Washington Report on Middle East Affairs, November/December 2026, pp. 8-9
Special Report
By Mohammed Altaj
FAMILIES IN GAZA stood before nearly 100 shrouds on September 6. Even by Gaza’s standards, the scene was difficult to absorb.
Some of the people inside those shrouds had been killed almost three years earlier. They did not reach a grave when they died. Their bodies and remains stayed beneath the homes that collapsed over them, while their families remained above ground, waiting.
Dozens were children.
I do not know whether it is possible to fully imagine what it means for a mother to wait years to recover the remains of her child. To know roughly where he is. Perhaps to stand near the ruins themselves. And still be unable to reach him.
Then, one day, the rubble is finally removed. The child does not return as he was. What comes back may be bones, fragmented remains, or clothing that helps a family identify who has been found.
But at least there can be a grave.
A few weeks ago, when I wrote about a Gaza that was still waiting to bury its dead, the recovery of 112 people from the ruins of Gaza City’s Sabra neighborhood was at the center of the story. It raised a question that should never have needed asking: how can a human being remain beneath the ruins of his own home for years because the equipment needed to reach him is unavailable?
Today, the story is no longer about 112 people. By Sept. 8, 2026, as many as 827 bodies and human remains had been recovered from beneath Gaza’s rubble since the announcement of the ceasefire agreement in October 2025, according to health authorities in Gaza.
I use the phrase “announcement of the ceasefire agreement” deliberately. In fact, the killing never stopped.
Israelis have continued to kill Palestinians since the agreement was announced. Air strikes, shelling and shootings have continued. On the same day that some families were preparing to bury the remains of loved ones killed years ago, other families were learning that their own children had just been killed.
That may be one of the cruelest images of Gaza today: burying the dead of yesterday while receiving new dead.
Yet even 827 does not tell the whole story. Palestinian authorities estimate that more than 8,000 people remain beneath the rubble. After what has emerged in recent weeks, that number can no longer be dismissed as an abstraction.
When rescue crews reached one site in Sabra, 112 corpses were removed. At another building, more remains were found. In early September, the remains of 55 members of the Malaka family were recovered. Then came the sight of almost 100 shrouds.
Every recovery now carries a meaning beyond the person who has been found. Every body brought out of the rubble also tells us that others have not yet been reached.
Behind the figure of 827 were people with names, homes and ordinary possessions their families would recognize instantly: a bed, a bag, a photograph, a piece of clothing, a corner of a room.
Behind the thousands believed still to be there are thousands of families whose stories have not yet reached an ending.
What makes this even harder to comprehend is that many families are not searching blindly.
A mother may know the house where her child was.
A father may know the room.
A neighbor may know exactly who was inside when the building collapsed.
But knowing and reaching someone may be separated by a few meters of concrete and twisted steel. Those few meters can require an excavator. The absence of an excavator can mean another year of waiting.
That is why I cannot see the shortage of equipment in Gaza as merely a logistical issue. For a family waiting for a son or daughter, heavy machinery is not simply machinery. It is a path to a grave.
And this is where another part of the story has to be said clearly. The equipment Gaza needs cannot simply appear at its borders and move in. Its entry is subject to Israeli restrictions and approval. According to U.N. humanitarian reporting, Kerem Shalom has been the only operational crossing for cargo since Israel closed the Zikim crossing in northern Gaza on May 24, 2026. The same U.N. reporting shows how severe the bottleneck can be: since March 2026, Israeli authorities had approved only 13,445 liters of engine oil, while another 92,778 liters remained pending approval. That oil is needed not only for generators but also for vehicles and heavy machinery used to remove rubble.
Other essential equipment faces similar obstacles. The U.N. has reported that items classified by Israeli authorities as “dual-use” are subject to lengthy approval procedures that can end in rejection. For a family waiting beside a destroyed home, these are not abstract restrictions. Rescue workers may know where the missing are believed to be and what machinery they need to reach them. But the machinery, spare parts and supplies needed to do that cannot simply be brought into Gaza when they are needed.
And the rubble itself cannot simply be pushed aside. There are human remains beneath it. There may also be evidence that must be preserved. A U.N. expert warned in September that rubble should not be removed, crushed or relocated in ways that destroy evidence or prevent the recovery and identification of human remains.
Israeli restrictions are not the only obstacle. Much of Gaza’s existing machinery has been destroyed or damaged. Spare parts and fuel-related supplies are scarce. Unexploded ordnance make many sites dangerous, and the sheer scale of the destruction would overwhelm far greater resources.
But for thousands of families, the result is painfully simple. Their dead may be only meters away. They may know where to look. What they still do not have is everything they need to reach them.
The International Committee of the Red Cross has said that thousands of families in Gaza are still waiting for news of missing relatives, some for nearly three years. Some do not know whether the person they are looking for is alive, detained or dead beneath the rubble.
For that reason, clearing Gaza’s rubble cannot be treated simply as the first phase of reconstruction.
There are dead beneath it.
There are identities beneath it.
There may also be evidence that must not disappear with the debris.
When The Witness Stone—Let Gaza Bury Its Dead was launched after the recovery of the 112, people around the world were asked to hold a stone for 112 seconds. From a distance, a stone may seem like a simple symbol. To me, its meaning has become clearer with every new recovery operation.
A stone is what separates a mother from her child.
Then another stone.
Then a ceiling.
Then tons of concrete and steel.
And between them, years.
The appeal was never meant to create another slogan about Gaza. The demand was practical: heavy machinery, search and recovery equipment, protection for rescue crews and access to the sites where victims remain buried, so that they can be recovered and returned to their families.
What has happened since has not made that appeal less necessary. It has shown why it was necessary in the first place.
Part of the rubble has now been lifted. And the dead came out. That is the evidence. The world cannot return any of them to life. It cannot give their families back the years they have already spent waiting. But it can prevent three years from becoming four or five.
It can help ensure that the machinery and specialist equipment required for recovery reach Gaza. It can support the painstaking work of locating, documenting and identifying remains. And it can insist that recovering the dead is not something to be postponed until after politics or reconstruction.
How can a city be rebuilt while its people remain buried beneath its foundations?
There is one sentence I have repeated since this campaign began, because I still believe it contains the entire argument: Human dignity does not end with death.
The world no longer needs to imagine what is there: 827 bodies and remains have been reached. Thousands more are believed to remain beneath the rubble.
We have seen it.
The question now is simpler and heavier: How many more years should a mother have to wait to recover her child?
Let Gaza find its dead.
Let families say goodbye.
Mohammed Altaj is a Palestinian writer, researcher and political analyst, and the founder of The Witness Stone, an independent humanitarian initiative behind the global appeal “Let Gaza Bury Its Dead.” His writing focuses on Palestinian affairs, Gaza and the human consequences of conflict.
