Normally, the days leading up to Ramadan, the holy month in which Muslims give up eating and drinking from dawn to dusk, are exuberant. My youngest children and I would prepare”iftar “jars” and food baskets with Ramadan staples, such as dates, nuts and apricot paste, to distribute to neighbors. We would decorate the house and send invitations to iftarfood when we break the fast, to friends and family.
But this year, as Palestinians with family in Gaza, our enthusiasm has been overshadowed by overwhelming grief. Ramadan begins this week. No decorations have come out of the basement and no baskets have been distributed.
Israel's war against Gaza, which the International Court of Justice and a united states federal court found could amount to genocide, has claimed the lives of my aunt, my three adult cousins and their families. He has also killed more than 100 members of my family along with more than Another 30,000 Palestinians. I can't begin to imagine what Ramadan will be like for them, as United Nations officials have said that more than half a million people in Gaza are “one step away” from famine, and Israel blocks he aid truck entry.
Thirteen years ago, while researching for myself cookbook about Gaza cuisineThere I observed Ramadan. There was a heat wave amid power outages, the result of an Israeli attack on the Gaza power plant and restrictions on diesel fuel.
Despite everything, the air was electric with excitement. The qatayif vendors appeared just at sunset, flipping and selling traditional Ramadan pancakes ready to be filled with nuts, milk pudding or cheese. The children illuminated the dark horizon with their fawanesor lanterns, and men and women headed to the mosque to spend the night. taraweeh prayers, a fixed element of the holy month. This year there will be none of that.
This Ramadan, I oscillate between a deep sense of loss and sadness and a feeling of urgency and obligation to do everything I can to help my family, organize, and speak out. At times, I feel broken and empty inside, as we face a cruel reality where even our best efforts can't seem to stop the carnage, and all I can muster the energy to do is cry.
In WhatsApp messages, my relatives in Gaza tell me that they have nothing left to return to, no mosques to pray in, no electricity, no fuel to cook. The little food they find is bought at incredibly inflated prices, cooked in makeshift cob ovens or tin ovens, using firewood or charcoal.
Eleven members of my family, including my uncle, who suffers from heart disease, are currently in Rafah after fleeing their home in Gaza City in the north. Now they have nowhere to hide, as they await an imminent Israeli invasion of Rafah.
Dozens of other relatives remain in Gaza City, isolated from those in the south, the humanitarian aid drip entering the territory. They face imminent famine. We only know if they are alive or not through the occasional audio note. A cousin recently told me that he hadn't had bread, fruits, vegetables or meat in months and that he was surviving on hard-to-find canned foods.
Despite all this, my cousins say they plan to honor Ramadan however they can and prepare traditional Palestinian foods for iftar, improvising with the ingredients you have on hand. Stews with chicken broth powder instead of proteins. Wild vegetables and canned meat or tuna if they are lucky. Animal I think instead of flour to make bread. For my family members, observing Ramadan and cooking also serve as acts of resistance and moodor firmness, against a dehumanizing war.
Back in Maryland, I'm wondering how to talk to my kids about what's happening, as we gather around our iftar tables. What meaning do we find in Ramadan given the situation at home? The conversations will be difficult, but necessary. And from these points of discomfort and anguish, I hope that we grow spiritually and mentally.
I'm frustrated with the unwavering diplomatic attitude, financial and military support of Israel's bombing, which has systematically destroyed much of Gaza including its agriculture lands and assets, and their local food systems. Human Rights Watch has said that the Israeli government is using hunger as a “weapon of war.” Instead of pressing Israel to open land crossingsUnited States has air-dropped food aid in Gaza and plans to build a temporary port to bring humanitarian aid. These efforts are woefully insufficient and amount to a public relations stunt, as our government continues supplying bombs and weapons to Israel.
During Ramadan, it is strongly recommended to feed a fasting person or hungry people. Living in the United States, all I can do is send money to friends in Gaza who have established neighborhood soup kitchenspreparing simple vegetarian stews using foraged wild vegetables such as mallow or khobeiza.
In the Quran, patience is described as jamel, which means beautiful. Patience, perseverance and prayer is all we have left now. But that doesn't make the difficulties any easier.
In a way, the horrible war has forced us to approach Ramadan in the spirit it was intended. Focus not on satisfying oneself, but on purifying it of worldly desires and doing what we can to change the injustice around us.
These are the messages we will likely share around our iftar presents this Ramadan, as our family struggles to find the strength to make sense of the murderous catastrophe unfolding before our eyes.
Laila El-Haddad is a writer living in Clarksville, Maryland, and co-author of “Gaza Kitchen: A Palestinian Culinary Journey.” @gazamom
