Israel's 'Yellow Line' devours Gaza's fertile food basket

Farmer Mahmoud al-Attar stood at the edge of a dirt road east of the Shujaiya neighbourhood in eastern Gaza City, just dozens of meters from land his feet have not touched since Israel's genocidal war on the Gaza Strip erupted in October 2023. Before him stretched a silent expanse of soil whose every inch he knew—yet today it lies within what is known as "the Yellow Line," an area under Israeli control.

He stared for a long time toward the field, as if trying to retrieve its former features, then raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun's glare, hoping to glimpse a trace of green that might reassure his heart. He said to The New Arab: "There, behind those earthen berms, was my entire life."

Before Israel's war, al-Attar woke before sunrise and headed to his nine-dunum plot. He planted parsley, molokhia, green onions, and peppers, and along its edges grew fig and olive trees inherited from his father. He knew irrigation schedules the way he knew prayer times, and he read the soil's condition with a touch of his fingers.

"I used to return home with my clothes covered in mud, but my heart clean and at peace. The land gave us dignity," He recalled with a smile.

The land was not merely a source of income; it was identity and family continuity. Al-Attar sold his produce in Gaza City markets, earning enough to support his seven-member family, pay his children's school fees, and meet household needs without incurring debt or relying on aid. His land also supported more than 25 families who worked with him in its cultivation.

"In molokhia season," he said, "I sold the harvest before it even reached the market. People waited for Shujaiya vegetables because they were fresh and irrigated with sweet water."

Everything changed when tanks reached eastern Gaza. Al-Attar fled under bombardment, leaving behind his tools, irrigation pipes, and seeds he had bought on credit for the new season.

Since that day, he has not returned.

Pointing toward the land, he said, "I left thinking I would return in days… I never imagined I was saying goodbye for this long."

Today, al-Attar lives with his family in a tent at a displacement shelter west of the city. He has no stable income and relies primarily on food aid distributed by humanitarian organisations. His monthly income from temporary work does not exceed $150, barely enough for bread and necessities.

Looking at his rough hands, he said, "These hands were not created to wait for food parcels… they were created to cultivate the land."

The term "Yellow Line" refers to a geographic zone imposed by Israel inside the Gaza Strip following the ceasefire agreement with Hamas on 9 October 2025. Israeli forces redeployed and established a buffer area stretching approximately 65 kilometres from Rafah in the south to Beit Hanoun in the north. Field estimates indicate that this zone places between 53% and 58% of Gaza's land under Israeli military control, including large areas of residential neighbourhoods and fertile agricultural land.

Earthen berms, yellow-painted concrete blocks, and military positions mark the line. Residents are prohibited from approaching or crossing it, preventing thousands of families and farmers from returning home or accessing their livelihoods. While Israel describes it as a temporary security measure, residents and experts fear it may become permanent, which would reshape geography and restrict movement and economic life inside the besieged enclave.

Strip for survival

On the edge of her land east of Beit Lahia in northern Gaza, Suhaila al-Sultan, 52, bends over a narrow strip of soil only a few dozen meters wide, planting spinach and parsley seedlings with urgency and anxiety. At the same time, her two sons watch the dirt road leading toward the military berms. This small patch—no more than 300 square meters—is all that remains of the family’s five-dunum property after most of it fell within the boundaries of "the Yellow Line", which is off-limits.

"This is not land for farming," she tells TNA, "This is space for survival."

Before Israel's genocidal war, the land stretched green to the horizon, planted with potatoes, onions, and seasonal wheat. Her husband oversaw cultivation, while the children helped during harvest. The crops sustained the family, and surplus produce was sold in local markets.

"We used to plant, eat, sell, and live with dignity," she recalls. "We needed no one."

After displacement and bombardment, the family found itself without income or food. With most of their land turned into a closed military zone, only this narrow strip near "the Yellow Line" remains—cultivated under the constant threat of gunfire.

Her eldest son, Mohammed, 15, stands alert, watching the horizon. He noted, "If I see troop movement or hear gunfire, we leave the seedlings and run immediately."

The mother confirmed that soldiers frequently open fire on anyone approaching the area. "Bullets do not ask whether you are a farmer or a child… so we work quickly and leave quickly," Sultan said.

Despite the danger, the family returns almost daily to till and irrigate the soil. The youngest carries buckets of water while their mother pulls weeds by hand, because bringing large tools could be interpreted as suspicious movement.

"Every step here is calculated. We plant while looking over our shoulders," she said.

Farming near "the Yellow Line" was not an act of bravery but a harsh necessity. Gaza, Sultan explained, no longer has vacant land available for cultivation; tents and displacement centres cover most open spaces. "Even if we wanted to rent land, there is none. Every place has become a camp or shelter."

The family partly relies on food aid, but it is insufficient. The vegetables they grow, though modest, provide the children with a minimum of fresh food.

Before leaving, Sultan wipes the soil from her hands and looks toward the closed land behind the berms. She said, "Our land is there… but our lives are now confined to this narrow strip. We plant here because we want to survive."

Unprecedented collapse

The agricultural sector once contributed about 11% of Gaza's GDP, with 54% from crop production and 46% from livestock, employing around 55,000 workers, according to a policy paper by the Palestinian Studies Institute.

Mohammad Abu Ouda, spokesperson for Gaza's Ministry of Agriculture, told TNA that the agricultural sector has suffered an unprecedented collapse—Gaza's total agricultural land amounts to approximately 178,000 dunums, including 93,000 dunums previously planted with vegetables. Nearly 90% of these areas are now out of service, either due to bombardment and bulldozing or because they lie within "the Yellow Line" imposed after the ceasefire took effect in October.

He added that land outside Israeli control has not escaped destruction, as large portions were directly bombed. Only about 6% remains suitable for cultivation, while the area actually planted with vegetables has shrunk to roughly 4,000 dunums.

Current agricultural production does not exceed 25,000 tons—just 7% of the more than 400,000 tons Gaza's farms produced annually before Israel's war—a decline that directly affects food availability and prices and deepens the territory's food security crisis.

A deep blow

Economic expert Ahmed Abu Qamar believes that Israeli control over lands behind "the Yellow Line" is not merely a security measure but a severe blow to Gaza's fragile economic structure, particularly food security and livelihoods.

"The economy in Gaza relied on agriculture as an unwritten social safety net," he told TNA. "When a farmer loses his land, he does not lose a single harvest; he loses his income, his ability to support his family, and his economic independence."

Abu Qamar noted that declining local agricultural production has forced markets to rely almost entirely on imports and food aid, causing sharp price increases and weakening purchasing power.

"We are facing a dangerous transformation from a locally productive economy into a relief-dependent economy," he explained. "This shift threatens not only food security but also human dignity and the ability to rely on oneself."

He stressed that removing vast areas of fertile land from production has triggered cascading economic consequences, including rising unemployment, a contraction in agriculture-related activities such as transport, storage, and trade, and a decline in purchasing power in local markets.