Before the war, Mohammed Al Kafarna was a man of status in Beit Hanoun.
The 62-year-old father of seven owned 20 dunams (five acres) of land and three apartment buildings where his family lived. With his property came a sense of security and a social standing built over decades.
Today, he lives in a tent in Gaza city.
His land, home and properties now lie behind the “yellow line”, the boundary of an expanding Israeli-controlled zone that has swallowed large areas of northern and eastern Gaza.
“I was a respected man,” Mr Al Kafarna told The National. “Today, I am just a displaced person with no status and no standing.”
His story is increasingly common in Gaza, where the expansion of the Israeli-controlled area has transformed not only the geography of the territory but also its social and economic structure. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu plans to control as much as 70 per cent of Gaza.
As the Israeli occupation zone expands, hundreds of thousands of people are pushed into an increasingly narrow coastal strip. Interviews with residents, social workers and community leaders suggest the yellow line has become not only a military boundary, but also a force reshaping nearly every aspect of life.
Gazans cut off
For many Gazans, the yellow line has a visible effect. Neighbourhoods, farmland and businesses are inaccessible. Residents describe Gaza as shrinking day by day.
Families displaced from Beit Hanoun, Beit Lahia, Jabalia, Shujaiya, Al Zaytoun, Al Tuffah and eastern Khan Younis have moved westward into areas already struggling with overcrowding. Where communities once had distinct identities developed over generations, Gaza has now become a compressed landscape of tents, overcrowded apartments and makeshift shelters.
Hala Abu Sakhila, a social worker and counsellor, said confining Gaza's population to roughly 30 per cent of the territory amounted to a social experiment unlike anything the enclave had previously experienced.
“Each area had its own customs, traditions and lifestyle,” she told The National. “Suddenly people found themselves gathered in one place despite their different ways of life and under extremely harsh conditions.”
Perhaps the most profound transformation has occurred in the social hierarchy. Before the war, wealth and status were often linked to land ownership, businesses, family networks and community standing.
The yellow line abruptly severed many residents from these foundation stones of their identity.
Munther Abu Hazza remembers standing beside a lorry in Deir Al Balah after being displaced from Jabalia, as people tried desperately to collect drinking water. As the driver shouted at the crowd, Mr Abu Hazza tried to explain that residents had been waiting for water for days. The driver ignored him.
It was a painful moment, as back in Jabalia, Mr Abu Hazza had owned a desalination plant and three lorries that distributed water throughout the refugee camp. Today, he waits in line for water himself.
“Now I find myself running after water lorries just to fill a few containers, after spending years distributing water to people every day,” he explained.
The experience illustrates a broader pattern emerging across Gaza. Many former business owners, farmers and landowners now depend on humanitarian aid, communal kitchens and water deliveries. Israeli aid restrictions led to famine last year.
“It brought us poverty, humiliation, hunger and the loss of social standing,” Mr Abu Hazza says.
The transformation has not affected everyone equally. Some people have accumulated wealth, for example, through trade networks or land rentals in areas where people are seeking shelter.
Resident Ibrahim Abu Al Qumsan said the war has redrawn Gaza's economic classes. “The war elevated some people and pushed others down,” he explained.
The result is a rapidly changing economic landscape. “People who were once merchants, landowners and property owners are now bankrupt,” Mr Abu Al Qumsan said. “At the same time, a new class of wealthy individuals has emerged.”
The shift has contributed to growing social tensions as residents experience dramatic changes in economic power during a period of widespread hardship.
Childhood changed
Children are among the most affected by Gaza's transformation.
Before the war, Amani Ahmed's three children spent most of their time at home. That changed once they became displaced. Life in tents pushed children in to the streets, where they spent most of their days. Even after they returned to their damaged home, the pattern remained.
“The children spend all their time in the streets,” Ms Ahmed said. “I feel as though I am losing them.”
The destruction of schools, homes and recreational areas has fundamentally altered childhood in Gaza. Computers, educational tools, toys and familiar routines have disappeared with the war and under Israeli restrictions. Many parents describe children who seem disconnected from the lives they once lived.
“This generation has changed significantly,” Ms Ahmed said. “Their way of thinking, behaviour and outlook are very different from what they were before.”
Ms Abu Sakhila, the social worker, said mothers often report changes in their children's behaviour linked to prolonged exposure to street life and overcrowded environments. “The absence of recreational spaces and schools has created a huge void,” she said. “There is no place to fill that void except the streets and markets.”
The yellow line has also transformed Gaza's public spaces.
Mahmoud Abu Al Kass remembers a very different Al Rimal neighbourhood. Before the war, it was known as one of Gaza's most affluent districts. The streets were quiet. People went to work, children attended school, and life followed a predictable rhythm. Today, many of its streets have become extensions of displacement camps.
“The streets themselves have literally become places where people live,” Mr Abu Al Kass said.
The same transformation can be seen along Gaza's coastline. For decades, the seaport and beachfront promenade served as gathering places for families.
Asma Abu Hani, a teacher at a school run by aid agency UNRWA, remembers taking her children to the port almost daily. Today, those spaces are occupied by displaced families.
“The loss of recreational spaces has had a major impact on us as parents,” she said. “There are no longer places where our children can go to play, learn and spend time safely.”
Experts warn that the consequences extend beyond economics and infrastructure. Overcrowding, repeated displacement and loss of personal space have generated what many residents describe as constant psychological pressure.
“The yellow line and the war have forced people into displacement camps and stripped them of their privacy,” Ms Abu Sakhila warned.
Families that once lived in private homes now share crowded shelters. Basic activities such as cooking, bathing and sleeping often occur in communal settings.
The social worker warned that chronic overcrowding and constant interaction with unfamiliar environments increase anxiety levels and create a state of continuous psychological alertness. The loss of land compounds these effects.
For many Gazans, land represents far more than property. “It is identity, family heritage and continuity,” Ms Abu Sakhila says. When residents lose access to their homes and land, they lose not only economic assets but also a central part of their personal identity.
The Israeli yellow line is often discussed in military and political terms. But for many Gazans, its most significant impact is social.
For Mr Al Kafarna, the change can be measured in a single sentence.
“All of my land is now inside the yellow line,” he says. “My greatest wish is simply to return to it, because it was my pride, my support and my foundation in life.”
