JABALIYA, Gaza Strip — The trailer creaked under the weight of mattresses, blankets, tents, a gas cylinder, weathered plastic barrels, burlap sacks of clothes, plastic chairs, gardening tools, various kitchen utensils and a toy tricycle — the collective belongings of Mohammad Abu Warda and his family.

Abu Warda, 34, tugged at the ropes securing the load, and hitched the trailer to his tractor. He glanced for a moment at his mother, 60-year-old Bouthaina Warda, who was braiding his daughter’s hair, then turned to look at the coastal highway heading northward to Gaza City.

It was time to go home.

“The last time we took this highway, we were escaping death,” Abu Warda said, his hands straining against the rope as he tightened it once more.

“Today, we’re chasing what’s left of life.”

All around him others were embarking on a similar journey, stacking whatever they had salvaged of their belongings onto whatever transportation they could manage. Donkey carts and tractors jostled for space with pickups and larger transport trucks, the diesel fumes mixing with dust and the salty sea air.

Every few hundred yards, more people would join on Al-Rashid Highway from the side streets, adding to the slow-moving deluge of hundreds of thousands returning home to see what — if anything — remained of the lives they had in north Gaza.

The homecoming arrives at a time of hope after two years of war. A breakthrough Israel-Hamas ceasefire continues to hold, with prospects for an enduring peace. President Trump was headed to Israel in time for Monday’s expected release of the last hostages held in Gaza, with Israel set to release hundreds of Palestinian prisoners and plans for a surge of aid into the famine-stricken territory.

Abu Warda had endured displacement early in the war, when he and his family left their house in Jabaliya, a few miles north of Gaza City, in November 2023; they returned 14 months later in January, before Israel’s intensified assault on Gaza City and the northern part of the enclave last month forced them out again.

This time, Abu Warda — whose uncles and cousins had braved the 16-mile trek back from central Gaza’s Khan Yunis to Jabaliya the day before — knew it would be a bitter homecoming.

“Everything is gone. The house is destroyed,” he said.

Sitting in the trailer, Bouthaina Warda spoke, her voice small and somber.

“People keep saying we’re going home. But home isn’t there anymore,” she said. “We’re just going to see what’s left. A pile of rubble.”

Many of the 2.1 million people living in the Gaza Strip (which at about 140 square miles is less than a third the area of Los Angeles) face similar circumstances, with nearly the entire population being forced to move over the last two years and more than 90% of homes damaged, according to expert estimates.

Some parts of the enclave are suffering from famine as a result of a months-long Israeli blockade, say the U.N. and other aid groups, which also have accused Israel of genocide. Israel denies the charge and says it acted to destroy the militant group Hamas.

Meanwhile, the enclave’s infrastructure, whether in healthcare, water or sanitation, has been devastated; especially in Gaza City, according to Asem Al-Nabih, spokesman for the Gaza City municipality.

“I can’t explain to you the massive amount of damage we’re seeing,” he said.

He added that the Israeli military had deployed booby-trapped armored assault vehicles, which inflicted damage not only to structures above ground but also to water wells, underground piping and sewage pumps, not to mention roadways.

“Our priority now is to get water, and we’ve started clearing the main roads so people can get to what’s left of their homes,” he said. “But at the same time, we’ve lost most of our heavy and medium equipment over the last two years, so we can’t do much to relieve people’s suffering.”

The war began Oct. 7, 2023, when Hamas-led militants attacked southern Israel, killing 1,200 people — two-thirds of them civilians, according to Israeli authorities — and kidnapping about 250 others.

In retaliation, Israel launched a massive military offensive that has killed more than 67,000 people, over 3% of the enclave’s population, according to the Gaza Health Ministry. Though it does not distinguish between civilians and fighters in its tally, its figures are seen as reliable and have been used by the United Nations and the Israeli military.

