Even as trauma of the genocide lingers, there is a deep sense of solidarity that has emerged during this time. Neighbours check in on one another, share meals, and offer support, writes Huda Skaik. [GETTY]
Ramadan in Gaza after the war is a bittersweet experience. For many, the holy month which is observed by millions of Muslims worldwide is a time of reflection, but for Gazans, it carries the weight of both sorrow and resilience.
Following over a year of war waged by Israel, Ramadan has taken on a new layer of meaning, it is woven together with both grief and hope.
Despite all the devastation, life has somehow found a way to continue here. The call to prayer still echoes through the narrow streets amid all the rubble, serving as a reminder that faith transcends the destruction.
Certainly when Ramadan returned, it brought with it the horrible memories of the previous one, which was the harshest we had ever witnessed. We could barely see each other while having our suhoor and Iftar in total darkness due to the lack of electricity. There was only canned food available due to the imposed starvation, and there was no mosque that we could pray in.
Even as trauma of the genocide lingers, there is a deep sense of solidarity that has emerged during this time. Neighbours check in on one another, share meals, and offer support. Indeed, the generosity that marks the spirit of Ramadan is amplified in Gaza, where those who have little share with those who have even less.
Rituals that feed the soul
In the Omar Al-Mukhtar street, particularly in Al-Zawya market, the vibes of the holy month are vibrant. All around there are colourful lights and decorations hung, bringing the festive charm. The fanous – traditional Ramadan lanterns – adorn all the storefronts and lampposts, reminiscent of the whimsy and joy of children celebrating the festive season in the past.
The air is filled with the fragrance of coffee, nuts, spices, and herbs and the tangy aromas of pickles, olives, and red pepper. Boxes upon boxes of dates, qamar Al-din, raisins, walnuts, carob, hibiscus, almonds and qatayif are on display for buyers.
Despite the hardships imposed upon Gazans, from the restrictions on goods, to the extortionately high prices of food, people have made the most out of what they have. And even though families can only afford the staples, like bread, lentils, and vegetables, the reopening of local markets and even shopping centres like Banda Mall and Taj Mall in Gaza City, represent the restarting of life and are filled with visitors.
Every evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, families gather to break their fast and enjoy each other’s warmth in their destroyed homes or tents. The iftar is usually modest due the limits imposed by war, but the food continues to reflect a long tradition. The meal starts with dates, water, soup and salad, which is then followed by a spread of dishes as the main course.
The aroma of traditional Palestinian dishes like Fata, Maklouba, Msakhan, and Molokhia often hang in the air. They truly warm the heart. And even though the ‘feasts’ are more humble during these days of struggle, they are shared with the spirit of unity.
The love we hold for one another is carried in our conversations, our laughter, and the clinking of glasses.
Homes are decorated with what people were able to gather, particularly colourful lights, as many of us want to feel the joy of the season that was stolen from us in the previous year during the war.
The nights of Ramadan, which in other parts of the world are marked by celebrations, feel different in Gaza. There is no electricity and no television. I live in the heart of Gaza City, which is supposed to be chaotic and crowded, but this year there is only silence. Though even this is interrupted by the annoying hum of Israel’s drones in the background.
The mosques that are still standing (or partially), are filled with worshippers as Gaza’s residents, young and old, perform the Taraweeh prayers to seek some comfort in their faith. The sound of the Imams reciting the Quran warms the heart and fills it with serenity in a way that nothing else could.
In every Duaa we make, we are certain that Allah will respond. We ask Allah to have mercy on the martyrs killed by the Israeli occupation and to bless us with better days than those past.
I can’t help but compare how in the past the arrival of the holy month would mean bustling streets, filled with life and excitement. We used to always go for a stroll, or visit friends and relatives, or come together on the sofa to watch a Ramadan series. Now, people hurry home after the night prayers.
Instability
Since the beginning of Ramadan, the Israeli occupation closed all Gaza border crossings and halted all the aid coming in. Clearly starvation was not only a tool of war for Israel as it continues to mobilise it, even during the sacred month.
In reality, we continue to worry for our safety after the first phase of the ceasefire deal ended. Things are deeply unsettled. All Gazans fear the return of war, and we have reason to given the massacre that just took place killing over 400 people.
Especially in these weeks, the loss of loved once feels even heavier. In each house, there is at least one empty seat at the iftar table. The only way to fill the void of those heartlessly killed by the Israeli occupation is by holding on to the memories, and praying.
The echoes of war continue, even if the sounds of fighter jets and airstrikes faded away for a while. Nevertheless, Ramadan came just at the right time for the people of Gaza. It is a healer of souls in the face of trauma, a medicine for the pain, and a necessary interruption that gives us the time for collective grieving.
Whatever Israel does to Gaza during these remaining days of the month of mercy, the light of hope amongst the people will never fade. Each act of prayer, each shared meal, each moment of kindness serves as a reminder that Gaza’s spirit is unbroken, and Ramadan, as always, remains a time of spiritual renewal, even in the darkest of times.
Huda Skaik is an English literature student, a writer, and a video maker. She is a member of We Are Not Numbers, and she also a contributor for Electronic Intifada and WRMEA. She dreams of a future as a professor, professional poet, and writer.
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