No rest for Gaza

The holy days of Eid-ul-Azha are meant to herald peace, festive meals and the laughter of children dressed in new clothes. Instead, for the 2.1 million Palestinians in Gaza, the sacred occasion arrived with the roar of warplanes, the thunder of artillery and the frantic digging of survivors. Over two years into a relentless war, the concept of celebration has been swallowed whole by a devastating reality.

Even on a day as holy as Eid, a fragile ceasefire offered no respite. The bombs did not pause for prayer, and airstrikes continued targeting tents and homes, stealing dozens of loved ones away from their families on a day that is meant to be a celebration. Rather than exchanging meat and stories, families gathered over mass graves. Amid this apocalyptic landscape, the sheer exhaustion of survival has turned everyday rituals into a form of grief. Families walk through depleted marketplaces not to buy food and supplies but merely to look, returning to their shelters heartbroken as even the act of looking reminds them of what has been lost. The traditions of Eid - the baking of maamoul and the sacrificing of animals - have been completely stripped away. A sacrificial sheep that once cost 1,000 shekels skyrocketed to 15,000, leaving families unable to afford a single kilogram of meat. Under UNICEF tarpaulins, Eid biscuits are baked in makeshift clay ovens, and a single piece of candy serves as a child's Eid gift.

Gaza has sacrificed everything and received nothing in return - not even a single day of peace to celebrate their religion. With each passing day, Gazans are consumed by fear and hunger, while the rest of us move on with our lives. And as the world watches in silence, Gaza continues to lose the basic human right to feel alive.