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Eid in Gaza: Despite immense loss, we deserve to celebrate
Middle East Eye·🕐 15 sa önce·👁 0 görüntülenme
Eid in Gaza: Despite immense loss, we deserve to celebrate Ahmed Dremly on Sat, 03/21/2026 - 16:37 Many of the homes and people I once knew and loved have been destroyed. But I am eager to live a normal life Children play in Gaza during Eid celebrations in 2025 (Ahmed Dremly/MEE) Off Eid al-Fitr has come to Gaza during a so-called ceasefire after more than two years of war, bringing an overwhelming yet incomplete sense of happiness and an uncertain peace, amid haunting memories of loss. One of the two major Islamic holidays, Eid al-Fitr marks the end of the holy month of Ramadan. For people like me, who were born and raised in Gaza and have survived repeated Israeli escalations and nearly two decades of blockade, it is a time to remind the world that we are human beings capable of celebrating, just like others around the globe. Preparations for Eid in Gaza typically start in the middle of Ramadan: streets fill with shoppers searching for new clothes, sweets and nuts, as merchants rush to sell their goods before the holiday. As the month draws to a close, the smell of sumagiyya, a tangy sumac-flavoured Palestinian stew with origins in Gaza, fills the air, as grandmothers prepare large quantities to share with relatives and neighbours on the first day of Eid. This mingles with the scent of freshly baked kaak, traditionally served to guests with coffee. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); Indeed, the joy in the days leading up to Eid often rivals the happiness of the holiday itself, as people help one another and create moments of warmth and togetherness. For children in Gaza, Eid is not just about family visits; it is also about new clothes, candy and gift money. I still remember how important new clothes were for my four siblings and me when we were growing up. My sister Lina insisted on having multiple outfits, determined to wear something new on each of the three days of Eid. Moment of relief Despite my father's limited salary from his job at the education ministry and our family's burden of debt, buying Eid clothes for us was always a priority for my parents - something they never compromised on. As soon as we bought our clothes, we hung them in the closet, counting down the days until the holiday arrived. Sometimes, I would lay out my outfit on my bed the night before Eid, and sleep on the floor. Even as a teenager, I went to the market with friends to buy new Eid clothes. Sometimes, just for fun, we agreed to wear the same colour, such as bright red or turquoise. And the day before Eid, my friend Ahmed and I would go to the barber and wait for hours, as almost everyone wanted a haircut for the holiday. We passed the time talking and laughing. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); On Eid morning, thousands of men, women and children would gather to perform the Eid prayer in large open spaces, such as Gaza City's al-Saraya area, before it turned into a makeshift tent camp. After a month of fasting, my family and I would share our first breakfast - often including feseekh, a dish made of salted fish - and exchange hugs and Eid greetings. “I am eager to celebrate as much as I can, because it is my right to live a normal life” (Photo courtesy of Ahmed Dremly) As we drank coffee, took photos and sent them to relatives and friends abroad, Eid was always a rare moment of relief; a pause from the pressures of our daily lives. Yet celebrations in Gaza have never felt complete. The reality of a sudden Israeli escalation is ever-present, and even when there's no active bombing, our lingering PTSD always interrupts our moments of joy. During Eid al-Fitr in 2021, an Israeli missile killed my uncle Mansour while he was shopping. The following year, we marked Eid under blockade and rising tensions, which soon erupted into another escalation. In 2023, Eid arrived just a few months before the war began in October. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); In 2024, like many people in Gaza, I had hoped the genocide would end before Eid - but it did not. Last year, Ramadan began under a ceasefire, and we held onto hope - only for Israel to break it on 18 March, turning another Eid into a wartime holiday. Livelihoods vanished Now, once again, Eid arrives amid a fragile ceasefire, filled with sorrow and uncertainty as Israeli attacks continue. Since the ceasefire began last October, ongoing Israeli attacks have killed more than 600 Palestinians in Gaza. Most people in Gaza have lost their homes, either completely or partially, with many living in makeshift tents or temporary shelters. Nearly every family has lost loved ones who were once central to previous Eid celebrations; some are now the lone survivors of their families. Tens of thousands of people have been injured. And after two years of devastating war, people's livelihoods and savings have vanished, pushing Gaza's entire population of more than two million people into poverty. Family members gather for Eid celebrations at the author’s sister’s house in April 2023, a year before it was bombed by Israeli forces during the war on Gaza (Ahmed Dremly/MEE) For many families today, buying food is a struggle, let alone new clothes. Market prices have skyrocketed amid continuing Israeli border restrictions. Yet despite everything, people still try to find moments of joy. I recently went to al-Rimal Street in central Gaza City, now the main market in this area after Israeli forces destroyed or occupied large swathes of the enclave's north and east. I walked alone among crowds of people who, like me, seemed eager to preserve the customs of Eid. What united us were the same pale faces and distant gazes, silent signs of shared grief. In a shoe store, I asked a young shopkeeper about sales compared to previous years before the war. "There is no Eid anymore in Gaza," he told me. "Less than 10 percent of people are shopping. We used to earn enough during Eid to pay our debts and cover the store's rent for the year. Now we barely make enough to put food on the table." I have lost my mother, my best friend Ahmed, and more than 60 other loved ones who were once part of my Eid celebrations I wasn't surprised. Most people walking through the market carried nothing in their hands; it was as though they had come only to feel the atmosphere of Eid, without the ability to buy anything. As I walked home with a box of new shoes, for the first time in my life, I felt shy about buying new clothes. I wished I could hide my purchase from those who could not afford the same, especially children. I thought about the dozens of people in tents along both sides of the street: most, if not all, had once lived decent lives in their own homes, enjoying good times and being able to buy new shoes. I kept wondering how anyone could celebrate while carrying such immense loss. Over the past three years, I have lost my mother, my best friend Ahmed, and more than 60 other loved ones who were once part of my Eid celebrations. Many of the homes I used to visit, including my sister's and those of friends and relatives, have been destroyed. But I am eager to celebrate as much as I can, because it is my right to live a normal life. The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Eye. Eid Opinion Post Date Override 0 Update Date Mon, 05/04/2020 - 21:29 Update Date Override 0
