After almost 16 months of relentless bombardment, much of
Gaza lies in ruins. Families that once gathered around dinner tables now break
their fast on the cold ground, surrounded by the wreckage of their homes.
In the shattered Jabaliya refugee camp, simple meals of
lentils and bread are cooked over makeshift fires.
Entire neighborhoods have been reduced to rubble, hospitals
are barely functioning with dwindling supplies, and essential infrastructure
has collapsed.
The United Nations reports that almost the entire population
of Gaza has been forcibly displaced. Many now live in overcrowded shelters,
tents, or temporary homes built from salvaged debris.
Yet, amid these hardships, the spirit of Ramadan endures.
Families gather for iftar (breaking the fast), children find moments to play
among the ruins, and the faithful continue to pray, even in mosques that have
been destroyed.
In Gaza City, men lay prayer rugs on cracked pavement,
reciting verses from the Quran as dust and smoke fill the air.
“We have lost so much,” says Ahmed, a father of four whose
home was destroyed in an airstrike. “But our faith and resilience can never be
taken from us.”
Adding to their struggles, Gaza is now dealing with severe
flooding. Heavy rains have turned tent cities into muddy swamps, with drainage
systems too damaged to handle the water.
In some areas, people wade through waist-deep floods, trying
to salvage what little they have left.
Sixty-seven-year-old Mahmoud Abu Sitta, who lost his home in
the bombings, now sleeps in a tent slowly filling with rainwater.
“First the bombs, now the floods,” he says. “It feels like
the suffering never ends.”
Yet, even in these dire conditions, the people of Gaza hold
onto their traditions.
The communal spirit of Ramadan remains strong. Those who
have little still share with their neighbors. Volunteers distribute food and
supplies despite struggling themselves.
In a small bakery that remarkably survived the airstrikes,
young men work tirelessly, baking flatbreads to feed families with nothing
left.
“This is what Ramadan teaches us,” says Youssef, one of the
bakers. “To give, to care for one another, even when we are suffering.”
Evening prayers, once held in grand mosques, now take place
in makeshift spaces, inside tents, on street corners, or in the shadows of
collapsed buildings.
Each prayer is a plea for relief, justice, and an end to the
suffering that has defined life in Gaza for too long.
Humanitarian aid remains slow to arrive, border crossings
are tightly controlled by the Israeli occupation regime, and political
negotiations offer little certainty.
A fragile ceasefire has brought temporary calm, but on
Sunday, Israeli authorities halted humanitarian aid shipments, pressuring Hamas
to agree to the regime’s conditions for extending the truce.
Hamas has urged mediators to ensure the occupation regime
abides by the ceasefire agreement, which includes negotiations for a second
phase that would see Israeli forces withdraw from Gaza.
Despite everything, Gaza’s people persist. They fast, they
pray, and they hope. They rebuild their lives, even when the world seems to
have abandoned them.
As the call to prayer echoes over the devastated land, it
carries the unwavering resilience of a people who refuse to be broken, even as
everything around them has crumbled.
