Wednesday 20/3/2024

Ramadan Kareem from around a table of blood and human flesh, from the displacement of families and their murder in front of the world, and from the Muslims and all religions that believe that a human is human regardless of nationality. 

I wish that the sound of cannons that we hear alongside the evening call to prayer was the sound of the cannon announcing iftar, instead of occupation cannons intended to bombard Gaza during the time of breaking fast. Today, trading blood for the now restricted drinks that we used to drink every Ramadan. The occupation regards the people’s needs to this degree; juices of blood, only available in Gaza. 

This is a call to the Arab nations, Gaza is capable of exporting a one of a kind juice. But it tastes bitter, like the bitterness of the days we are living. A juice to remind them of what it means to be Arab.  

The days resemble each other, and time doesn’t pass for us. Because we left our people in the north as tinderwood for the war, while we here in the south are the fuel ignited by them, together burning. 

Ramadan Kareem, because God blessed us with it, and not the followers of injustice. But dear God, they have exchanged our meal for body parts and blood. And despite that, we couldn’t feed our friends who are going hungry for five months.

If I were to say that I miss the calm of the house after iftar, while nobody from my family was killed in the bombing, I would be betraying the families of those killed by the cannons. If I were to miss my room and my friends, I would be betraying those who don’t have any friends left. But I miss being human, and in this, I betray myself. And this and I are set free.

People here have disconnected from reality completely, as though their feelings exist in a graveyard of oblivion. Death is everywhere. Some people decorate the tents and houses with lights, spread communal tables, and sing religious songs. The markets were prepared before Ramadan, like every year, and the spirit is close, but the destruction is alien to the calm that lives inside of us every Ramadan: the worship and taraweeh prayers at the ancient Al-Omari Mosque in central Gaza, which was destroyed by the occupation. 

The death, the blood, the body parts, the screams, the destruction, the burned bodies, the wailing, the sound of mothers bleeding with children martyred. Has all this made us lose our sense of horror at what is happening, and are we now covering our wounds with false bandages? Have we lost ourselves or our humanity?!!