Eid al-Fitr has come to Gaza during a so-called ceasefire after more than two years of war, bringing an overwhelming yet incomplete sense of happiness and an uncertain peace, amid haunting memories of loss.One of the two major Islamic holidays, Eid al-Fitr marks the end of the holy month of Ramadan. For people like me, who were born and raised in Gaza and have survived repeated Israeli escalations and nearly two decades of blockade, it is a time to remind the world that we are human beings capable of celebrating, just like others around the globe.Preparations for Eid in Gaza typically start in the middle of Ramadan: streets fill with shoppers searching for new clothes, sweets and nuts, as merchants rush to sell their goods before the holiday.As the month draws to a close, the smell of sumagiyya, a tangy sumac-flavoured Palestinian stew with origins in Gaza, fills the air, as grandmothers prepare large quantities to share with relatives and neighbours on the first day of Eid. This mingles with the scent of freshly baked kaak, traditionally served to guests with coffee.Indeed, the joy in the days leading up to Eid often rivals the happiness of the holiday itself, as people help one another and create moments of warmth and togetherness. For children in Gaza, Eid is not just about family visits; it is also about new clothes, candy and gift money. I still remember how important new clothes were for my four siblings and me when we were growing up. My sister Lina insisted on having multiple outfits, determined to wear something new on each of the three days of Eid.Despite my father's limited salary from his job at the education ministry and our family's burden of debt, buying Eid clothes for us was always a priority for my parents - something they never compromised on.As soon as we bought our clothes, we hung them in the closet, counting down the days until the holiday arrived. Sometimes, I would lay out my outfit on my bed the night before Eid, and sleep on the floor.Even as a teenager, I went to the market with friends to buy new Eid clothes. Sometimes, just for fun, we agreed to wear the same colour, such as bright red or turquoise. And the day before Eid, my friend Ahmed and I would go to the barber and wait for hours, as almost everyone wanted a haircut for the holiday. We passed the time talking and laughing.On Eid morning, thousands of men, women and children would gather to perform the Eid prayer in large open spaces, such as Gaza City's al-Saraya area, before it turned into a makeshift tent camp. After a month of fasting, my family and I would share our first breakfast - often including feseekh, a dish made of salted fish - and exchange hugs and Eid greetings.As we drank coffee, took photos and sent them to relatives and friends abroad, Eid was always a rare moment of relief; a pause from the pressures of our daily lives.Yet celebrations in Gaza have never felt complete. The reality of a sudden Israeli escalation is ever-present, and even when there's no active bombing, our lingering PTSD always interrupts our moments of joy.During Eid al-Fitr in 2021, an Israeli missile killed my uncle Mansour while he was shopping. The following year, we marked Eid under blockade and rising tensions, which soon erupted into another escalation. In 2023, Eid arrived just a few months before the war began in October.In 2024, like many people in Gaza, I had hoped the genocide would end before Eid - but it did not. Last year, Ramadan began under a ceasefire, and we held onto hope - only for Israel to break it on 18 March, turning another Eid into a wartime holiday.Now, once again, Eid arrives amid a fragile ceasefire, filled with sorrow and uncertainty as Israeli attacks continue. Since the ceasefire began last October, ongoing Israeli attacks have killed more than 600 Palestinians in Gaza.Most people in Gaza have lost their homes, either completely or partially, with many living in makeshift tents or temporary shelters. Nearly every family has lost loved ones who were once central to previous Eid celebrations; some are now the lone survivors of their families. Tens of thousands of people have been injured.And after two years of devastating war, people's livelihoods and savings have vanished, pushing Gaza's entire population of more than two million people into poverty.For many families today, buying food is a struggle, let alone new clothes. Market prices have skyrocketed amid continuing Israeli border restrictions.Yet despite everything, people still try to find moments of joy.I recently went to al-Rimal Street in central Gaza City, now the main market in this area after Israeli forces destroyed or occupied large swathes of the enclave's north and east. I walked alone among crowds of people who, like me, seemed eager to preserve the customs of Eid. What united us were the same pale faces and distant gazes, silent signs of shared grief.In a shoe store, I asked a young shopkeeper about sales compared to previous years before the war. "There is no Eid anymore in Gaza," he told me. "Less than 10 percent of people are shopping. We used to earn enough during Eid to pay our debts and cover the store's rent for the year. Now we barely make enough to put food on the table."I have lost my mother, my best friend Ahmed, and more than 60 other loved ones who were once part of my Eid celebrationsI wasn't surprised. Most people walking through the market carried nothing in their hands; it was as though they had come only to feel the atmosphere of Eid, without the ability to buy anything.As I walked home with a box of new shoes, for the first time in my life, I felt shy about buying new clothes. I wished I could hide my purchase from those who could not afford the same, especially children. I thought about the dozens of people in tents along both sides of the street: most, if not all, had once lived decent lives in their own homes, enjoying good times and being able to buy new shoes.I kept wondering how anyone could celebrate while carrying such immense loss. Over the past three years, I have lost my mother, my best friend Ahmed, and more than 60 other loved ones who were once part of my Eid celebrations. Many of the homes I used to visit, including my sister's and those of friends and relatives, have been destroyed. But I am eager to celebrate as much as I can, because it is my right to live a normal life.The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Eye.
