Our Mosques Are Rubble, But We Are Determined to Create Joy for Ramadan in Gaza |
Struggle and Solidarity: Writing Toward Palestinian Liberation
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For the third consecutive year, Ramadan unfolds as Gazans continue to endure crushing living conditions that strip us of our most basic human rights and dignity. The war may have nominally stopped, but its suffering has not. More than 83 percent of buildings in Gaza have been destroyed, while Israeli forces still control more than half of the Gaza Strip. As a result, many Gazans now live in overcrowded camps, sheltering in flimsy tents that offer no protection from the bitter cold of winter nor the heat of summer. These tents have turned daily life into a living nightmare, depriving families of the ability to experience the spiritual essence of Ramadan as we once did before the war.
Before the war in Gaza began, Ramadan was always a month eagerly awaited, when streets and homes were decorated with colorful lanterns and golden crescents. Traditional markets were filled with an array of dates, nuts, coffee, desserts, and pickles. Islamic nasheeds (devotional songs) resonated through the streets, creating a special and sacred atmosphere. Families would patiently await the Maghrib adhan — the call to prayer that occurs at sunset — to break their long day of fasting, gathering around iftar tables filled with a variety of delicious and vibrant foods, special drinks, and desserts made only during Ramadan, such as kharoub (a sweet drink made by steeping carob) and qatayef (pancake-like dumplings stuffed with nuts or cream). Children would run into the streets after our fast-breaking evening iftar meal, playing on swings, enjoying fireworks, and sharing laughter. Most importantly, mosques were filled with worshippers performing the Taraweeh nightly prayers, sacred ritual that fostered a sense of peaceful togetherness.
Over the past two Ramadans, all of us in Gaza were deprived of nearly everything that once made the month special. Streets that had once remained crowded late into the night fell silent by the afternoon, resembling ghost towns — no decorations, no lights, only an overwhelming emptiness. We fasted for long hours, and if we were fortunate, we broke our fast with nothing more than canned food, lentil soup, or bread made from expired flour. Most of the time, we ended iftar still hungry, painfully remembering how abundant and diverse our iftar tables had once been, shared in the warm presence of our loved ones. Moreover, relentless bombardment and bloody massacres prevented us from performing Taraweeh prayers together in the few remaining mosques, most of which had been destroyed by Israeli forces. In those years, Ramadan was for the first time stripped of its spiritual beauty, transformed from a month of mercy and reflection into one marked by pain and suffering.
Despite the terrible living conditions that persist in the current moment, many in Gaza see this Ramadan as a chance to reclaim some of the joys of the holy month that were lost over the past two years.
We cannot celebrate Ramadan as we did before Israel’s war on Gaza, however, because the........