In a stark reminder of the razor-thin line between peace and renewed conflict in the Middle East, Israeli airstrikes pummeled parts of the Gaza Strip on Tuesday, killing at least 18 Palestinians and wounding dozens more, just hours after U.S. Vice President JD Vance assured the world that the fragile ceasefire brokered by President Donald Trump was holding firm. The strikes, ordered by Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, came in response to what Israel described as a brazen attack by Hamas militants on its forces in southern Gaza, marking the most significant flare-up since the truce took effect on October 10. As explosions lit up the night sky over Gaza City and Khan Younis, Vance's measured words from Washington—"The ceasefire is holding. That doesn’t mean that there aren’t going to be little skirmishes here and there"—echoed as both a reassurance and a concession to the deal's inherent vulnerabilities.
The incident unfolded in the early afternoon near Rafah, a densely populated border town in southern Gaza that has long been a flashpoint in the two-year-old war. According to the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF), a unit patrolling an area still under partial Israeli control came under fire from rocket-propelled grenades and sniper rounds. One soldier was wounded in the exchange, though initial reports of fatalities were later walked back. "This was no random clash; it was a deliberate violation by Hamas, crossing the withdrawal line we agreed upon," an IDF spokesperson stated in a terse briefing from Tel Aviv. The military quickly escalated, launching a barrage of precision-guided munitions at what it claimed were Hamas command posts and weapons caches in the Sabra neighborhood south of Gaza City and the Bureij refugee camp in central Gaza.
Gaza's civil defense agency reported a grim toll: at least nine people killed in the initial wave of strikes, including three women and two children who were queuing for food rations in Al-Sabra. Another five perished in Khan Younis when a residential building collapsed under the force of an airstrike. Rescue teams, hampered by ongoing rubble clearance from previous bombardments, worked through the night to extract survivors, their efforts illuminated by the flickering lights of emergency generators. "We pulled families from the debris, but how many more are buried under there? This is supposed to be a time of rebuilding, not more graves," said Ahmed al-Masri, a paramedic with the Palestinian Red Crescent, his voice cracking over a crackling phone line from a makeshift field hospital.
Hamas, the Islamist militant group that has controlled Gaza for nearly two decades, vehemently denied any involvement in the Rafah incident. In a statement released via Telegram from its exiled leadership in Qatar, the group's armed wing, the Al-Qassam Brigades, accused Israel of fabricating the attack as a pretext to undermine the ceasefire. "We remain fully committed to the Sharm el-Sheikh agreement under President Trump's auspices. These strikes are a criminal bombardment, a flagrant breach that endangers the lives of our people and the hostages' remains we are working to return," the statement read. As if to underscore their frustration, Hamas announced a postponement of a planned handover of one Israeli hostage's body, recovered from a tunnel network in southern Gaza earlier in the day. The delay, they said, was a direct response to Israel's "aggression," though they pledged to resume cooperation once the airstrikes ceased.
This tit-for-tat escalation is the latest chapter in a ceasefire that, while hailed as a historic breakthrough, has been pockmarked by mutual recriminations since day one. The truce emerged from Trump's ambitious 20-point peace plan, unveiled in late September 2025 during a high-profile White House summit with Netanyahu and Egyptian mediators. Drawing on lessons from his first-term Abraham Accords, the plan outlined a phased approach: an immediate halt to hostilities, the release of all remaining Israeli hostages—both living and deceased—in exchange for hundreds of Palestinian prisoners, a phased Israeli troop withdrawal, and a massive influx of humanitarian aid to rebuild Gaza's shattered infrastructure. Points 7 through 10 specifically mandated the unhindered entry of aid convoys via the Rafah crossing, the rehabilitation of water, electricity, and sewage systems, and the deployment of an international stabilization force to oversee distribution.
