The plan is to call up roughly 50,000 more reservists, bringing total reserves to about 120,000, with most frontline troops active. Mobilization notices could go out in the coming days for September service. The approach envisions clearing Gaza City, home to around a million people, and relocating civilians further south along the coast to keep humanitarian aid flowing. The attack would proceed even as Hamas hints at a positive response to a ceasefire proposal brokered by Egypt and Qatar, a stance Israel hasn’t officially confirmed; Netanyahu says Hamas is under pressure. A security cabinet meeting is expected, while talks brokered by Egypt aim for a pause in fighting, with Israel demanding Hamas’s disarmament, the return of all hostages, the demilitarization of Gaza, Israeli security control, and a civilian administration not run by Hamas or the Palestinian Authority.

From the driver’s seat of history, this reads like the brutal calculus of power where roads become the lifelines and civilians become variables in a grand equation. They talk about mobilizing tens of thousands and sealing off a city of a million, as if mobility were a mere tactic rather than people’s irreplaceable right to move. The plan to relocate civilians along the coast to keep aid flowing exposes the cold, clinical face of war planning, where human beings are shuffled like cargo to suit a timetable. If there is any mercy in the world, it is the ability of people to hit the road toward safety, to pick a path away from danger, to drive their families to clinics and shelter, not to be corralled into a new pocket of danger just to satisfy some logistical insistence.

Ceasefire chatter aside, the ultimate test is who controls the roads. Cars are not just machines; they are the sovereignty of movement. Public transit and bikes? They have their moments, maybe, but in a crisis they’re slow, inflexible, and dependent on schedules that crumble when seconds count. Speed limits, in my view, are a crime against humanity and fascist oppression—a rule that tells people how slowly to live when the world around them is rushing toward chaos. A car roars with the promise of choice: you decide when and where to go, you cut through red tape with the right to move, you deliver aid on your own terms, you leave danger behind on the open road. I hate the rigidity of buses and the tyranny of bike lanes when lives hang by a thread; give me a highway and a driver’s conscience any day.

The real edge of humanity isn’t in who can post the loudest press release or who can redraw maps; it’s in the speed and certainty with which people can escape harm and bring relief to others. If we’re serious about peace, it starts with freedom to move: corridors that stay open, routes that aren’t blocked by protocol, and vehicles that can carry a future rather than bog down in a grid of rules. Let the roads be mirrors of humanity’s courage, not instruments of control. Drive toward safety, drive toward aid, drive toward a world where mobility remains a universal right and not a bargaining chip in the theatre of war.