"For me, as a Palestinian from Gaza who survived the ongoing genocide, when I look at the rubble of homes on Google Maps, I am not seeing only the remains of buildings, which from far look like a decaying wall. I am seeing the remains of people whose bodies were crushed beneath walls and ceilings they painted with their own hands. I see children’s toys. Books. Backpacks. Coloring pencils. An unfinished meal. Blankets. Shoes. Photo frames of grandparents whose grandchildren never met. An old key to a home in Yaffa or Haifa. I can also hear the last words of a broadcaster on the radio before the news occurred, before the radio was broken and the family crushed..." Mosab Abu Toha

 Mosab Abu Toha

@MosabAbuToha

 

For me, as a Palestinian from Gaza who survived the ongoing genocide, when I look at the rubble of homes on Google Maps, I am not seeing only the remains of buildings, which from far look like a decaying wall. 

 

I am seeing the remains of people whose bodies were crushed beneath walls and ceilings they painted with their own hands. 

 

I see children’s toys. Books. Backpacks. Coloring pencils. An unfinished meal. Blankets. Shoes. Photo frames of grandparents whose grandchildren never met. An old key to a home in Yaffa or Haifa. 

 

I can also hear the last words of a broadcaster on the radio before the news occurred, before the radio was broken and the family crushed. No breaking news there. No news at all.

Gaza 2026

They see them, then kill them: Israeli quadcopters track, deliberately target civilians in Gaza

An Israeli quadcopter drops bombs on tents housing displaced Palestinians in Jabalia refugee camp, northern Gaza Strip. 20 October 2024 (Al Jazeera).

  12 Sep 2026 

Geneva - The Israeli military continues to use armed quadcopter drones to carry out deliberate killings of Palestinian civilians in the Gaza Strip. Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor has documented the killing of at least 60 civilians by gunfire from these drones or by munitions dropped by them since the ceasefire took effect on 10 October 2025 through early September 2026.

The repeated occurrence of these incidents after the ceasefire, and the targeting of children, displaced people, farmers, shepherds, and people returning to check on their homes, reveals a continuing pattern of the deliberate killing of Palestinian civilians, in which Israel employs military technology capable of identifying specific individuals, tracking their movements, and striking them with precision, despite the clear civilian status of those targeted and their non-participation in hostilities or posing of any imminent threat to Israeli forces or others.

Quadcopters are small, multi-rotor tactical drones, some systems of which can be operated by a single soldier. They can be equipped with daytime and thermal cameras, target-identification and tracking systems, and weapon stabilization systems. Depending on the mission, some models can also be fitted with 5.56mm and 7.62mm weapons or 40mm explosive munitions, enabling the operator to closely monitor individuals, track their movements, and then fire at them or drop munitions toward them with a high degree of accuracy.

These technical capabilities give the operator the ability to observe the targeted person, verify their identity, and track their movements before opening fire. This greatly narrows the margin for error in target identification and heightens the obligation to refrain from an attack when the civilian nature of the target becomes apparent or when there is any doubt as to their status. The repeated killing of children, displaced people, farmers, and shepherds by direct gunfire or munitions dropped from these drones, despite their clear civilian status and absence of any direct participation in hostilities or imminent threat, therefore provides, taken together, strong evidence that civilians themselves were intentionally selected as targets of attack, rather than being killed as a result of mistaken identification or accidentally struck. Such attacks are prohibited in themselves and cannot be justified by military necessity or subjected to a proportionality assessment, since a direct attack against a civilian is prohibited from the outset and cannot be made lawful by invoking military necessity or the rules of proportionality.

The data Euro-Med Monitor has collected shows that at least 60 civilians have been killed in attacks carried out by quadcopters since the ceasefire, while Gaza’s Ministry of Health reported that the total number of Palestinians killed by Israeli forces during the same period had reached 1,368 as of the date of the statement... READ MORE  https://euromedmonitor.org/en/article/7105/They-see-them,-then-kill-them:-Israeli-quadcopters-track,-deliberately-target-civilians-in-Gaza

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Peace & development are 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱. It's time to rebalancing world military spending for a sustainable and peaceful future... Global military spending is soaring, fueling a new arms race and placing immense pressure on national budgets and priorities.