By October 13, the first phase appeared to be bearing fruit. Hamas released 20 living hostages, including elderly civilians and children, in a tearful ceremony broadcast from Cairo. Israel reciprocated by freeing over 300 Palestinian detainees, many held without trial under administrative detention. Aid trucks, numbering in the hundreds daily, began rolling in for the first time in months, carrying flour, medical supplies, and construction materials. Families in Gaza's war-ravaged neighborhoods, like Sheikh Radwan in the north, started salvaging bricks from the rubble to patch up homes, a tentative sign of normalcy after 24 months of devastation. International donors, from Saudi Arabia to the European Union, pledged billions for reconstruction, with a "Board of Peace" chaired by Trump himself tasked with coordinating efforts. Even Hamas signaled a willingness to cede governance to a technocratic Palestinian committee, potentially paving the way for reformed Palestinian Authority oversight.
Yet, beneath the diplomatic veneer, cracks have widened. Israel has conducted at least five sets of airstrikes since the ceasefire began, citing "enforcement actions" against alleged Hamas rearmament. Gaza health officials report nearly 100 Palestinian deaths in these incidents, alongside 230 injuries, often from troops firing on civilians approaching the "yellow line"—an informal buffer zone demarcating withdrawn Israeli positions. Hamas, meanwhile, has returned only 15 of the 28 deceased hostages' bodies, citing the Herculean task of excavating them from collapsed tunnels amid unexploded ordnance. On Monday, tensions spiked when Israel accused the group of handing over misidentified remains—parts of a body previously recovered by IDF troops two years prior—prompting Netanyahu's emergency cabinet meeting.
Vance's Fox News interview, delivered from the White House Rose Garden amid a backdrop of autumn foliage, sought to steady nerves on both sides. Flanked by Secretary of State Marco Rubio, the Ohio senator—a vocal Trump ally—praised the president's "bold vision" while acknowledging the human cost. "We expect the Israelis to respond proportionally, but the president's peace is durable. Hamas attacked that soldier, or someone did, and there will be accountability. But we're not back to square one," Vance said, his tone blending Midwestern pragmatism with unwavering support for Israel. He dismissed media portrayals of the truce as "doomed," accusing outlets of harboring a "weird attitude" that roots for failure. Privately, administration officials express guarded optimism: Special Envoy Steve Witkoff, who shuttled between Jerusalem and Doha last week, described meetings with freed hostages as "emotional but hopeful," with tears flowing as families reunited.
The broader context of the Gaza war underscores why this ceasefire feels like a precarious lifeline. What began as a shocking Hamas assault on October 7, 2023—killing 1,139 Israelis and abducting 251—spiraled into Israel's retaliatory campaign, which has leveled much of the enclave. As of October 28, Gaza's Ministry of Health reports 68,527 Palestinians killed, over 170,395 injured, and an estimated 10 percent of the population—more than 250,000 people—disabled or displaced. Women and children comprise the majority of the dead, with peer-reviewed studies in The Lancet estimating indirect deaths from disease and starvation could push the total past 186,000. Satellite imagery reveals 78 percent of Gaza's structures destroyed, entire neighborhoods like Shuja'iyya reduced to dust-choked voids. The Rafah crossing, vital for aid, has been shuttered intermittently, exacerbating a humanitarian crisis where famine looms for 1.9 million residents.
Regionally, the stakes are immense. Trump's plan envisions Gaza as a linchpin for wider normalization—potentially drawing in Saudi Arabia and drawing parallels to post-war reconstruction in modern Gulf cities. Yet, far-right voices in Netanyahu's coalition, like National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir, clamor for a full resumption of operations, decrying the truce as a "reward for terrorists." On the Palestinian side, skepticism runs deep; Fatah officials in the West Bank warn that without addressing settlements or a pathway to statehood, the deal is a "band-aid on a gaping wound."
As dawn broke over Gaza on Wednesday, the acrid smoke from Tuesday's strikes lingered, a somber counterpoint to Vance's assurances. Egyptian and Qatari mediators convened emergency talks in Cairo, urging both sides to recommit to phase two: full hostage repatriation and Hamas disarmament. For now, the ceasefire endures—not unbroken, but un-shattered. In the enclaves of hope amid the ruins, Palestinian families sifted through debris not just for survival, but for signs that this time, peace might outlast the skirmishes. Whether Trump's 20 points can forge a lasting architecture from the ashes remains the question hanging heavier than the dust.
