Malta rallies for Gaza as Israel orders city-wide evacuation: From Strait Street to Gozo, islanders open hearts and ports
Israel tells residents to leave Gaza City ahead of offensive: Malta watches, prays and mobilises
By Luke Caruana, Valletta
On a balmy Tuesday evening that normally belongs to after-work spritzes on Strait Street, televisions in every bar flickered with the same newsflash: Israel’s military has ordered the evacuation of all civilians from Gaza City ahead of a looming ground offensive. The announcement—delivered through Arabic-language leaflets, phone calls and social-media alerts—sent shockwaves far beyond the Levant. In Malta, where the Mediterranean feels at once intimate and vast, the crisis lands with a particular resonance. We are only 400 kilometres from Gaza’s coastline, closer than we are to Naples, and the ripples are already being felt in kitchens, classrooms and chapels across the archipelago.
“At 8 p.m. Mass in Floriana we prayed the Salve Regina and added a special intention for Gaza,” says Fr. Mark Pace, rector of the Jesuit-run St. Publius parish. “Half the congregation stayed afterwards to light candles. These are families who still remember the 1940s—when Malta itself was under siege—and they recognise the sound of sirens even when they come from a different shore.”
The cultural reflex is immediate. By Wednesday morning, the Maltese-Arabic Society had convened an emergency Zoom call with representatives from the Islamic Centre in Paola and the Missionary Society of St. Paul. Together they launched “Boat of Mercy,” a crowdfunding drive modelled on the 2013 Mare Nostrum rescue missions that once plucked drowning migrants from these same waters. Their goal: charter a Maltese-flagged trawler to deliver medical supplies to Al-Shifa Hospital before any offensive begins. The campaign hit €50,000 in its first six hours, propelled by social-media shares from influencers like TikTok chef Sasha Camilleri, who matched every donation with a plate of ftira topped za’atar—an edible bridge between the islands.
Meanwhile, the Ministry for Foreign Affairs confirmed it is “actively exploring all options” to evacuate Maltese citizens believed to be in Gaza, though officials declined to give numbers citing security concerns. A spokesperson did reveal that Maltese diplomats in Tel Aviv have been in hourly contact with counterparts in Cairo to secure safe passage via the Rafah crossing. The government’s cautious tone contrasts with the grassroots urgency visible elsewhere.
In the narrow alleys of Birgu, artist Sarah Vella is spray-painting a mural whose centrepiece is the 17th-century fort of Saint Elmo—its limestone walls cracked open to reveal a single olive tree growing inside. “We Maltese build bastions to keep empires out,” she explains, “but sometimes the walls become cages. I want passers-by to feel that connection.” The mural’s final panel will display a QR code linking to the Boat of Mercy fundraiser, turning heritage limestone into a portal for 21st-century solidarity.
Not everyone agrees on the form that solidarity should take. At the University of Malta’s Mediterranean Institute, Professor Isabelle Zahra led a heated lunchtime seminar titled “Neutrality vs. Responsibility.” Students from Gaza currently studying in Erasmus placements spoke via shaky WhatsApp video, describing cousins packing overnight bags in Gaza City’s Remal neighbourhood. “You Maltese speak of neutrality because your island is small,” one student said, voice cracking. “But the sea is not neutral; it carries our voices here.” The remark drew a standing ovation—and a flurry of online donations.
By dusk, the Catholic charity Caritas Malta announced it would dedicate this weekend’s village festa collections to humanitarian aid in Gaza. In Għarb, Gozo, the parish priest has swapped the traditional brass-band march for a candlelit rosary procession in silence. “We will still have our fireworks next year,” he told villagers. “But tonight we let the sky stay dark so Gaza can see its own stars.”
As Malta’s amber street-lamps flicker on above centuries-old honey-coloured walls, the island confronts an ancient paradox: how to be both fortress and refuge. Whether through a trawler laden with antibiotics, a limestone mural, or a rosary whispered above the din of summer festa drums, the Maltese are translating the news from Gaza into dialects of compassion rooted in their own story of siege and survival. The offensive may still come, but in these small acts—quicker than any diplomat’s communiqué—Malta is already sending its reply across the waves.
