A family returns home in Gaza. But the house is gone.

Minutes after the fighting in Gaza ended on Sunday, Islam Dahliz and his father and brother went to the neighborhood where they lived until Israeli soldiers ordered them to leave. They were searching for the family home, but the landscape around them overwhelmed their senses. Landmarks, streets, neighbors’ houses—everything was in ruins.

Then Mr. Dahliz discovered a local wedding hall, or what was left of it. That meant their house stood—was standing—behind them where they had passed before. They did not recognize this house that Mr. Dahleez’s father built 50 years ago.

“It took us a few minutes to accept that this pile of rubbish was our home,” said Mr Dahleez, 34, who works with local aid groups. They stood there speechless.

Their 74-year-old father, Abd Dahliz, said they felt the wind hit them. They had to help the children back to their tent to rest.

“I was shocked to see my whole life – everything I worked for – laid on the ground,” says Abed Dahliz, a lifelong farmer, his voice soft and trembling. “The house I spent so many years building with all my savings is gone.”

Forced to move from tent to tent, starting four times in total, there was never a moment they had hoped for and drawn. They thought they would come back. The restart of their lives.

In a recent tent in a park in West Rafah, on the southern tip of Gaza, they huddled together with radios glued to the ground as a ceasefire was due to take effect early Sunday. Islam Dahleez was on her phone, refreshing social media accounts for the latest news. The whole family was distraught when they heard that the truce could collapse at the last minute: Hamas, Israel said, had not provided details of the promised release of Israeli hostages from Gaza.

Then, at 11:15 am, the radio reported that a ceasefire had been reached. The father and brothers got into the car and went home.

Home It was a two-story house on Al-Imam Ali Street in Rafah, built in 1971 and, like many houses in Gaza, in the same family for three generations. His parents lived in one apartment, and Mr. Dahliz, his wife and their children had another. He recalled that when he returned to Gaza from Hungary, where he was studying agricultural science, he put his savings into new kitchens, furniture and beds.

His brothers Muhammad and Anas lived there with their families, along with another brother half a mile away. During the first seven months of the war, it was enough that Dahliz was able to accommodate about 10 families who had fled elsewhere in Gaza.

Next door was their farm, started by their father and tended by Muhammad, 40. Olive trees and date palms stood side by side with a greenhouse where they grew parsley, lettuce and arugula. They had rabbits, chickens and 40 sheep, which Muhammad led to the fields to graze every morning.

Mohammad Dahleez said he could remember his father planting palm trees when he was a small boy. He can remember his own little children before the war, chasing the chickens and laughing, gathering their eggs for breakfast.

Israel’s military has bombarded residential areas because Hamas fighters holed themselves up in civilian buildings, according to a New York Times investigation.Israel weakened civilian defenses during the war to make Gaza easier to bomb.

When the Israelis invaded Rafah in May and ordered everyone in eastern Rafah to leave, Islam Dahlis said the vegetables were just beginning to grow. The families that had taken refuge in Dahlias were scattered. The Dahlies prepared some clothes, plates, and other materials for the workers’ tents, and they chose the places nearest to their homes.

But they didn’t see each other for months, even though they were only a few miles away.

Their cousins ​​sneaked into the area from time to time and were able to bring new information. Their house was still standing, they reported. Then they said it stopped, but some of the doors and windows blew out.

In the fall, Dahlizes scanned the satellite images circulating on social media: still untouched. They then reconfirmed on December 8, Islam Dahleez recalled. All they saw where the house was was a shade of gray.

Now their palm and olive trees have fallen, their trunks scattered on the ground. Israeli tanks had left roads on their land. They stood upright on their property after a few concrete pillars were stuck inside them.

“I feel lost, lost,” said Mohammad Dahleez. Then he became angry and said, “This was a farm, a place of peace. He didn’t pose a threat to anyone, he didn’t pose any danger to the soldiers. We had nothing to do with politics, we had no reason to be involved in this violence.

Islam Dahleez’s 9-year-old daughter, Juan, screamed when he showed her images of destruction, he said. “Dad, remember when you threw me a birthday party in the great hall?” she asked, crying.

On Monday morning, the brothers and their father drove a second time to their neighborhood along a busy road with other families, each vehicle full of passengers and packages. They were all there to save whatever they could. All over Rafah, people filled torn flour sacks and plastic bags with scraps of metal they could sell or reuse, and possibly even firewood.

Every time Mohammad Dahleez brought her on her birthday or reached a milestone at school, his 14-year-old daughter was hoping to find Jana’s old toys. She begged him to find them.

“I just want to have a piece of her childhood,” he said. “I’ve been searching since morning hoping to find something of hers.”

Digging through the gray, Islam Dahleez stumbled upon his old school certificates, a discovery that brought a smile. But if not, they didn’t get much. Firewood, a few pillows, an empty tank they hoped to repair.

Although weak, he stuck to plans.

If — if — the two sides negotiate a permanent cessation of hostilities, as they must try the first phase of a ceasefire, the Dahlies hire a bulldozer to clear the rubble, first from the farm, then from the house. They will install some pipes, build a basic toilet and prepare a water tank, he said.

“It won’t take away the pain, but at least it will be closer to home where we made so many memories,” he said.

But now it was getting dark. They had to go back to their tents. It barely fills the back of a small car left over from Dahlee’s old life.