The adhan (call to prayer) echoes across Gaza at sunset, but its sound now carries through neighbourhoods that have changed completely. Some buildings stand empty, and some streets feel strange. Yet when the adhan is heard, people pause, whisper their prayers, and get excited for iftar.

As we enter the final days of Ramadan, Islamic Relief aid workers in Gaza share their reflections on the first Ramadan since the ceasefire.

This year we fast without the sound of bombardment. That alone changes everything. There is a fragile sense of safety that allows people to once more think about Ramadan as a month of worship, not merely another month of survival.

Food, however, is still limited. Many families depend on food parcels and shared hot meals. Our suhoor has changed over the past 2 years. There was a time when we ate bread mixed with animal feed, barley, and thyme. Now we are beginning to see cheese, dairy products, dates, and the dried fruits traditionally associated with Ramadan.

Iftar has also changed. Instead of cooking wild plants or whatever herbs could be found growing in the ground, families can once again prepare foods we used to see only on television during the conflict: chicken, meat, fish, and the Ramadan appetisers we once waited for eagerly.

Although many mosques were destroyed, people have found ways to pray together. Some gather in partially damaged mosques that have been cleaned enough to be usable. Others pray in open courtyards, in tents, or inside crowded rooms. The prayer mats may be worn and the walls cracked, but the rows of worshippers remain straight and steady.

A quiet joy

At night, bombings are no longer heard. Instead, you hear the hum of generators, the voice of the musaharati (drummer) waking people for suhoor, children playing freely in the alleys, and the quiet recitation of the Qur’an. Decorations are fewer than in previous years. In some streets, a few wires of lights hang between buildings. In others, there is nothing at all.

The spirit of celebration exists, but it is restrained, almost cautious. Joy is present, but it is quieter, mixed with the bitterness of loss.

In 2024 and 205, Ramadan was marked by extreme pain. Many families were displaced. Access to food and water felt impossible. At times, obtaining them meant risking one’s life. Some people lost their lives while searching for food to provide even the most basic meal for their children. Fear often prevented prayer to be held. The focus was on immediate survival, and the need to fight to stay alive ruled everything.

This year, many of us are feeling the spiritual atmosphere of Ramadan again for the first time. People are trying to rebuild their lives. Children talk about fasting. Families try to gather, even in very limited spaces. There is a greater sense of stability, even though the conditions remain extremely difficult.

‘Normal life’ seems very far away

But normal life has not returned. We are trying to be normal or perhaps pretending to be. If you asked a resident of Gaza who lived through 2 years of pain, grief, and hunger what “normal life” means, they would not know what to say. After 2 years of constant anxiety and fear, we no longer know what normal life truly feels like.

In Gaza, families now prioritise necessities over decorations. Yet we still put some effort to show joy. A child’s hand-drawn crescent moon. A single lantern hanging inside a tent. Paper chains taped to a cracked wall.

Gaza cannot be defeated

Many families are rebuilding their lives from nothing. Psychological scars are visible, especially among children. Basic services remain inconsistent.

At the same time, Gaza should not be defined only by destruction. It is also defined by neighbours sharing food with one another. By volunteers distributing meals with dignity. By fathers trying to preserve simple traditions for their children. By mothers trying to gather their families again after two years of loss, suffering, and displacement.

Each evening at sunset, families still gather around modest tables, raise their hands in prayer, and hope for stability, for reconstruction, and for a safer future.

When you watch the photos and videos coming from Gaza, you may feel awkward. You may wonder how a people who lived through 2 years filled with every form of loss of loved ones, homes, livelihoods, and normal life, can still find moments of joy.

Maybe the answer is simple. The legend of the phoenix rising from the ashes feels less like a myth here and more like a way of life for the people of Gaza, who cannot remain forever broken or defeated.

The ceasefire has provided a chance to breathe, but it will be a long time before normal life can return to Gaza. Please donate today to help Palestinian families in need as they seek to mark Ramadan and rebuild their lives.