Abu Warda gunned the tractor’s engine, pushing it faster as he passed the shell of a seaside cafe where his family once stopped for tea and grilled chicken on weekend sojourns. Lining the side of the road were abandoned sandals, plastic water bottles hardened by the sun, and broken toys — remnants of the exodus in months gone by.

With every mile the family came closer to Jabaliya, the landscape shifted, with fewer tents, more ruins and more dust lining people’s faces. Entire apartment blocks leaned into each other, like carelessly toppled dominoes.

Finally, six hours later, Abu Warda parked the tractor before a heap of masonry and distressed rebar in Jabaliya: home.

“I remember my window was there,” Abu Warda said, pointing to a hollow space between fallen slabs of concrete.

A school notebook, dusty and dog-eared, peeked from the rubble. He fished it out and brushed off the cover. His son’s name was still visible, written in red marker.

Abu Warda’s sister, 25-year-old Amal Warda, bent to the ground and grabbed a handful of gray dust.

“This is what we came back for,” she said quietly. “To touch the truth with our own hands.”

As the afternoon wore on, the family used rope scavenged from a neighbor’s courtyard to secure a tarp between two taller chunks of concrete. Abu Warda found an old metal kettle and lighted a small fire with scraps of wood, then brewed tea he poured into dented cups and passed around.

A few neighbors and cousins emerged from similarly destroyed ruins, exchanging greetings that sounded both joyous and fragile. Someone offered water. Another shared news of which wells in the area were still functioning, along with information about U.S. assistance.

The children started playing, scampering up piles of debris. Bisan, Abu Warda’s 12-year-old niece, grabbed a stick and traced a drawing of a house with four windows and a tree. She added her family standing outside, with smiles on their faces. When the wind blew it away, she drew it again.

“Gaza still breathes through its people,” Amal Warda said. “As long as people are back here, life will slowly get back too.”

By sunset, the sea breeze turned cool. The family stretched out the blankets they had brought with them and slept under the tarp. Abu Warda looked up at the sky.

“I’m not sure what tomorrow is going to bring,” he said.

“But I do know this: Being here, even if it’s in ruins, is better than waiting for news in a tent.”

Special correspondent Shbeir reported from Jabaliya and Times staff writer Bulos from Jerusalem.

At Pasadena’s AC Hotel earlier this month, dozens of protesters gathered in an effort to confront federal agents who had arrived in town amid demonstrations against the Trump administration’s mass deportation effort.

Pasadena Mayor Victor Gordo was among those present on June 7 as demonstrators holding signs with “ICE out of Pasadena” and other messages chased federal vehicles out of the luxury hotel’s parking garage, cheering and recording it all on their cellphones.

The mayor said the protest forced the agents to leave the place they were using for local accommodations during their L.A. operations, which involved protecting federal buildings downtown.

“Word got out that there were Homeland Security vehicles parked at the hotel,” Gordo told The Times. “People wanted to express their 1st Amendment rights and they did so in a lawful, nonviolent and respectful manner.”

After hours of noisy rallying, the hotel staff asked the feds to pack up their things and go, according to Gordo. By sunset, uniformed agents from the Federal Protective Service, part of the Department of Homeland Security, were seen walking out of the hotel with their bags stacked on a luggage cart in a video of the incident that went viral online. Their vehicles were escorted out of the garage by local police as protesters trailed behind.

Hotels have emerged as hot spots for confrontations between community members and immigration agents. Federal agencies, including U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, sometimes rent blocks of rooms in places where agents are dispatched for major operations.

The showdown in Pasadena was one of several recent instances of protesters coming together at hotels across the Los Angeles region to put pressure on their proprietors to offer no quarter to federal personnel during the Trump administration’s crackdown. The businesses, which rely on immigrant workers for cleaning and maintenance, have been cast into an awkward position — one that requires balancing politics with protecting their employees.

From Whittier to Hawaiian Gardens to Brea, concerned citizens have repeatedly taken to social media and whisper networks to share locations where they have spotted who they believe are federal agents. And people have followed up on such information by staging protests outside hotels in communities including Long Beach, Downey and Glendale.

