Longing for the Ceasefire: Hopes, Fears, and the Days Before Dawn

January 2025.
A ceasefire is announced to begin on January 19.

People abroad write messages:
“Are you relieved?”
“What will you do now?”
“Are you happy?”
“What’s the first thing you’ll do?”
They ask as if a switch will flip and life will return.

But in Gaza, the days before dawn are filled with a mixture of longing and grief.

One friend says:
“When the ceasefire begins, I will run to the beach to watch the sunset. Then I will go to the roof to cry for my martyred friends so that no one sees my tears.”

Another writes:
“I wish to see the lights in my sad city. The lights have been turned off for 15 months.”

Another:
“I cannot imagine how we will feel. Will it be joy? Or sorrow?”

“We will walk in the streets without fear,” someone says.
“We will sleep without waking to explosions.”
“We will see the fear fade from our children’s eyes.”

But also:
“The city is destroyed. The lights will not return.”
“We prepare for a sunrise unlike any we have known.”
“Will there be joy?”
“Or will there be tears?”
No one knows.

They are suspended between endings that are not endings, and beginnings that are not
beginnings.

And yet hope flickers.
A small ember in the cold.