Now living in a nearby country, an Islamic Relief aid worker* from Gaza recalls Eid before the bombardment began, and describes the complications of marking the occasion amid displacement.

I remember what Eid used to feel like.

The night before, the streets were alive. Lights, laughter, children running between shops, holding tightly to their parents’ hands, choosing new clothes they could not wait to wear. At home, everything smelled like celebration; sweets being prepared, clothes laid out, plans whispered with excitement.

We used to sleep late, not because we weren’t tired, but because we didn’t want the night to end.

And then morning would come, soft, bright, full of promise. We would wake up early, dress in our best, and step into a day that felt bigger than any other. That day was Eid.

Now, we’re spending our third Eid without that feeling.

Not the Eid she knew

This morning, my daughter put on her Eid clothes. She stood in front of me for a moment, then quietly walked to the couch and sat down.

She looked at me and said, “Okay, I’m wearing my Eid clothes… but who will see them? Who will I visit? What am I supposed to do?” before falling silent.

I could see in her eyes that she wasn’t just asking these questions. She was remembering, trying to hold on to something that once felt certain and now feels distant. In that moment, I didn’t know how to answer her. Because the truth is, this isn’t the Eid she knew.

Gaza is not a place you can leave behind

For the third year in a row, the meaning of Eid has been overshadowed by loss, displacement, and uncertainty for many Palestinians. The familiar rituals are gone, replaced by a quiet heaviness that lingers in everything we do.

Even for those of us who survived and left Gaza, this truth remains: Gaza is not a place you can leave behind. You carry it with you; in your memories, in your grief, in the way your heart aches without warning.

Amid displacement, Eid becomes even more complicated, especially for children. The familiar faces are gone. The neighbours, the streets and simple traditions that once gave Eid its meaning have all disappeared. And still, we try our best to mark the occasion.

We are Muslims and we are taught to honour the rituals of Allah. Eid is not only about celebration, but also about faith, resilience, and gratitude, even when life feels unbearably heavy.

So, we try to create something special for our children; a small smile, a simple treat, a moment that feels, even briefly, like Eid. We carry our grief quietly, softening it for their sake. We tell them that Eid is still beautiful, even if it looks nothing like before. Because they deserve to feel the beauty of Eid.

Eid teaches us something deeper than joy

Eid al-Fitr is meant to be a reward, a gift after a full month of fasting. But for many families, fasting does not end. Not out of devotion, but out of necessity, because food is not guaranteed and because some simply cannot afford to celebrate.

So, while some families gather around full tables, others are still counting what little they have left, stretching it, managing it, enduring. And yet, even in these circumstances, faith remains.

Eid teaches us something deeper than joy. It teaches us empathy, that celebration is not complete unless it is shared, and that no one should be left behind in moments meant for happiness.

Maybe this Eid is not what it used to be. Maybe it will never be the same again.

But when my daughter asked me who would see her Eid clothes, I realised something I could not put into words in that moment: Eid is not meant to be witnessed alone.

It is meant to be shared – in homes, in communities, in laughter, and in care. Perhaps the truest way to honour Eid is to make sure that no child has to ask that question again.

Until then, even in its smallest, quietest form…Eid is still Eid and hope, no matter how fragile, is still something we hold on to.

Islamic Relief staff and partners in Gaza are working tirelessly to support the communities they serve with vital aid this Eid and beyond. Please help us continue this life-saving work. Donate to our Palestine Emergency Appeal today.

*Editor’s note: This blog has been anonymised to protect our colleague’s privacy.
The image used to illustrate this blog shows an Islamic Relief Ramadan food distribution in Gaza in 2026, carried out in partnership with Misr El Kheir Foundation.