalists, and children remain in danger despite the protections those laws are supposed to provide?

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In Gaza, these are no longer abstract political or legal questions. They are questions asked every day under bombardment, while standing in line for bread, searching for clean water, and living inside fragile tents that offer protection from neither the weather nor the war.

We are not only searching for an explanation for what is happening to us. We are searching for an explanation for the world itself.

The people of Gaza have learned that no one is outside the circle of danger. Journalists, doctors, paramedics, civil defense crews, children, women, older people, and people with disabilities have all come face to face with the same reality: A life that can be endangered anywhere, at any moment.

Journalists did not simply document the destruction; they lived through it themselves. Many lost their homes, their families, and their colleagues, yet they continued carrying their cameras and documenting what was happening around them. They paid an immense price simply for preserving the memory of a place the world might otherwise have chosen to forget.

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On a personal level, I lost 54 members of my family during the genocide. They were all killed, and entire branches of my family were erased from the civil registry. We grieved, we suffered, and we cried out under the weight of such immense loss, but we never abandoned our mission. I continued writing, documenting, and telling the world the truth because I know that every story left untold is another loss, and that bearing witness to what has happened has become a duty no less important than survival itself.

Doctors and healthcare workers faced a similar reality. Hospitals, which should be the safest places during war, became places of fear and destruction. Medical staff continued their work under impossible conditions, treating the wounded with extremely limited resources while facing the same danger that threatened the very patients they were trying to save.

What kind of world turns hospitals into battlefields? What kind of world arrests or targets doctors while they are carrying out their humanitarian duty? And what kind of world kills journalists in their homes, alongside their families, simply because they carried a camera instead of a weapon?

These are not isolated incidents. They are part of a much broader reality in which every line that was supposed to protect civilians has been crossed.

Among the most painful chapters of this war has been hunger.

Before this war, it was rare to hear of children dying from hunger in the modern world. In Gaza, however, hunger became a daily reality. It was no longer simply the absence of food; it became a condition that shaped every aspect of life. It first appeared on the faces of children before it appeared in official reports. It was visible in their frail bodies, in the exhaustion of parents, and in the despair of families searching for something as simple as bread.

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We walked through streets where people were too weak from hunger to remain standing. Children cried throughout the night because their bodies could no longer understand why food had disappeared from their lives. Families shared the few crumbs they had, dividing tiny portions among many people and trying to convince themselves that tomorrow might be different.

But tomorrow usually brought the same reality.

We followed evacuation orders and went to areas described as “humanitarian zones.” We believed they might offer us some protection from the violence. Yet even there, people were killed, tents were burned, and families were destroyed.

The very idea of shelter became fragile, and safety became a word repeated in official statements but rarely experienced by those living through the war.

Many people remember the image of the little girl, Warda Jalal al-Sheikh, standing amid flames, smoke, and devastation after her family’s tent was struck and caught fire. Several members of her family were killed as she struggled to stay alive. Her image became a heartbreaking symbol of what it means to be born into a reality where fire surrounds you before you have even had the chance to understand the world.

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Many also remember our colleague, journalist Ayman al-Jadi, who was waiting for his wife as she gave birth to their child. It should have been a moment of new beginnings, a moment to welcome new life. Instead, he was killed while waiting to meet his baby.

How can the world comprehend a reality in which death reaches even the moments meant to embody hope?

These stories are not exceptions. They are scenes repeated over and over in a place where simply staying alive has become extraordinary.

Even after the ceasefire was announced, the suffering did not simply disappear.

Across Gaza, a new reality began to take shape with the continued expansion of what has come to be known as the “Yellow Line.” Marked by yellow concrete blocks and military boundaries, these zones have redrawn the map of the Gaza Strip, cutting off access to vast areas of land.

The Yellow Line has continued to consume more territory, approaching nearly 70 percent of Gaza’s total area and separating communities from their homes, farmland, and neighborhoods. For many Palestinians, these yellow concrete barriers are not merely physical obstacles; they represent the continuation of displacement by other means.

Despite the ceasefire announcement, violations continued in full view of international mediators and the world. The nature of the war may have changed, but people’s sense of insecurity has not. The sound of bombardment may have faded in some areas, yet the fear of losing what remains has never left people’s hearts.

The expansion of these boundaries raises a painful question: Can there truly be a ceasefire while the map of Gaza continues to shrink?

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For Palestinians, the yellow barriers have become a symbol of an even deeper fear: That the temporary measures imposed during the war will become a permanent reality, reshaping the future of an entire people.

After one thousand days of genocide, Gaza cannot be understood solely through the numbers of those killed, wounded, displaced, or left homeless. Statistics matter because they reveal the scale of the devastation, but behind every number is a human story, a family, a dream, a memory, and a life cut short.

The true story of Gaza is not only a story of destruction. It is also the story of people who refused to disappear.

It is the story of mothers who continued caring for their children despite their grief; fathers who searched for food under impossible circumstances; doctors who kept working despite exhaustion; journalists who continued writing despite the danger; and ordinary people who rebuilt small pieces of their lives even when everything around them had collapsed.

This resilience must not be mistaken for an acceptance of suffering. The ability of Palestinians in Gaza to survive does not make their suffering acceptable, nor does it absolve those who allowed this reality to continue of their responsibility. Survival is not proof that people are well. It is proof of the immense burden they have been forced to endure.

The world should not see Gaza’s resilience as a reason to move on and forget what has happened. It should see it as a reason to ask more difficult questions about justice, accountability, and the value the world places on human life.

One thousand days of genocide are not merely the passage of time. They are the living memory of an entire generation being written in real time. They are children growing up with images of destruction instead of ordinary childhood memories, and families learning how to mourn their loved ones while still struggling to survive.

What has happened in Gaza must not become another chapter that the world reads and then closes. It must remain an open testimony, a reminder of what happens when international principles are ignored and human suffering becomes something people watch from a distance.

Gaza’s resilience after one thousand days cannot be captured in a news report or a headline. It deserves to be written into the history books, not only as a record of pain, but as evidence of a people who continued to live despite every attempt to break them.

Because the story of Gaza is not only about what was done to it. It is also about what remains after everything else has been taken away.

Homes may have been destroyed, streets transformed, and familiar landmarks erased, but the people remain, carrying their memories, their names, their stories, and their determination to be seen and heard.

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As a journalist from Gaza, I know there are countless stories that have yet to be told. Behind every destroyed building lies the history of a family. Behind every empty chair is someone we still mourn. Behind every survivor is a story of resilience that deserves to be heard.

In the end, we are still here.

We are still writing.

We are still documenting.

We are still bearing witness.

Because what remains untold about Gaza is far greater than anything the world has heard so far.