‘What was our crime?’ Gaza’s orphans ask this Eid al-Fitr

Eid al-Fitr has arrived in Gaza — but not the joy attached to this occasion.

Once a time of sweets, new clothes, and family gatherings, the Muslim holiday has become a day of mourning for tens of thousands of children in Gaza who will mark it without their fathers, without their mothers — without anyone at all. 

Across Gaza, homes once filled with life now stand in ruins.  

There are no sounds of laughter in the streets this year. No scents of kaak biscuits rising from family kitchens. No excited children in new clothes. Instead, Gaza’s orphans sit in silence, surrounded by rubble, clutching fading memories of the parents they will never see again. 

 In January, the Ministry of Health reported that since October 2023, over 38,000 Palestinian children have been orphaned by Israel’s brutal war on Gaza. Included, 32,151 have lost their fathers, 4,417 have lost their mothers, and 1,918 are completely orphaned. 

These children now live in tents, shelters, or shattered homes. Some stay with relatives. Others have no one left. They no longer ask for toys or sweets — they ask if their parents are coming back. 

They ask if there will be an Eid at all. 

Five-year-old Naya Al-Faran, too young to understand the permanence of death, still waits by the door. “When Daddy comes back, tell him to bring me chocolate,” she whispers to her mother, Areej, now the sole parent to three young children 

“He looked at the children and said, ‘Take care of them,’” recalls his wife, Areej Al-Faran, now a widow and sole parent to three young children. “It was like he knew he wouldn’t return.” 

Areej tries to be strong. But there are days she cannot speak. “What breaks me,” she says, “is when they ask if Baba will come back for Eid.” 

She is one of 14,323 women who have lost their husbands since the war began — mothers trying to survive without husbands, income, homes, or hope. 

‘Sometimes, I wonder why I survived’ 

Hala, 18, and Sara, 5, Al Jerjawi should be spending Eid with their parents. Instead, the two sisters sit in a shelter, their faces pale, their hearts heavy. 

In December, their entire family was killed in an airstrike. The two teenagers were the only survivors. Hala still remembers her father’s voice calling for help beneath the rubble. 

“We were all in one room,” Hala says. “We were talking before bed — and then the ceiling collapsed.” 

She remembers her father’s voice calling for help. Then, silence. 

“This is our first Eid without our family,” she says. “There’s no table, no clothes, no reason to smile. Sometimes, I wonder why I survived.” 

Seven-month-old Yazan Mushtaha was found alive beneath the rubble, still cradled in his mother’s arms. She was breastfeeding him when the missile struck. She died protecting him. The rest of his family was killed. 

Yazan survived, but he will grow up never knowing his mother’s voice or touch. 

He is one of thousands of children in Gaza growing up with no parents, no guidance, and no sense of safety. 

For Naya, Hala, Sara, and Yazan, Eid is not a celebration — it is an open wound. 

Their childhoods have been reduced to ration lines, nightmares, and trauma. Many suffer from PTSD, bedwetting, night terrors, and chronic anxiety. Mental health services in Gaza — already scarce — are now virtually nonexistent. 

“There’s no childhood here anymore,” Areej says. “Just survival.” 

Still, amid the devastation, some families try to hold onto tradition. Areej bakes a small batch of kaak cookies when she can find flour — not to celebrate, but to remember. Others whisper prayers, share stories, or light a single candle. 

They do it not because things are okay but because they want their children to believe, even for a moment, that life still holds meaning. 

But the reality is brutal: No father. No mother. No Eid. 

Eid al-Fitr in Gaza used to mean kaak cookies baking in the oven, children giggling in the market, and new clothes laid out the night before. This year, the cookies are gone. The markets are bombed. The streets are silent. 

In the few homes still standing, families gather not to celebrate but to grieve. 

There are no lights, no visitors, no festive meals. 

Only absence. 

A plea to the world 

These children are not numbers. They are the shattered future of a nation — grieving sons, lonely daughters, survivors too young to carry so much pain. 

Let their stories be heard. Let their names be remembered. 

Because no child should face Eid alone. 

This Eid, Gaza’s sacrifice is not symbolic. It is real. 

Children have lost not only their parents — they’ve lost their childhoods. Entire families have vanished. Streets once alive with joy now echo with sorrow. 

Still, amid the rubble, one question rises from the lips of every orphaned child: 

What was our crime? Was it being born in Gaza? 

Asem al-Jerjawi is a Gaza-based journalist, activist, and translator. His articles have appeared in Middle East Eye, Washington Report, Palestine Chronicle, Palestine Nexus, Palestine in America, Morning Star, and Mondoweiss

Follow him on Instagram: @asem_al_jerjawi