Eid al-Fitr is typically a time of joy and celebration, with children running around in new clothes, collecting Eidiya (Eid money) and visiting relatives. Homes are filled with the aroma of traditional Eid cookies, and streets are alive with gatherings.
However, in Gaza, Eid is a time of grief. The air is thick with dust from destroyed buildings, and the sound of bombings continues. Families mourn their loved ones among the ruins, with many struggling to find food and wondering when the next bomb will fall.
This will be my first Eid without my little sister, Rahaf. We spent many joyful Eids together, but now she is gone, taken during a bombing that destroyed our home. I miss her every day, and the pain of her loss is overwhelming.
I long for the day when children like my cousin Qamar will not have to experience the horrors of war and loss. The burden of survival without the chance to heal is a heavy one, leaving little room for anything else.
Tidak ada penutupan dalam sebuah genosida yang terus terjadi.
Tidak ada ruang untuk berduka ketika bertahan hidup menuntut setiap ons kekuatan.
Namun kita tetap menggenggam cinta dari orang-orang yang telah kita kehilangan, menjaga mereka tetap hidup dalam kenangan kita, kata-kata kita dan perjuangan kita untuk eksis.
Harapan, bagaimanapun rapuhnya, adalah tindakan perlawanan.
Ini membuat kita terus mencari cahaya di reruntuhan, makna dalam ketiadaan, kehidupan di luar sekadar bertahan hidup.
Ini mengingatkan kita bahwa kita masih ada. Dan itu penting.