DEIR AL BALAH, Gaza Strip — The tools of his newfound trade arrayed before him, Mohammad Al-Ashaqar, a jeweler for decades, prepares himself for the first of some 200 intricate repairs he performs every day. In his hand he holds neither gemstone nor gold, but a gossamer-thin 20-shekel note held together with tape.
He takes an X-acto knife, carefully peels off the old tape, cleans the residue, then applies transparent glue in a way to ensure the bill doesn’t break when it’s folded.
“It’s not easy,” Al-Ashqar, 48, says of his work as a money repairman in a shop in Deir al Balah. “But I’ve become quite good at it.”
More than a year into Israel’s bombardment of the Gaza Strip, cash is king. But the destruction across the Palestinian territory, which has left few banks standing and made ATMs inaccessible, along with Israel’s blocking of bill and coin transfers in and out of the enclave, also means cash is scarce.
“People have been passing around the same bills for more than a year now,” says Al-Ashqar, who was displaced from Gaza City. “Of course they’re tattered and fragile.” Most vendors refuse to accept worn-out paper money, he explains, and coins have fared little better. The most common 10-shekel coin is particularly susceptible to rust and wear and tear, and vendors have become suspicious as rumors abound that many of those available in Gaza are forgeries.
The result, Al-Ashqar says, is yet another indignity on Gaza residents: Even if you’re lucky enough to find the item you want and have the money to afford it, you still may not be able to buy it, because no seller will take your cash.
Gaza, like other Palestinian territories, uses the shekel as its primary currency, with some transactions done in U.S. dollars or the Jordanian Dinar. But since the Hamas militant group’s attack on Israel launched the latest war on Oct. 7, 2023, Israel has blocked the entry and exit of physical money from the enclave, Palestinian banking officials say.
And counting on banks to recycle and recirculate the supply of bank notes simply isn’t a possibility.
Before the war, Gaza had 10 banks, with 56 branches and 90 ATMs, financial experts say; in July, the Norwegian Refugee Council said only 10% remained operational. Now the number of open branches ranges from a very few to, according to a Bank of Palestine manager, just one.
Although branches in northern Gaza still have money in their vaults, Israeli troops have prevented people from returning to the area and in any case, it would require bulldozers to dig out the vaults from the rubble, said the bank employee, who who was not authorized to speak to the media.
Transporting cash around the enclave presents its own difficulties, whether because of the hostilities between Hamas and the Israeli army, the presence of gangs and looters, or the lack of armored vehicles and the fuel to run them.
COGAT, the Israeli Defense Ministry agency handling affairs in Palestinian territories, did not respond to questions regarding cash in Gaza.
The cash shortage has given rise not only to money fixers like Al-Ashqar, but also money brokers. In Al-Birka Square, a crowded marketplace area in Deir al Balah, a parallel money market has emerged where people flit from broker to broker trying to find the one who will cash their paycheck with the lowest commission.
“I have to hustle just to see some of my paycheck,” says Mohammad Al-Tawashi, a 49-year-old civil servant with the Palestinian Authority. The bank branch nearby, he says, has iron bars in front of its doors and there are never any clerks inside; the ATM was destroyed by angry customers months ago.
“So I had to go through one of those vendor cashiers — 28% commission, can you believe it?” Al-Tawashi said. For every 1,000 shekels he transferred to the broker, he would receive 780 shekels in cash.
“It’s like handing them a chunk of my soul every month. This isn’t living, it’s barely surviving.”
Bassam Temraz, a 67-year-old retired social worker, felt much the same.
“It’s brutal. Some days, I think I have to sell whatever is left in the house to get enough to feed my grandchildren and my wife,” he says.
“Every time I get my salary, it feels like I worked for nothing.”
For the brokers, it’s a profitable business.
“It’s a way for anyone with cash to earn money,” says Abdallah Al-Mzeiny, a 31-year-old former retail coffee seller who now works as a money broker, doing business all day in a cafe on Al-Birka Square called Actionha.
There, he meets customers who use the cafe’s Wi-Fi to transfer their salaries to him via a smartphone app, and — depending on the day and the condition of the bills — gives them cash minus a 28% commission. Al-Mzeiny purchases cash from local businessmen at a 24% premium. He makes roughly $100 a day, he says.
Al-Mzeiny understands his customers’ frustration. He has more than 10,000 shekels, worth more than $2,700, in 10-shekel coins that no one will accept for fear that they’re not genuine.
Though some people can use cashless banking via their smartphones, not everyone has access to the internet or the electricity needed to keep their phones charged. And amid the destruction in Gaza, street vendors are unlikely to accept anything other than cash.
After Hamas’ attack in southern Israel killed about 1,200 people and the militants kidnapped about 250 more, Israel’s campaign in Gaza has killed nearly 44,500 people, according to the Palestinian health ministry in Gaza, and has destroyed much of the territory, displacing the vast majority of the population.
Criminal gangs, a growing problem as the Hamas government struggles to maintain control, have taken advantage and are now getting into the cash extortion business, seizing control of ATMs and charging people for their use, the Norwegian Refugee Council said.
Unwilling to pay the hefty commissions, either to money brokers or gangs, some Gazans have resorted to bartering, whether in makeshift stalls on the streets or using social media such as Facebook and the Telegram messaging app.
In one Facebook group, a user offers a can of peas in exchange for one of fava beans; another asks if anyone has a 5-pound chicken they’re willing to exchange for half a carton of eggs and 50 shekels. Others sell whatever goods they have in their home.
Many of those in despair turn to Al-Ashqar, the money fixer.
When he was displaced from Gaza City, he rented a shop in Deir al Balah to continue his jewelry work, with money repair as a sideline. But word got round, and now, as the day begins, he has a line of people snaking out his door, hoping he can turn their bills from waste paper to usable currency.
He’s trained his three assistants in the jewelry shop to do the same work. Between them, they can do more than 400 repairs a day. Depending on the condition of the bill, he charges two to three shekels, the equivalent of 55-82 cents.
Al-Ashqar has even begun to enjoy the work, he says.
“I’ll take some notes back to my tent to fix them, and wake up early to get them done,” he says, adding that it feels good to help people in some small way against the frustrations of daily life in Gaza.
“A lot of people come back to thank me because I helped them fix their banknotes,” he said. It’s a business, but, he added, “It’s become something of a hobby for me.”
Times special correspondent Shbair reported from Deir al Balah, Gaza, and Times staff writer Bulos reported from Beirut.