Tulkarem, West Bank — The sky over Tulkarem was still, deceptively quiet. But beneath that silence, an entire camp braced itself for the worst. Refugee camps, much like this one, have become a battleground where the weight of war settles over the most innocent. That morning, the weight became unbearable. An Israeli airstrike targeted a Hamas leader, Zahi Yaser Abdel Razaq Awfi, turning a small café into the epicenter of destruction, and taking 18 lives with it. In this place where hope seems to evaporate into thin air, death becomes a familiar presence, like an unwanted guest who lingers just a little too long.
Airstrike and a Familiar Story of Loss
Awfi was a marked man—a name in intelligence files, the figurehead of operations that Israel says threatened its security. According to Israeli military officials, he was planning an imminent terror attack within Israel. His death was a calculated blow, orchestrated with the precision of war, meant to disarm and dissuade. Yet in the process, 17 others—civilians, not soldiers—paid the price.
The airstrike hit a popular café, a place where people gathered to sip coffee and find a fleeting moment of normalcy. When the missile struck, it shattered more than the building; it splintered families, broke apart futures. These weren’t militants planning violence—they were fathers, mothers, young men barely old enough to understand the conflict that would claim them.
Calculated Strike with Unintended Consequences
Israel’s military said the operation was necessary to prevent a large-scale attack on Israeli soil, claiming that Awfi had been involved in previous plots, including a car bombing in September. To many outside of Tulkarem, the logic might seem sound—a preemptive strike, a tactical win in the relentless chess game of Middle Eastern geopolitics.
But what’s harder to reconcile, harder to explain, are the lives caught in that strategy. There’s something profoundly human about trying to piece together the moments before disaster—what were those 18 people thinking about in their final moments? Was it the day ahead of them, the plans they’d made? Or did they sense the looming dread, as if the air had thickened with the weight of what was coming?
The Long Shadow of Conflict: Death Toll Rising in West Bank
The West Bank has been no stranger to conflict, but this past year has seen an escalation unlike any in recent memory. Over 720 Palestinians have been killed in the region since last year, according to the Palestinian Ministry of Health. Among them, 160 children—lives cut short before they even began to comprehend the complexities of the conflict they were born into.
It’s not just Tulkarem. In nearby Jenin, in Hebron, and across the occupied territories, airstrikes and military raids have become a part of the daily rhythm. What makes this attack stand out, perhaps, is not the death toll but the quiet normalization of such violence. It has been two decades since the Second Intifada, and yet, here we are again—history repeating itself in echoes and explosions.
Civilian Casualties and the Human Cost of “Security”
Every statistic on civilian casualties comes with a silent question: is this the price we have to pay for security? And if so, who pays it? In the corridors of power, from Tel Aviv to Ramallah, decisions are made by men in suits, men who talk about security and sovereignty, statehood and strategy. But here, in the narrow streets of Tulkarem’s refugee camp, those words take on a much graver meaning.
This isn’t just politics. It’s personal. Each life lost leaves behind a family, a community, a future that will never be. The people of Tulkarem mourn not just for the dead, but for the innocence lost along with them. As parents bury their children, they carry a grief so heavy it becomes part of their very being. Yet somehow, the world moves on, the airstrikes continue, and the headlines blur together into one unending story of conflict.
Israel’s Airstrike Tactics: Return to Old Strategies
Israel’s airstrikes on urban areas in the West Bank mark a significant shift back to tactics not seen since the Second Intifada, a period that many remember with dread. The decision to return to aerial bombings in crowded refugee camps is a stark reminder that, despite years of diplomacy and promises of peace, the conflict remains as tangled and bloody as ever.
According to military reports, this airstrike was carried out with the help of the Shin Bet, Israel’s domestic intelligence service. Their justification is clear: prevent further attacks, no matter the cost. But what happens when that cost is measured in human lives? What happens when security comes at the expense of humanity?
The Cycle of Retaliation: Will This Ever End?
There’s a heartbreaking pattern to this violence—a strike begets retaliation, and retaliation begets more strikes. Each side justifies its actions through the lens of self-defense, and yet, the cycle persists, spinning endlessly, devouring lives on both sides of the divide.
For the families of those who died in Tulkarem, this isn’t a political question. It’s a human one. And it’s one that we, as observers, can only try to comprehend from the outside. How do you explain to a mother that her child’s life was collateral damage in a war that shows no signs of ending? How do you rationalize the irrational? The truth is, you can’t. All you can do is mourn, and hope that one day, this madness will find its end.
Conclusion: When the Dust Settles, What Remains?
As the smoke clears from the skies above Tulkarem, what’s left is more than rubble. It’s a collective grief, a mourning that stretches beyond borders, beyond politics. In these moments, the conflict between Israel and Palestine feels less like a political struggle and more like an eternal human tragedy. Leaders will continue to make decisions from their seats of power, far from the bloodied streets where their policies are felt most acutely. And we, as witnesses, can only hope that someday, somehow, this cycle of violence will break.
