By Omar Ghraieb in Gaza, Palestine
Edited by Jim Luce in New York
As always, Ramadan has come to the Palestinian occupied territories. This year is different: the markets are quiet. It is just like any other month here.
The first day was very normal. A strange sense of silence has descended over Gaza. The children aren't in the streets, laughing and running.
People aren't gathering around and sitting in circles in their backyards or in front of their door steps. Things seem really weird here.
I started asking my neighbors about this unusual phenomenon: the disappearance of Ramadan as it was.
"We haven't fully recovered from the war," they told me time and again. "We need more time to heal and forget."
It seems as if my people are only keeping one tradition -- or duty -- during Ramadan. They are going to the mosques and praying.
This Ramadan, the markets of Gaza are less busy than in other years.
As I passed through a popular market here in Gaza I saw an old woman holding two heavy bags. She could barely walk so I offered my help.
I seized the opportunity to talk to her about my observations of the current Ramadan. She was old and wise, I thought.
I asked her whether what I saw was out of my imagination or is it true that Ramadan is different and people are still hurting?
She responded with a heavy breathe, "Son, what do you expect? It was a war that lasted for nearly a month - taking the lives of our families, friends, neighbors, relatives. They demolished so many of our homes, so much of our country. Isn't that enough for us to stay hurt and traumatized forever?"
"Of course, grandma," I responded respectfully. "But tell me why are you here buying groceries alone? Where is your son or husband? It's very hot and tiring for an old woman to be here at this time of day?"
She looked at me. Her eyes were filled with misery and agony. She frowned at me and said, "My husband died five years ago while fishing at the cursed sea of Gaza. The Israeli naval forces targeted his boat, killing him and his best friend and his brother."
Palestinian fisherman face dangers and hard work to get by.
"I have four sons: two of them were martyred during the recent war that Israel launched against us."
"I live now in a tent with my large family, where I cook in the heat of this burning sun and sleep on this hot sand. Israel took everything from me and I don't know what's left to be taken but my soul!"
I felt my heart clench and I just couldn't know what to say. I asked her, "Grandma, that's too much to be suffering from - especially during Ramadan. How are you managing the fast?"
With a strange smile she answered, "Son, fasting is nothing new for us anymore. We are poor. Every day of the year we must fast. We have little food.
Children in Gaza holding Ramadan "fanoos" (lanterns) as a source of light during constant electric outages.
"For us, the heat is just something that we are used to. Now don't get me started about how much we are familiar with rain and mud! You have to adjust to life. We are the only people in the world who are the best at this, we have to remain strong and resist no matter what happens.
"Do you think when we moved to live in a tent after the war we ate every day? We slept every day? We felt safe when the stray dogs bite our tents? Oh, son, just leave things to God. He will take care of us and help us grow stronger."
I was speechless and in pain. Her words cut deep into my soul. All my war memories rushed back to me. I couldn't comfort her, whatever I said. So I kept silent until she found a taxi.
She left me with a smile, patted my shoulders, and promised to keep me in her prayers.
Many Palestinians in Gaza survive in refugee camps built on the hot sands.
"I need to rush home or it shall be dark and I won’t be able to see my tent!" She laughed, dazzling me that after all her agonies she still possessed a sense of humor.
I decided to walk home, giving me more time to think. Ramadan in 2009 in Palestine. Three realities poked at me, like bones emerging from the sands:
- Fasting indeed is nothing new for many families here in Gaza.
- The recent violence committed against us changed our lives forever. Some things will never return to normal.
- We need more time to heal and recover, much more than I thought. We will always hold a scar of this mass massacre in our hearts.
So from here, from Gaza to the whole wide world, we wish you all a normal Ramadan with God's blessing. Inshallah, may there be peace on earth.
Children in Gaza eagerly await various candies used to celebrate Ramadan.
Omar Ghraieb writes for the Palestine Telegraph. He is 22 years old. Both Jim and Omar have a presence on Facebook. Jim focuses on Thought Leaders and Global Citizens. He was raised Christian and attends regular Torah study with his Jewish neighbors in New York City.