The holy month of Ramadan commenced earlier than usual for Muslims in Gaza this year, marking an unprecedented period of fasting that began as early as October due to tragic circumstances.
Ramadan holds a profound significance for Muslims worldwide, eagerly anticipated throughout the year. From my earliest memories, I recall the joy of adorning our home with vibrant lanterns, guided by my parents' teachings on fasting. They instilled in us the values of patience, spiritual elevation, and selflessness, emphasizing the importance of doing good deeds for others.
However, nothing could have prepared me for this year's Ramadan. The ongoing conflict in Gaza has left me uncertain about even surviving until its arrival. With a staggering death toll and a vast majority of the population displaced, those of us fortunate to still be alive have endured months of partial fasting, moving from one shelter to another amidst scarcity and uncertainty.
Since the last Ramadan, my life has been upended. My once vibrant home in Gaza City lies in ruins, and my family has been scattered. As I prepared for the first day of fasting this year, the absence of familiar mosques and customary gatherings weighed heavily on me. Our pre-dawn meal, usually a time of spiritual reflection, consisted of meager fare salvaged from whatever scant provisions we could find.
Our iftar meal, the breaking of the fast, was similarly modest, with infested pasta salvaged and served with makeshift ingredients. Traditions of visiting relatives and sharing desserts now seem like distant memories, replaced by the grim reality of overcrowded living conditions and the loss of loved ones to the violence.
Despite the overwhelming despair, the start of Ramadan has paradoxically deepened my faith. Amidst the devastation, we cling to hope for a better future, where our homes and communities may be rebuilt, albeit forever changed by the trauma we have endured.