As Mahmoud al-Jabri wandered through a market bustling with the remnants of a shattered society, he stumbled upon an unexpected sight: a collection of books that had once been his own. Among the disarray of stolen children’s shoes and worn-out plumbing pipes, he spotted his first published poetry book, its pages marked with his own handwriting in the margins. The vendor, clearly unfazed by the sentimental value, offered it for a mere 5 shekels, approximately $1.
“You could use these pages for kindling,” the salesman suggested nonchalantly, a statement that cut deep into Mahmoud’s heart.
“I was torn between two emotions,” he reflected, “laughter and bitterness.”
In the war-torn landscape of Gaza, even the art of poetry has become a commodity for unscrupulous thieves. A pervasive sense of lawlessness has taken root amid the rubble, a consequence of Israel’s extensive military campaign launched in retaliation for the Hamas-led attacks on October 7.
As civilians flee from the Bureij refugee camp in central Gaza, the scene is reminiscent of a grim cycle: when evacuation orders are issued, opportunistic looters swarm into the vacated neighborhoods.
These so-called “thieves’ markets,” as they are referred to by the local populace, have surged in number across Gaza. Here, people can find a cornucopia of plundered items — everything from household goods to medical supplies pillaged from hospitals. With Israel imposing restrictions on the inflow of most goods into the enclave, these markets have transformed into crucial hubs for acquiring everyday necessities. For Gazans, visiting these markets has become a weary and oftentimes heartbreaking ritual, a quest to reclaim fragments of their former lives.