Employees at the AC Hotel Pasadena referred inquiries to a spokeswoman, who did not immediately provide a comment. It was back to business as usual Tuesday afternoon at the Marriott property, which opened earlier this year. A man on a plush couch worked on his laptop, a woman sipped a beer at the bar and staff milled about.

Gordo said he had confirmed that there are no longer any Homeland Security agents staying at the property.

The Homeland Security press office did not immediately provide comment, and agencies under the department’s umbrella, including ICE and U.S. Customs and Border Protection, did not respond to inquires.

Protesters have been arrested this month for allegedly interfering with federal officers, and federal agencies have expressed concerns about the repercussions of people “doxxing” agents by sharing their locations and other personal information online.

“People are out there taking photos of the names, their faces and posting them online with death threats to their family and themselves,” Reuters reported acting ICE chief Todd Lyons said last week.

The crowd-sourced effort to spread information about where federal agents are holed up plays out mostly online.

In some instances, the unverified reports come from people who work at the hotels. Other times, hotel guests or area residents see suspected agents outside or in the lobby, or walk through parking lots in search of federal vehicles.

During the first days after the L.A. enforcement effort began, it was fairly easy to tell where agents were staying by looking for vehicles with agency logos. But it appears that they have caught on to the surveillance tactics of those who would like to see them go home.

On Monday, a Times reporter visited 13 hotels in three Southland counties — from Westchester to Garden Grove to Ontario — where federal immigration agents recently had been rumored to be staying, according to social media posts and alerts on apps and websites dedicated to tracking ICE activity. No vehicles in any of the hotels’ parking lots bore clear visual indications that they were federal agents’ cars, vans or trucks.

At five hotels, employees approached by The Times declined to comment. At three, employees agreed to speak but declined to give their names, citing corporate policies. Two of them said in brief interviews that they were not sure whether agents were staying on the premises. A third, who works at a chain hotel in Anaheim, said he had seen who he believed were ICE agents at the property last week, but they were no longer staying there.

“They didn’t bother anyone,” said the man, who declined to provide his name out of fear of reprisal from his employer or immigration authorities. “There were maybe, like, a dozen of them. It was a little concerning.”

Workers such as him have been subjected to political whiplash in recent days. Last week, President Trump wrote on Truth Social that “Our great Farmers and people in the Hotel and Leisure business have been stating that our very aggressive policy on immigration is taking very good, long time workers away from them.” That same day, a senior ICE official sent guidance to regional ICE officials directing them to avoid raiding farms, hotels and restaurants and instead emphasize other targets.

The development gave hotel employees hope that they were out of the crosshairs. But the Trump administration quickly reversed course, saying this week that there is now no reprieve for hotel workers and others who Trump had praised just days earlier.

Andrew Mark, a pastor at Pasadena Covenant Church, also addressed the crowd at the June 7 rally outside the AC Hotel. He said in an interview that he was impressed — but not surprised — that the community came together and forced change.

“There’s a deep pride in Pasadena. So I think that for agents to be staying in a hotel here, you feel … a sense that we don’t want this to be a place where they can stage and go out and target people,” he said. “The fact that they were based in a hotel in our community was unsettling.”

On Tuesday, Manuel Vicente sat behind his makeshift desk in a soundproof room at the Pasadena Community Job Center, which helps connect day laborers with employment opportunities. As director of Radio Jornalera, he creates audio and video content to help migrant workers, including content that informs them of the rights they have during encounters with immigration enforcement agents.

Vicente said he believes the successful protest at the AC Hotel Pasadena is an example of a saying he likes to quote, “Pueblo salva el pueblo,” or “Only the people save the people.”

“When they were kicked out of the hotel, everybody was excited,” he said. “It was a small victory, but our efforts made a difference. We need to be together to protect our community, to protect our workers.”