It is a small strip of land. Barely 25 miles long. If you drive fast, you can cross it in under an hour, though honestly, nobody there has been able to drive fast for a very long time. When people search for once upon a time in gaza, they are usually looking for a ghost. They’re looking for the version of this place that existed before the concrete turned to dust, before the blockades became the defining feature of its geography, and before the world began viewing it solely through the lens of a drone camera.
Gaza isn't just a conflict zone. It's a Mediterranean city with a history that stretches back to the Pharaohs. People forget that. They forget that for centuries, this was a major stop on the Incense Route, a place where traders from Arabia met the sailors of the Levant. It was a hub of commerce, culture, and, believe it or not, a fairly cosmopolitan way of life.
The Gaza You Weren't Told About
Let's talk about the 1950s and 60s. This was the era of the "Gaza Cinema." People dressed up. They went to see Egyptian films and Hollywood imports. There was a sense of style that feels almost alien when you look at the footage coming out of the region today. Gaza was under Egyptian administration then, and while it wasn't a democracy, it was a place where the middle class was growing. You had lawyers, teachers, and merchants who traveled back and forth to Cairo and Beirut.
It was vibrant.
Think about the Gaza Port. It wasn't always a restricted zone where fishermen were shot at if they went too far out. Once upon a time in gaza, the port was a gateway. It was where the world arrived. The citrus groves—the famous Jaffa oranges weren't just a Jaffa thing—stretched across the landscape, filling the air with a scent that survivors of that era still talk about with a kind of heartbreaking nostalgia.
Why the Architecture Matters (And Why It’s Gone)
You can't understand the tragedy without looking at the buildings. Gaza City’s Old Town, the Shuja’iyya and Al-Rimal neighborhoods, were filled with Ottoman-era houses. These weren't just "units." They were family legacies. Sandstone arches. High ceilings designed to catch the sea breeze. Interior courtyards where jasmine grew.
Architecture is memory.
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When a building that has stood since 1880 is leveled in six seconds, you aren't just losing housing. You’re losing a physical link to a time when Gaza was part of a wider, interconnected world. The Great Omari Mosque, which was originally a Philistine temple, then a Byzantine church, then a mosque, stood for centuries as a testament to this layering of history. Its destruction or damage in recent conflicts is a literal erasing of the "once upon a time" people are trying to find.
The Economic Shift: From Industry to Survival
Back in the 70s and 80s, the border was porous. Thousands of Gazans crossed into Israel every single day for work. They were the backbone of the construction and agricultural sectors. They brought back shekels, sure, but they also brought back a different kind of cultural exchange. There was a weird, tense, but functioning symbiosis.
Then came the First Intifada in 1987. Then the Oslo Accords. Then the Second Intifada.
The walls started going up. Slowly at first. Then all at once.
The economic collapse of Gaza didn't happen overnight. It was a systematic tightening. By the time the blockade was fully implemented in 2007, the "once upon a time" version of Gaza's economy—one based on exports of furniture, textiles, and those famous carnations—was effectively dead. Did you know Gaza used to export millions of flowers to Europe every year? Red, yellow, and white carnations by the ton. Now, the greenhouses are often empty or destroyed, and the export permits are nearly impossible to get.
Real Talk: The Demographic Pressure Cooker
Gaza is one of the most densely populated places on the planet. But it didn't start that way. The population exploded because of the refugees. In 1948, during the Nakba, tens of thousands of Palestinians fled their homes in what is now Israel and ended up in Gaza.
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They thought they’d be there for a week.
Seven decades later, their grandkids are still in camps like Jabalia and Beach Camp. These aren't "camps" in the sense of tents; they are concrete jungles of narrow alleys where the sun barely hits the ground. This density changes the psychology of a place. It turns a city into a pressure cooker. When you hear about once upon a time in gaza, you have to realize that for about 70% of the population, their "once upon a time" is actually a village twenty miles away that they’ve never been allowed to visit.
Education and the "Gaza Genius"
One thing that genuinely surprises outsiders is the literacy rate. It’s incredibly high—around 97%. Despite the bombs, despite the lack of electricity (sometimes only 4 hours a day), Gazans are obsessed with education.
I’ve talked to engineers there who learned to code on laptops powered by car batteries. There’s a resilience that borders on the pathological. They call it sumud—steadfastness. It’s the idea of staying put, staying educated, and staying "human" when everything around you is designed to dehumanize. In the mid-2000s, there was a burgeoning tech scene. Startups were popping up. Gaza Sky Geeks, a tech hub, started helping young programmers reach international markets.
It was a glimpse of what could have been.
The Misconception of "Constant War"
If you only watch the news, you think Gaza is just a series of explosions. But "once upon a time" also refers to the mundane. The weddings that last three days. The Friday afternoons on the beach—the only free space left. The "strawberry season" in Beit Lahiya, where the berries are so sweet they’re practically famous in the region.
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People there try so hard to live.
They host parkour competitions in the ruins. They have art galleries in basements. They maintain a culinary tradition that is distinct from the West Bank—spicier, heavy on the dill and green chili, a reflection of their maritime history. To talk about Gaza without talking about Zibdieh (shrimp in a clay pot) is to ignore the soul of the place.
The Humanitarian Reality in 2026
We have to be honest about where things stand now. The "once upon a time" is feeling further away than ever. The infrastructure—water, sewage, electricity—is in a state of near-total collapse. According to UN reports, over 95% of the water in Gaza is unfit for human consumption. Think about that for a second. An entire generation is growing up drinking water that is slowly making them sick.
The psychological toll is even worse. Experts like the late Dr. Eyad al-Sarraj, a prominent Gazan psychiatrist, documented the "learned helplessness" and PTSD that affects almost every child in the Strip. When you’ve lived through five or six major military escalations by the time you're eighteen, your brain rewires itself for survival, not for dreaming.
Actionable Insights: Moving Beyond the Headline
If you want to actually understand Gaza—or help—you have to move past the 30-second news clip.
- Support Local Journalism: Follow Gazan journalists on the ground who are documenting daily life, not just the strikes. People like Hind Khoudary or the photographers from the Wafa news agency provide a level of nuance that international outlets often miss.
- Look at the Cultural Preservation Projects: Organizations are working to digitize old family photos and records from Gaza to ensure the "once upon a time" history isn't lost to the rubble. Supporting the Palestinian Museum’s digital archives is a concrete way to help.
- Understand the Legal Context: Read the reports from B'Tselem, Amnesty International, and Human Rights Watch. Regardless of your political stance, these reports provide the factual scaffolding for why the situation is so stagnant.
- Recognize the Human Agency: Stop viewing Gazans as either "victims" or "militants." They are chefs, coders, annoying teenagers, exhausted parents, and poets.
The story of Gaza isn't over, but the "once upon a time" version of it is currently buried under several layers of history and hardship. Rebuilding it isn't just about bricks and mortar; it's about restoring the freedom of movement that once made it a jewel of the Mediterranean. To understand Gaza today, you have to acknowledge the vibrant, complicated, and deeply human place it was—and still tries to be—every single morning when the sun rises over the sea.