Riding in the back of an army jeep, we had to hold on tight as the convoy rattled along a bumpy and dusty road.

Tanks had carved deep crevices along the route while travelling through this area daily over the past two years.

We were just a few hundred metres from the Israel-Gaza border fence, having entered through a gate near the kibbutz of Nahal Oz, but we had entered a totally different universe.

There was a wasteland of mangled and crumpled buildings stretching as far as the eye could see.

The rumble of distant artillery fire and the constant buzzing of drones served as a reminder — as if one was needed — that it was still an active war zone, albeit one under a fragile ceasefire.

Just hours later, the relative peace would be shattered once more as Israel launched strikes across t

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