I mourn the vibrant life we lived before. But though our faces anxiously turn to the sky, our hands are joined in a solidarity that rises above hunger Every year, Ramadan comes as a sanctuary for the soul. For Muslims like me, it is a sacred pause in the chaos of life. But this year, as a woman displaced from the familiar streets of Gaza City to a rented room in Al-Zawayda, I am searching for a peace that feels like a ghost. The world calls this a “ ceasefire ”, yet from my window the silence feels heavy. We are holding our breath because the fear of death has not disappeared, it has just become unpredictable. I did not welcome Ramadan this year with the golden lanterns that once adorned our balconies. I welcomed it to the roar of bulldozers clearing the bones of neighbouring houses and with the constant buzz of the zanana , the Israeli surveillance drones, overhead. Even as we stand in prayer, that metallic humming drowns out the adhan , the call to prayer, reminding us that we are still watched and that our “calm” rests at the mercy of a sudden strike. Majdoleen Abu Assi is a project coordinator and humanitarian practitioner based in Gaza, Palestine Continue reading...