The crescent moon rose over Gaza this year above a landscape unlike any Ramadan before. Beneath it stand rows of tents, houses reduced to rubble, and families carrying the weight of two years of relentless Israeli genocide.
For the third year in a row, the people of Gaza welcome the holy month of Ramadan under extraordinary circumstances. Two Ramadans have already passed under bombardment and fire, amid loss, destruction, hunger, and siege. What once arrived with anticipation and joy now comes with memories of fear and absence.
This year’s Ramadan is not as it was before the genocide. Yet for many, it is less harsh than the two that came before it.
With a fragile ceasefire in effect, the sounds of bombing have decreased. The roar of warplanes no longer dominates every night, and some of the stillness that once defined Ramadan evenings has returned. But the suffering has not disappeared. The siege continues, and the occupation still controls the entry of food and basic supplies.
For many families, iftar tables remain simple and sometimes scarce, waiting for an aid truck that may arrive… or may be delayed.
Ramadan has also arrived in Gaza with broken hearts. Thousands of families have lost their homes. Thousands more have lost loved ones who will never again sit at the iftar table.
In many homes, a chair remains empty. A voice that once answered the call to prayer is no longer there.
Yet despite everything, people insist on observing the rituals of the holy month. Amid the rubble, they raise their hands in supplication. They gather for night prayers with memories still saturated with fear. And they teach their children that Ramadan is about worship, patience, and steadfastness, no matter how severe the tribulations.
From “Pray in Your Homes” to “Pray in Your Mosques”
Two years ago, Gaza’s mosques issued an extraordinary and painful call:
“Pray in your homes.”
The call was not merely a precaution. It reflected a terrifying reality in which neither roads nor mosques were safe from Israeli attacks.
Families prayed in the corners of their homes or inside overcrowded tents. The sounds of bombing mixed with the verses of the Qur’an, as if each rak’ah might be a farewell prayer to the life they once knew.
Today, the minarets of Gaza are calling again — but with different words:
“Pray in your mosques.”
In Gaza, this simple phrase carries a meaning far beyond its words. It is a declaration of longing for the close rows of worshippers, for shoulders touching during Tarawih prayers, and for tears that fall together while listening to verses of mercy and forgiveness.
Many mosques remain damaged, partially demolished, or hastily repaired. Yet their reopening represents something deeper than a return to buildings. It is the return of a community the war tried to dismantle.
Israel targeted approximately 1,160 mosques in Gaza; either partially or completely destroyed, out of a total of 1,244. Of these, 909 mosques were completely demolished and reduced to rubble, while 251 suffered severe partial damage, rendering them unusable. This destruction has directly disrupted religious practices and the ability to hold congregational prayers.
Between yesterday and today, the call has changed.
But people’s faith has not.
The minarets of Gaza remain standing as witnesses that this land, despite everything it has endured, is still capable of raising the call to prayer and gathering its people beneath the roof of supplication.
A Childhood Interrupted
For Gaza’s children, Ramadan was once a season of lanterns, costumes, sweets, and the familiar voice of the Musaharati walking through the streets before dawn.
Over the past two years, however, many children have spent Ramadan between displacement, tents, and fear.
They have lost schools, playgrounds, and homes filled with laughter.
The Ramadan nights they once knew have changed. Lanterns are no longer hung in many windows. Decorations that once brightened the streets have disappeared. The sounds of games echoing through the alleys have been replaced by a heavy silence.
Families have been scattered across the Gaza Strip after repeated displacement between north and south. Many children have also lost loved ones who were killed in the genocide.
The house is less crowded now. The table holds less laughter.
For children who once awaited Ramadan as a time of celebration, the holy month has become another reminder of the genocide that reshaped their childhood.
A Virtual Escape From War
In an effort to restore even a small part of that lost joy, TECHMED, a group of developers in Gaza launched a project called “Ramadan in Virtual Reality.”
The initiative aims to give children a temporary escape from the painful reality surrounding them.
“The project began during a very difficult period for children in Gaza,” said developer Baker Salem in remarks to QNN.
“We witnessed the genocide, the displacement, and the pressures that deprived them of the joy, security, and spirituality of Ramadan.”
Salem and his colleagues specialize in virtual reality software. They wanted to use technology not only for entertainment, but as a way to ease psychological pressure and strengthen cultural connection.
Through VR headsets, children can explore a digital Ramadan environment filled with lanterns, decorations, the sound of the iftar cannon, and family gatherings that mirror traditions many of them can no longer experience in real life.
The virtual world creates a calm and meditative space designed to reduce anxiety while preserving cultural identity and familiar traditions.
But building such projects inside Gaza comes with serious obstacles.
Power outages are frequent. Internet access is unstable. Virtual reality devices are scarce due to Israeli import restrictions. And developers themselves are living under immense psychological pressure.
Despite these challenges, Salem says the team remains determined.
“In Gaza, innovation is not only about technology,” he explained.
“It is about resilience, hope, and giving children moments of light in the darkest circumstances.”
“The Only Thing Missing Was My Father”
Among the children who experienced the program was Alaa Muharram, a young girl who was injured during the Israeli attacks on Gaza.
After watching the Ramadan scenes through a VR headset, Alaa said she felt a moment of happiness she had not experienced for a long time.
“It felt like we returned to the time before the genocide,” she said.
“There was joy, reassurance, and family gatherings.”
But the moment also reminded her of what had been lost.
“The session in which we were gathered and happy was missing only one thing,” she said quietly.
“My father.”
Her father was killed during the genocide.
Alaa also explained that while watching the VR experience, she momentarily forgot she was injured.
For a short time, she said, she felt like a child again; living in simple joy, free from pain.
“Ramadan Is More Beautiful in Virtual Reality”
Twelve-year-old Zeina was asked a simple question after trying the program:
Which is more beautiful:Ramadan in real life or Ramadan in virtual reality?
Her answer came without hesitation.
“In virtual reality.”
She explained that everything she saw during the experience; lanterns, decorations, the iftar cannon, and family gatherings, are things that no longer exist in her daily life.
“Now there are no decorations,” she said.
“No toys. Nothing.”
Moments of Joy in a Harsh Reality
The program offers children a chance to relive small pieces of the Ramadan atmosphere they miss.
But those moments are brief.
Each VR session lasts no more than thirty minutes.
Then the headset comes off.
Outside, the reality of Gaza remains unchanged.
Many of these children still live in tents. They wake early to stand in line for water and spend hours waiting at community kitchens for iftar meals.
The virtual world gives them a fleeting smile, a short moment of joy in a life shaped by Israel's wars.
For a little while, lanterns glow again and laughter returns.
But when the session ends, the children of Gaza return to a reality where Ramadan continues beneath the shadow of loss, displacement, and survival.