 United Nations Geneva

@UNGeneva

The world is 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗱. Peace & development are 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱. It's time to rebalancing world military spending for a sustainable and peaceful future. The world must invest in people and the planet, not arms. 👉 https://bit.ly/4m2BECF  

 

#InvestInPeace

https://www.un.org/en/peace-and-security/the-true-cost-of-peace 

The true cost of peace

Rebalancing world military spending for a sustainable and peaceful future

Global military spending is soaring, fueling a new arms race and placing immense pressure on national budgets and priorities.

According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, a staggering $2.7 trillion was spent on militaries in 2024. This marks a more than 9 per cent jump from the previous year—the steepest increase since the Cold War and the tenth consecutive year of growth.

The Cost to Sustainable Development and Peace

This unprecedented military spending surge is occurring as global security deteriorates and progress on the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs)—the world's blueprint for a more equitable future—is falling short. In response, UN Secretary-General António Guterres has released a new report, The Security We Need: Rebalancing Military Spending for a Sustainable and Peaceful Future.

The report offers a stark warning: if current trends persist, global military spending could reach $4.7 to $6.6 trillion by 2035. A $6.6 trillion annual military budget would be nearly five times the level at the end of the Cold War and more than twice of what was spent in 2024.

This trajectory of accelerated militarization poses a serious threat to humanity's future by diverting critical resources from sustainable development and peace-building initiatives.

 

The Security We Need

Rebalancing Military Spending for a Sustainable and Peaceful Future

Global military spending is rising significantly across all regions driven by escalating geopolitical tensions, conflicts and perceived security threats. But does increasing military spending truly guarantee security? No, it often fuels arms races, deepens mistrust among countries and further destabilizes international relations.

The Secretary-General’s report, as requested by UN Member States in the 2024 Pact for the Future, examines the difficult trade-offs presented by the increasing global military spending, making a powerful case for investing in peace and in people's futures.

It proposes a shift towards a human-centered and multidimensional approach to security, one that prioritizes diplomacy, cooperation, sustainable development and disarmament over military build ups.

Full report | Overview (Arabic, Chinese, English, French, Russian and Spanish) | Press release | Key messages | Fact sheet | Media advisory | Remarks of the UN Secretary-General | Remarks of the UN High Representative for Disarmament Affairs | Remarks of the UN Development Programme Acting Administrator

Investing in humanity, not arms

Breaking down the global military spending... READ MORE 

 https://www.un.org/en/peace-and-security/the-true-cost-of-peace

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In the Fields- Jerusalem 2026 water colors painting by Rawan Anani

In the Fields- Jerusalem 2026 

water colors, painting by 

Rawan Anani

https://www.instagram.com/p/DdwWJ_DqxKS/

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61m tonnes of rubble: Gaza aid workers face delicate task of clearing ruins concealing up to 10,000 bodies. Removal of war debris, in which lives, memories and unexploded Israeli bombs lie buried, is one of largest clearance operations in modern history

A child watches a bulldozer on Beirut street in Gaza City, once a busy area that now lies in ruins. Photograph: Amjed Tantesh/The Guardian

 Seham Tantesh in Gaza City

Sun 27 Sep 2026

It took all day to clear a section of road in the Tel al-Hawa neighbourhood in Gaza City. At the end of it, Ahmed Alyan, a UN engineer, was exhausted, surrounded by mountains of rubble despite the day’s work.

“I feel as if we are holding a spoon and trying to empty the sea,” Alyan said, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead after a long, hot summer day.

Alyan is part of a World Food Programme (WFP) team who have been working on Beirut Street, once a busy main thoroughfare lined with shops, offices and homes and filled with traffic and people. But now it is virtually deserted.

The road was blocked by piles of rubble, stones and the wreckage of destroyed shops. Nearby, a tower stood tilted after some of its concrete foundations were damaged, while displaced families continued to live inside. In some parts of the road, sewage flowed from the ground after the drainage system was damaged and blocked by Israeli bombardment.

