TEHRAN – Ramadan has arrived in Gaza, and as the first crescent moon appeared, people welcomed the holy month with the same devotion felt across the Muslim world. But in Gaza, Ramadan never comes quietly. It arrives under the long shadow of Israel’s occupation and the deep wounds left by years of blockade, bombardment, and displacement. It is a month of prayer and patience, but also a reminder of everything people have endured under Israeli control.

The October ceasefire, following two years of Israel’s genocidal war, has brought a kind of calm, but it is a fragile calm that no one fully trusts. Drones still circle above the rooftops, their buzzing a constant reminder that danger has not disappeared. From time to time, distant shelling breaks the silence. Families gather for iftar with gratitude, but also with fear, remembering how quickly peace has collapsed in the past. 

Many still recall how fighting suddenly returned during a previous Ramadan, cutting off food aid and pushing people toward hunger. That memory sits quietly at every table.

Daily life remains incredibly difficult. Markets are fuller than before, but prices are so high that most families can only buy the basics. Many break their fast with simple meals — bread, lentils, tea — because savings are gone and jobs are scarce. 

Humanitarian aid helps, but it cannot replace the stability and comfort people once felt during Ramadan. Even the small joys of the month — sweets, decorations, special dishes — have become luxuries that many can no longer afford.

Still, Gaza refuses to let go of its traditions. Ramadan is a time of gathering, sharing, and community, and people hold onto that with everything they have. Families sit together at iftar, even if there are empty chairs that will never be filled again. Children hang lanterns outside tents and shelters, trying to bring a little color to a world of dust and rubble. Neighbors share whatever food they can spare, even if it is only a few dates or a bowl of soup. In a place full of destruction, people create small pockets of warmth and hope.

At the same time, many Palestinians feel deep frustration with the political plans being pushed on them, especially the U.S. peace proposal. Many believe it protects Israeli interests while ignoring Palestinian rights and the reality of occupation. They feel that decisions about their future are being made far away, by people who do not live with the consequences. For people in Gaza, real peace cannot be designed in distant offices. It must come from freedom, dignity, and an end to the conditions that have caused so much suffering.

Yet even with all this pain, the spirit of Ramadan remains unbroken. Mosques — some damaged, some half-standing — fill with worshippers. Children recite Qur’an in crowded shelters. Families share their food, their prayers, and their hope. Faith becomes a source of strength, a way to stay human in a place where life is constantly tested.

As Gaza moves through this holy month, its people carry both the beauty of Ramadan and the heavy weight of occupation. They pray for safety, for justice, and for a future where Ramadan can be celebrated in peace — not under drones, not in tents, but in the freedom they have been waiting for all their lives.