Loaves of survival: Some of Gaza's bakeries reopen amid famine and ruin

After more than two months of silence, the clatter of trays and the scent of freshly baked bread are tentatively returning to parts of Gaza, where a handful of bakeries have resumed operations under the shadow of famine, destruction, and what human rights groups are calling a policy of "systematic starvation" by Israel.

Only four bakeries out of 25 that previously operated in partnership with the World Food Programme (WFP) have fired up their ovens again, according to Abdul Nasser al-Ajrami, head of the bakeries owners association in Gaza.

Located in the relatively calmer areas of Deir al-Balah in the central Gaza Strip, these bakeries are now clinging to life amid a devastated food system.

"This is not recovery. This is survival […] Most of the bakeries in northern Gaza and Khan Younis are gone—either completely destroyed or located in red zones that Israel has declared off-limits," al-Ajrami told The New Arab.

"Before the Israeli genocidal war, about 140 bakeries were operated, but the Israeli army destroyed about 90 bakeries and left only 50. Around 25 bakeries are working with the WFP, and we have no news about dozens of them," he added, grimly.

As Gaza enters what experts have described as a man-made famine, the partial return of these bakeries offers a rare, fragile lifeline. Yet it is nowhere near enough to meet the basic nutritional needs of a population ravaged by war, siege, and displacement.

Work non-stop to fight off starvation

"We work non-stop—people are starving," said Ahmed al-Bana, standing near the roaring ovens of his modest bakery in Deir al-Balah, central Gaza, where flour dust clung to the walls and the sweat on his brow. The air was heavy with heat and urgency as his team rushed to prepare the first batch of bread in months.

"The moment the WFP truck arrived with that small amount of flour, we didn't even pause to rest," he said to TNA. "We knew what it meant that people outside are waiting, hungry, desperate. Some haven't had proper bread in weeks. We had to act immediately."

Al-Bana, whose family has run this bakery for generations, said the team has been working around the clock in shifts, despite the exhaustion and risks. 

"We're doing everything we can. But the truth is, the flour is barely enough. It's a drop in the ocean. We're only covering a fraction of what's needed across the neighbourhood. Every hour, dozens of families come asking for bread. Some are crying, others offer anything they have, blankets, sugar, even their children's toys, to get a bag of loaves," he explained.

"I've seen grown men break down because they couldn't feed their children. That breaks you. As bakers, we used to take pride in our work. Now it feels like a battlefield, every loaf is a fight against hunger, against despair," he added.

A similar scene plays out along the battered, narrow streets of Nuseirat refugee camp, where long queues stretch endlessly under a relentless midday sun. Hundreds of Palestinians, many children with sun-bleached faces and weary, hollow eyes, stood patiently, some swaying weakly on their feet, others clutching children tightly to their chests to shield them from the surrounding harshness.

The desperation was tangible, almost suffocating. Several people fainted from exhaustion, collapsing onto the dust-covered ground as bystanders scrambled to help. After hours of waiting, some left empty-handed, their faces etched with frustration and resignation, their hunger left unanswered.

"Our flour doesn't last two days. We receive just enough to bake for a short time, and then it's gone and vanished before we can even catch our breath," Mohammed al-Haj, the bakery owner, told TNA as he looked toward the crowd outside his small bakery.

"Unfortunately, the people are forced to wait for six, sometimes seven hours in this unbearable heat, standing in a line that seems to stretch forever. I've seen children slump against their mothers, eyes half-closed from exhaustion. I've seen elderly men lean on sticks, barely able to keep standing. And now and then, someone collapses and cannot hold on any more. It breaks your heart to see them like that," he said.

"And even then, when they finally reach the front, there's not enough bread for everyone. We have to turn people away. We must tell them, 'Wait for the next batch,' knowing it might not come soon enough. It's unbearable; how do you explain to a child that there's no bread today? How do you explain to a mother that her family must go hungry again? Hunger with no end in sight," he lamented.

Across Gaza, stories like these are proliferating rapidly. In one of the distribution centres operated by a humanitarian organisation, Umm Saleh Shomar, a mother of four, held her malnourished son in her arms.

"He can't walk any more. He sits, tired and hungry. All I want is bread. That's all we're asking for, just bread," she told TNA.

But even that modest request has become nearly impossible to fulfil in Gaza, where a collapse of food systems, electricity, and supply routes has left the UN and aid agencies scrambling to deliver relief.

A symbol of life

In a press statement, the WFP called the current situation "catastrophic," warning that unless crossings are opened for regular, large-scale deliveries of flour and fuel, "any hope of stability will collapse."

"Without international intervention and consistent aid, these few bakeries won't last long. One supply cut, and we're back to zero," the WFP said.

On 6 April, the WFP suspended all bakery operations in Gaza after exhausting its stocks of flour and fuel. The suspension marked a dangerous escalation in what rights groups now describe as collective punishment.

Since 2 March, Israel has enforced a near-total blockade on the entry of humanitarian supplies, including WFP shipments, despite international pressure. Aid convoys have dwindled to a trickle.

Just days ago, Gaza's government media office said in a press statement that about 87 aid trucks entered Gaza, the first in over 80 days. However, officials say the Strip requires 500 trucks of food and medicine daily and 50 trucks of fuel to cover its minimum needs.

"We're watching famine unfold in real time," Ismail Thawabta, the head of the government media office, told TNA. "This is not a natural disaster. It's a man-made policy."