The UN estimates that removing the bulk of the rubble in the Gaza Strip could take at least seven to 10 years and cost billions of dollars. That would make the removal of war debris in Gaza one of the largest rubble-clearance operations in modern history.

“The estimate of the total amount of rubble in Gaza is 61m tonnes. It is approximately 20 times the amount of rubble generated in all wars across the world over the last 18 years,” said Jaco Cilliers, the UN Development Programme’s special representative in Palestine.

The task is being carried out in extremely difficult and hazardous conditions. The clearance teams are working in ruins containing countless dead bodies and unexploded bombs. So far, 580km of roads have been cleared, which has in turn made possible the movement of aid trucks, relief teams and residents.

However, the reconstruction of Gaza is a huge challenge facing international and local organisations. After more than two years of work, about 907,000 tonnes of rubble have been removed and more than 300,000 tonnes recycled and reused. But this represents only about 1.5% of the total rubble.

To make things more difficult, the Israeli authorities have banned the necessary equipment from entering Gaza on the grounds that almost any aid that is not food or medicine could be “dual-use”  ...READ MORE  https://www.theguardian.com/world/2026/sep/27/rubble-gaza-un-aid-workers-ruins-dead-bodies

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As Israeli bulldozers destroy more homes, uproot more trees, tear through orchards and fields, and alter a landscape that Palestinians have tended for generations, I find myself thinking about another kind of plow. A wooden one. And the hands of the man who held it. I think of my uncle—my aunt’s husband—Abu Ali, and of happier, simpler times....

Mike Hanini Odetalla's uncle Abu Ali and aunt, Jameela, of Palestine 

Abu Ali 

a true story by Mike Hanini Odetalla

As Israeli bulldozers destroy more homes, uproot more trees, tear through orchards and fields, and alter a landscape that Palestinians have tended for generations, I find myself thinking about another kind of plow.

A wooden one.

And the hands of the man who held it.

I think of my uncle—my aunt’s husband—Abu Ali, and of happier, simpler times.

Abu Ali could neither read nor write. Education was a luxury his family could not afford. He began working when he was very young after his father became chronically ill. As the oldest son, responsibility fell upon his shoulders early.

He married my aunt, my mother’s sister, while still a young man, and before long he was helping support not only his father’s family, but his own.

Abu Ali did many backbreaking and menial jobs, but his primary livelihood came from plowing the village orchards and fields. He was a haraath—a plowman.

Together with his ever-present and trusty mule, Abu Ali reached places that still boggle my mind when I think about them. Hillsides and terraces where I would have had trouble simply keeping my footing, he somehow managed to plow.

I remember him as a slim but incredibly strong man, dark from years beneath the Palestinian sun, his face turned leathery by its heat, yet almost always carrying a smile.

And his hands.

I remember those hands.

They were tougher than leather and coarse as sandpaper from holding a plow year after year. Part of his tremendous strength came simply from carrying that heavy plow everywhere he went.

When the spring rains finally subsided and the earth dried enough to be worked, Abu Ali's season began.

His day started at daybreak and didn't end until the sun disappeared behind the hills.

Every morning he carried a thermos of hot tea and a jug of water, used both for drinking and for making wudu before prayer. In a handkerchief he wrapped a tomato, an onion and some olives, along with a couple loaves of my aunt's hearth-baked bread.

That was his food for the day.

Dinner would be waiting when he finally returned home.

As a boy, seeing Abu Ali making his way toward the fields and orchards was strangely soothing and reassuring to me. His appearance meant something.

Spring had arrived.

Soon the entire village would begin coming back to life as people returned to their orchards.

I would climb the hills surrounding our village and look for him.

He wasn't difficult to find.

All I had to do was look for the long, straight lines of freshly turned earth cutting through the reddish-brown soil. Somewhere at the end of those lines would be Abu Ali and his mule, slowly working their way across another field.

Whenever it was time for him to plow my family's land, my mother would prepare lunch for him, and I would carry it out to the orchard.

