The Price of Return: Interrogation and Steadfastness at Rafah

A partial reopening of Rafah actually exposed continued Israeli control, coercive interrogations, and the unbroken resolve of displaced Gazans to return home despite intimidation and ruin.

By Ohood Nassar

Under the second phase of the ceasefire announced on January 14, 2026, by U.S. envoy Steve Witkoff on behalf of President Donald Trump, the Rafah Crossing between Egypt and the Gaza Strip reopened partially on February 2, 2026, on a trial basis.

For Gaza’s population, Rafah is more than a border gate—it is a lifeline. After years of siege and escalating Israeli restrictions, it remains the primary outlet for medical travel, education, and humanitarian relief.

Yet the reopening quickly exposed the limits of the agreement. Although 50 stranded Palestinians were slated to return from Egypt, Israeli authorities allowed only 12—women and children—to cross. The remaining 38 were barred. The message was clear: control over Gaza’s movement remains absolute.

On the first day of reopening, 57-year-old Huda Abu Abed returned to Khan Younis with her daughter, Rotana, 31. She had travelled to Egypt for a corneal transplant after suffering severe eye damage during the war. She left her children behind in Gaza, a separation she described as psychologically devastating.

Crossing back was no relief. Huda said she lived in constant fear of arrest. At the crossing, she and other travellers were first handled by individuals known locally as “Abu Shabab,” then transferred to Israeli forces for inspection and questioning.

“When they separated me from my daughter, I felt terror,” Huda said. “I thought they might detain me indefinitely.”

Her interrogation lasted three hours. She said Israeli officers pressed her to persuade residents of Khan Younis to leave Gaza, describing the Strip as unlivable after the destruction. According to Huda, they sought her cooperation in encouraging displacement—a demand she rejected with anger and disbelief.

Her phones, medication, and even toys she had brought for her grandchildren were confiscated. After questioning, she and others were transported in a truck flanked by Israeli military vehicles. She described the journey as degrading and deeply frightening.

Return to tents

Huda returned not to a house, but to a tent in Khan Younis.

“Living in a tent is harsh,” she said. “But witnessing destruction in Gaza is still better than being displaced. Gaza is our homeland. We will not leave.”

Her words reflect a wider resolve among civilians who, despite devastation, reject forced migration.

Wi’am Fares, 44, who returned on February 8, recounted a similar ordeal. He endured over two hours of interrogation about his decision to return and about conditions in the tents where his family had been displaced. Soldiers urged him to go back to Egypt and warned that his family could be expelled as well.

“Return depends on the mood of a soldier,” Wi’am said. “We kept asking ourselves: will we ever see Gaza again?”

He described overcrowded conditions for Palestinians stranded in Egypt and the psychological strain of prolonged uncertainty. He called for unrestricted return for all stranded civilians, arguing that arbitrary barriers only deepen suffering and sabotage efforts toward stability.

Lifeline

Rafah remains indispensable for Gaza’s two million residents. Thousands rely on it for medical treatment, study, and trade. But crossing procedures have become increasingly restrictive, subject to Israeli security vetting that turns travel into an unpredictable ordeal.

Human rights reports indicate that such restrictions function not only as security measures but as political leverage—controlling population movement and narrowing civilian options. For patients seeking urgent care, the process often means invasive questioning, confiscation of belongings, and prolonged delays that compound fear and isolation.

Despite intimidation, returnees delivered a unified message.

“The occupation asked me to convince people to leave,” Huda said. “My message is the opposite: remain steadfast.”

For her and others, return—even to tents amid rubble—represents dignity. The choice is stark but deliberate: hardship at home over displacement abroad.

These testimonies underscore the profound psychological and physical toll imposed by movement restrictions. Military control shapes daily life, and normalcy remains contingent on political calculations.

At the same time, they reaffirm a central reality: for many Gazans, return—however painful—is preferable to exile.

The reopening of Rafah, though symbolically significant, has exposed the fragility of the humanitarian situation and the extent of continued restrictions. It also renews the urgency of international action—not only to ease immediate suffering, but to secure lasting guarantees of freedom of movement and a dignified future for Gaza’s civilians.

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Ohood Nassar is a journalist and teacher from Gaza. She has written for We Are Not Numbers, New Arab, Al Jazeera, Institute for Palestine Studies, Electronic Intifada, and Prism.