Since Monday, 2 February, the partial reopening of the Rafah crossing, under the second phase of the Gaza ceasefire agreement, has provided little relief to Gazans, as it has been heavily restricted by stringent Israeli controls.
Preventing what could have been a major breakthrough after almost two years of closure, official data reveals the full scale of the crisis. Over 20,000 patients urgently need medical care abroad, while around 2,000 students are waiting to travel for university.
But only around 180 Palestinians have left the Gaza Strip since the limited reopening, according to officials in the territory.
Additionally, thousands of holders of Arab and foreign documents are stuck in limbo, awaiting family reunification. With Israel's last-minute travel refusals and the implementation of a tightly controlled exit process — limiting departures to only hundreds daily — thousands remain stranded.
Against this backdrop, calls for a full and sustainable opening of the crossing have intensified. As the sole gateway for many Palestinians to essential services, the Rafah crossing is vital not only for saving lives but also for securing futures and alleviating the burdens of prolonged waiting.
Weighing the severity of the medical emergency, Gaza's Health Ministry reports that 6,000 injured people require immediate evacuation, including at least 500 patients who need daily transfers to prevent life-threatening consequences, but slow procedures and Israeli-imposed obstacles are exacerbating the crisis.
The most critical cases involve patients with emergency or life-threatening conditions, including cancer, heart disease, and kidney failure, whose treatment options in Gaza have been exhausted due to the collapse of the health system and severe shortages of medicines and medical supplies.
For these patients, travel is not optional — it is a matter of life or death, and each additional day of waiting worsens their condition and increases the risk of irreversible complications.
Khaled Al-Sarhi has been waiting for three years to travel while battling cancer, as his condition deteriorates rapidly.
"When we heard about the partial reopening of Rafah, we felt a glimmer of hope, but that quickly gave way to worry and uncertainty, as the number of travellers is very small, and we don't know when it will be our turn," the 48-year-old told The New Arab.
"Waiting is not just about time; it’s a matter of life or death. I fear the illness will overtake me before I can leave for treatment. I hope there is genuine prioritisation for critical cases, and that our fate isn’t left hanging on long lists with no end in sight."
Other patients, like Nidal Al-Ayoubi, illustrate how official statistics translate into human suffering. Seriously injured by an Israeli strike, Nidal still requires urgent treatment abroad.
"The number of travellers does not exceed 150 per day, including around 50 patients and 100 companions, while thousands of patients and wounded continue to suffer inside Gaza. This number offers no reassurance," Nidal told The New Arab.
"Instead, it only increases our psychological pressure. I constantly wonder whether my name will be called today or if I'll still be waiting. This ongoing uncertainty affects every aspect of our lives. It’s not just the illness, but the waiting itself that wears you down."
Education shattered
Alongside those seeking medical treatment, thousands of students face urgent challenges, with many already accepted to universities abroad or awaiting confirmation, only to risk losing their academic futures due to rigid enrolment schedules and strict deadlines.
Mohamed Khalla, 21, who was accepted to a university in Turkey, described how the closure of the crossing disrupted his plans.
"I was accepted months ago and should be attending lectures by now, but the closure of the crossing has turned my dream into an indefinite wait," he told The New Arab.
"The partial reopening initially offered hope, but it's unlikely that students will be prioritised over urgent medical cases. The university has set a final enrolment deadline, and if I don't travel, I may lose both my seat and scholarship," Mohamed added.
"What pains me most is that my future depends on a number on a long list. We don't seek privileges, only a fair chance to continue our education and build a better future for ourselves and our families."
Sara Al-Fayoumi, 19, a student enrolled at an Egyptian university, is also among those affected by the disruptions at Rafah.
She told The New Arab: "Joining university was a family dream, and we worked hard to gain acceptance. The partial reopening gave some hope, but it is mixed with fear, as the number of travellers doesn't match the number of students waiting."
She explained that she graduated during Israel's genocide under extremely difficult conditions and had hoped to attend medical school, but now fears losing her academic year before it even begins.
Constantly worried, all she can do now is closely follow the news about the crossing, waiting for her name to appear on the lists, though she says the process has placed a heavy psychological burden on her.
"I hope there is a clear mechanism in place that gives students genuine priority, because education is not a luxury, but our only path to a better future," she added.
Mohamed and Sara are far from the only students caught in this struggle; the Israeli disruptions are affecting thousands, and as they both put it, with only 100 to 150 travellers allowed to cross each day — far fewer than the tens of thousands on waiting lists — months of accumulated demand and unclear prioritisation have not only heightened tension and increased the psychological strain on students, but also on their families.
A son's wedding missed
Beyond medical and educational needs, many Palestinians are waiting to travel for humanitarian reasons, including family reunification, work obligations, or urgent legal matters.
For many, the limited capacity to meet even minimum needs has turned the partial reopening of Rafah into a daily test of patience rather than a source of relief.
Um Nahid Salem, a 53-year-old Palestinian-Egyptian citizen, told The New Arab that she had planned to travel to Egypt to reunite with her son after the genocide began, but the closure of the crossing in May 2024 left her trapped in Gaza.
She said: "The prolonged closure exposed me to repeated danger during displacement and disrupted crucial matters, including inheritance paperwork and my son's wedding, which I had hoped to attend."
While she welcomed the reopening of the crossing, her optimism quickly faded when she learned about the restricted travel system.
"The mechanism prioritises the wounded and patients, which is understandable given the severity of their condition, but it also delays many other urgent needs," she added.
This is an edited translation from our Arabic edition, translated by Afrah Almatwari; to read the original, click here.