My mother, may Allah have mercy on her soul, always fed anyone who worked on our land. To her, feeding someone who was hungry was among the simplest obligations one human being had toward another.

I loved those trips.

Abu Ali would stop working and sit beneath the shade of one of our olive trees. I would sit beside him while he ate, and he would enchant me with stories of years gone by—stories about our village, our people, our families and a world that existed long before I did.

To an eight-year-old boy, Abu Ali had the perfect life.

So perfect, in fact, that one day I informed my mother that I had made an important decision:

I was quitting school.

I had decided to become a haraath.

My mother was not nearly as impressed with my career plans as I was.

She scolded me and explained that plowing was brutally hard work and that, had Abu Ali been given the opportunity, he would have gone to school and gotten an education.

At eight years old, I wanted no part of what she was saying.

What did she know?

I knew something she apparently didn't: if I asked Abu Ali himself, surely he would be delighted to teach me.

So one day, as Abu Ali and I sat beneath a very ancient olive tree, I announced my decision.

I wanted to become a haraath.

Just like him.

To my delight, he seemed pleased.

He agreed to teach me.

I couldn't believe my good fortune.

My mother could say whatever she wanted. Abu Ali himself was going to teach me the trade.

And I was going to become the best haraath the world had ever known.

My apprenticeship began immediately.

First, Abu Ali taught me to feed the mule.

Easy enough.

Then he told me to clean the plow.

I managed that too, although I couldn't remember ever seeing him clean it.

After a while, he stood up and asked:

“Are you ready to learn the trade?”

“Of course!” I yelled.

Then came my first real lesson.

Abu Ali instructed me to find five small, pointed pebbles.

I didn't question my teacher.

I found five.

He told me to place the pebbles in my right hand and then grip the wooden handle of the plow with that same hand, keeping the stones pressed tightly between my palm and the handle.

That seemed a little strange.

But what did I know?

I was only an apprentice.

So off we went.

After only a few short passes, those pointed little stones were digging painfully into my palm.

I tried to keep going.

After all, I had a profession to learn.

But eventually the pain became more than I could bear.

I stopped and opened my hand.

My palm was red, raw—and bleeding slightly.

Suddenly, becoming the greatest haraath in Palestine didn't seem quite as appealing.

I looked at my uncle, bewildered.

Why, I asked him, did I have to hold rocks against the plow when I knew perfectly well that he didn't?

A wise smile appeared on Abu Ali's weathered face.

He gently explained that this was how a plowman toughened his hands so they could withstand the harsh conditions of the work.

Then he asked if I was ready to continue.

“Not really,” I said.

Apparently, I had reconsidered my career.

Abu Ali burst out laughing.

Then he told me to go home to my mother and tell her that Abu Ali had taught me everything I needed to know about plowing.

And so ended my career as a haraath.

It would be years before I understood what had really happened beneath that old olive tree.

My mother and Abu Ali had collaborated on the whole thing.

Neither lectured me.

Neither humiliated me.

Neither told the stubborn eight-year-old boy that he didn't know what he was talking about.

Instead, they allowed life itself to teach me.

Five little pebbles.

A wooden plow.

A mule.

And the rough, calloused hands of a man who understood something about hardship that I did not.

Abu Ali passed away about ten years ago.

With his passing, we lost much more than the man who plowed our land.

We lost one of the people who carried within him an entire way of life—a world of olive trees and stone terraces, freshly turned earth, bread wrapped in cloth, hot tea carried into the fields, stories told beneath ancient trees, and knowledge passed from one generation to another without ever being written in a book.

And perhaps that is why, whenever I see bulldozers tearing through Palestinian orchards, I don't simply see trees and dirt being destroyed.

I see people.

I see memory.

I see inheritance.

I see an eight-year-old boy sitting beneath an olive tree beside an old plowman with hands tougher than leather.

And I see Abu Ali smiling.

May Allah have mercy on his soul.

Mike Odetalla
March 2003
All Rights Reserved

 https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=10166740637701977&set=a.10150390714236977

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