Rafah: an economy of the bare minimum

BeirutIn Gaza, the partial reopening of the Rafah crossing, the only point connecting the Strip to the rest of the world outside of Israel, has not revived daily life. It has simply reorganized the waiting. In the south, where the border has become a constant point of reference—though it remains almost deserted—the economy is operating at a bare minimum, with constantly changing lists and decisions postponed day after day. What's available has remained virtually unchanged for weeks, with no regular influx or predictable schedule. In this context, daily decisions no longer depend so much on what actually arrives as on rumors and warnings about the crossing: occasional permits, last-minute closures, announcements that never materialize.

The limited reopening authorized by Israeli authorities in the second phase of Trump's plan has not brought about a return to trade. Commercial trucks and raw materials are not entering on a consistent basis. Humanitarian aid arrives irregularly and is insufficient. According to the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), the fragmentation of supply chains and prolonged restrictions have pushed the population into a subsistence economy marked by extreme rationing and unpredictability. According to images reaching us from inside the Gaza Strip—Israel continues to bar access to the international press—many shops no longer sell complete packages, but rather individual pills, small bags of flour, and minimal quantities of fuel. UNRWA, the UN agency for Palestinian refugees, has warned in its latest reports of a widespread increase in buying in units and informal borrowing by families to cover basic needs. Cash is scarce and credit is granted with strict limits, in a system based more on shared need than on long-term trust. Daily life is organized around this precariousness. Families shop not out of routine, but out of fear that stores will close without warning. Opening hours are unpredictable, and intermittent electricity and fuel shortages reinforce this logic of constant adaptation.

Waiting for the phone

In the southern residential neighborhoods, the partial reopening hasn't brought relief either, but rather a kind of active waiting. Many families spend all day glued to their phones, waiting for a message confirming a medical evacuation, an exceptional authorization, or that they've been added to some list. Or that the promised relocation has been canceled. Life is on hold, and no medium-term decisions are being made, such as repairing a damaged home or resuming schooling. This constant postponement has visible economic effects. Many families are reducing their consumption not only because of the scarcity, but also to conserve what little they have in the face of an uncertain future. Doctors Without Borders (MSF), which is facing expulsion proceedings by the Israeli authorities, warns that the lack of a regular supply of goods forces them to ration medicines and medical supplies even outside the hospital system, directly impacting the daily lives of chronically ill patients.

In parallel, and in the absence of a functioning economy, informal exchanges have reappeared: flour for oil, medicine for fuel, food services. These exchanges are not driven by solidarity, but by a need for survival. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) points out that prolonged restrictions and lack of mobility erode the domestic economy and disrupt social relations, leading to the use of these kinds of emergency mechanisms.

The partial reopening of the border crossing has also added a constant element of comparison. The few people who have managed to leave have involuntarily become points of reference for those who remain. In markets, in queues, in homes, the recurring question is not when it will fully reopen, but why it is open to some and not to others. Humanitarian sources warn that this selection, perceived as arbitrary, is generating additional tensions in an already exhausted society.

Even humanitarian aid is producing contradictory effects. Its irregular arrival disrupts prices and expectations. When a distribution is announced, some products disappear from the private market. When it's delayed, prices rise. According to OCHA and UNRWA, the current operation of the border crossing continues to act more as a factor of structural instability than as a sustainable relief measure.

As evening falls, the pace slows and spaces empty out early. Not because everything has been sold, but because no one wants to stay longer than necessary. Uncertainty dictates schedules and limits movement.

In this context, the economy is no longer thought of in terms of recovery, but of resilience. It's measured in terms of how long a kilo of rice can last, or how many more days a decision can be postponed. In terms of how to survive, even hope is doled out sparingly.