The geography of Gaza has been fundamentally rewritten by violence. Where vibrant neighborhoods once stood, there is now a jagged horizon of pulverized concrete and twisted rebar. Streets that formerly served as the arteries of daily life, leading families to schools, markets, and homes, now terminate abruptly in vast fields of ruins. Amidst this landscape of total architectural collapse, a more profound and quiet struggle is unfolding—one carried almost entirely on the shoulders of women. In the wake of relentless conflict, the women of Gaza have become the final bulwark against total societal disintegration, navigating a reality where the traditional boundaries of home and safety have vanished.
To walk through Gaza today is to witness a demographic in a state of perpetual, exhausted motion. In the overcrowded hallways of schools repurposed as makeshift shelters, in the sweltering and claustrophobic confines of nylon tents, and in the very shadows of their destroyed houses, women are performing the impossible. They are the primary architects of survival in a place where the foundations of life have been stripped away. While a fragile ceasefire may have silenced the heaviest of the bombardments, for the women on the ground, the cessation of active shelling does not equate to the presence of peace. The war has simply changed its shape, shifting from an external assault of munitions to an internal, psychological war of attrition.
For the women of Gaza, the current "peace" is a hollow concept. They speak of a psychological warfare that is, in many ways, more taxing than the kinetic military operations that preceded it. Every woman encountered in these ruins carries a ledger of loss that is staggering to contemplate; it is nearly impossible to find a mother, daughter, or sister who has not buried at least two members of her immediate family. The grief is not a static memory but a living, breathing entity that must be managed alongside the daily search for bread and clean water. They are absorbing the collective trauma of a generation while simultaneously shielding their children from the biting cold of the night and the lingering threat of sporadic gunfire. They are the last line of protection in a world that has failed to protect them.
The physical environment has become an active adversary. Following a weekend of torrential rain and plummeting temperatures, the vulnerability of the displaced has reached a breaking point. In the tent cities that now define the Gaza Strip, mothers describe the harrowing experience of watching rainwater seep through makeshift roofs, soaking the thin blankets of their shivering children. This is the visceral reality of the Gazan winter: a season of dread where the inability to provide warmth becomes a source of profound maternal anguish. To be a woman here is to know with absolute certainty that the elements are coming, and to know with equal certainty that you lack the resources to keep your children dry or warm.
The scale of displacement has reached levels that defy historical precedent. The narrative of the conflict is often told through maps and movements, but the human cost is found in the story of a single woman who reported being displaced 35 times since the start of the hostilities. Each move is a logistical and emotional odyssey—packing the meager remnants of a life into bags, hoisting elderly parents and small children, and trekking toward a new destination that offers no more safety than the one left behind. These are not mere relocations; they are desperate gambles made in the face of life-or-death choices, often made by women who are navigating these crises entirely alone.
Recent data paints a stark picture of this shifting social fabric. It is estimated that more than 57,000 women in Gaza now serve as the sole heads of their households. This massive shift in gender roles has occurred under the most catastrophic conditions imaginable. These women are attempting to rebuild their lives in a vacuum of resources. Even with the current ceasefire, the economy remains in a state of paralysis. Food prices have skyrocketed, with basic necessities now costing four times what they did prior to the escalation, placing them entirely out of reach for women who have lost their livelihoods, their husbands, and their support networks.
The ingenuity required for survival in this environment is both heroic and heartbreaking. In one instance, a woman whose home was reduced to a pile of debris returns to the site every morning. She is not there to salvage heirlooms, but to scavenge for fuel. She gathers the splintered wood from the doors that once sheltered her family, burning the literal pieces of her past life just to cook a meager breakfast for her children. This act of burning one’s home to sustain one’s children serves as a haunting metaphor for the current state of womanhood in the region.
Beyond the immediate needs of food and shelter, a silent crisis is emerging among the youngest and most vulnerable. The relentless bombing campaigns have left behind a legacy of permanent physical impairment. According to recent health estimates, over 12,000 women and girls are now living with long-term, war-related disabilities that they did not have two years ago. These are lives fundamentally altered by shrapnel and collapsing buildings. One 13-year-old girl, who lost her leg in an attack that also claimed the lives of her father and four brothers, has spent months waiting for a wheelchair. Her story is emblematic of a generation of girls whose futures have been shattered, and whose mobility—both physical and social—has been restricted by the scars of war.
Despite the overwhelming weight of these challenges, the women of Gaza are not merely passive recipients of aid; they are demanding the right to be the protagonists of their own recovery. In the conversations held in the ruins, a consistent theme emerges: a fierce desire for agency. They do not only ask for blankets and flour; they ask for work, for justice, and for the restoration of their fundamental rights. They speak of a longing to lead the reconstruction of their communities with their own hands.
This spirit of resistance and enterprise is visible even in the most desolate corners of the territory. Across from a mound of rubble where her family remains buried, one woman has established a community oven. There, she bakes bread for her neighbors for a small fee, providing a vital service while staring directly at the site of her greatest loss. This is the quintessential testament to the power of Gaza’s women—the ability to create life and sustenance in the very shadow of death. It is this leadership that requires urgent and sustained investment from the international community.
UN Women has maintained a presence on the ground in Gaza for over a decade, working alongside women-led civil society organizations to bolster resilience. However, the current scale of the catastrophe requires a paradigm shift in how the world responds. The commitment of humanitarian organizations is to stand with these women today, ensuring they have the tools to lead Gaza’s recovery tomorrow. But for that recovery to begin, the cycle of violence must reach a definitive end.
The international community must acknowledge that no woman should be forced to fight this hard simply to exist. The demands from the ground are clear and consistent: the ceasefire must hold, aid must be allowed to enter systematically and safely, and there must be a massive influx of winterization supplies, health services, and psychosocial support. Above all, there is a desperate need for the restoration of dignity through education and the return of children to schools.
To be a woman in Gaza today is to occupy a space between life and loss, holding the line with nothing but courage and exhausted hands. It is a state of being that should compel the world to action. If the resilience of these women is the only thing keeping their society from total collapse, then the global community has a moral obligation to ensure they do not have to carry that burden alone. The world cannot afford to look away, for the cost of silence is measured in the lives of the women and girls who are currently the only thing standing between Gaza and the abyss.
