On a morning when diplomats in Cairo and Doha were still congratulating themselves on a deal that had seemed impossible, the sound of strikes returned to Gaza. Thursday's exchange of fire was, by most accounts, qualitatively different from the violations that had preceded it — broader in scale, heavier in consequence, and harder for either side to dismiss as a minor breach. The ceasefire, already treated with scepticism in many quarters, suddenly looked considerably more fragile. The agreement had never been without incident.

Since it came into effect, smaller infractions had punctuated an otherwise uneasy calm — a drone here, a rocket there — each one absorbed, explained away, or quietly attributed to rogue actors. Negotiators in the region had grown almost accustomed to managing these episodes. Thursday's attacks, however, were widely described as something larger, a rupture that could not as easily be contained within the diplomatic language of "technical violations." What distinguishes this moment from earlier stumbles is the political pressure bearing down on all parties.

In Israel, a coalition government remains divided over the ceasefire's terms and the question of hostage negotiations. In Gaza, Hamas faces pressure from within its own ranks as well as from a civilian population that has endured more than a year of devastating conflict. For both sides, backing down now carries domestic costs that are difficult to calculate.