By Lubna Masarwa
It’s the last Friday of Ramadan, and the Old City of Jerusalem is a ghost town.
Al-Wad, the main street that leads to Al-Aqsa Mosque, is empty, and the shops selling sweets, herbs and clothes are all closed. Even the pharmacies and the famous Abu Khadija’s coffee shop have been forced to shut their doors.
No sweets are offered to children. There are no calls to buy Ramadan products. The usual decorations that adorn the alleyways during the Islamic holy month are nowhere to be seen. The rumbustious Old City has fallen silent.
Walking towards the main entrance to Al-Aqsa complex, Souq al-Qattanin, a market usually bursting with tourists, pilgrims and children, is empty.
Two Israeli police officers stand guard idly at the green door, ensuring no-one gets closer.
For those of us who have lived all of our lives in this city, the empty streets and closed doors inspire a deep fear and uncertainty for the future of Palestine.
Israel enforced the closure after it joined the US in attacking Iran. It started by closing the doors of the Ibrahimi Mosque in Hebron, before extending restrictions to Al-Aqsa. Both mosques are in occupied Palestinian territory.
Palestinians are used to arbitrary and punitive restrictions on their lives. But the closure of Al-Aqsa, one of the holiest sites in Islam, during Ramadan is unprecedented. Pretext of war
This has been the first Ramadan since Israel seized East Jerusalem in 1967 that Palestinians have been unable to perform Friday prayers at the mosque.
For Palestinians living in the occupied West Bank, this has hit especially hard, since Ramadan is usually the only time of year when Israel allows them, albeit in limited numbers, to visit Al-Aqsa.
Even during the Covid-19 pandemic, the streets were busier than they are now. Restrictions on prayers imposed then were a matter for the Islamic Waqf, which administers Al-Aqsa.
This time, it was Israeli authorities who banned crowds from the site, citing public safety considerations because of the war.
Curiously, the same rule does not apply to the other side of the city, where restaurants and coffee shops are full of people, and synagogues remain open.
It’s very clear that the empty streets presage a new and darker chapter in the history of a city that has endured tumultuous events for many centuries. Israel is using the war as a pretext to empty Al-Aqsa of worshippers, and to impose a new reality of full control over the site.
For Palestinians, Al-Aqsa is the foundation of Palestine – and losing it means losing something essential to our existence, even among those who are not highly religious.
A Palestinian woman who lives in the north of Israel told me: “Al-Aqsa Mosque is not only the sacred heart of Palestinian identity, but it has also become a symbol of sumud, of resilience and the enduring struggle for liberation, carrying the faith and prayers of Palestinians towards liberation of their land, the right of return and the restoration of their dignity as a free people.” Imposing a new reality
In 2021, during the May uprising, thousands of Palestinians marched to Al-Aqsa: both religious and secular, Muslim and Christian.
Palestinians from all towns and cities in Israel and the occupied territories rushed to the site in a symbolic effort to protect it, not only because of its religious importance, but because it stands as an emblem of Palestinian identity.
The fear is that this shutdown is the prelude to a takeover and a complete change in the status-quo arrangements that have long determined who controls this space. Israel is unilaterally imposing a new reality, which threatens to transform the site primarily into a Jewish place of worship, as has already happened at the Ibrahimi Mosque.
In 1994, Baruch Goldstein, a US-born settler, opened fire on hundreds of Muslims worshipping in the mosque during Ramadan, killing 29 Palestinians and wounding another 125. Goldstein was eventually disarmed and killed by survivors.
The attack was condemned by then-Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, but venerated by some on the Israeli far right. Goldstein’s tomb in the settlement of Kiryat Arba subsequently attracted pilgrimages from Zionist extremists.
Itamar Ben Gvir, Israel’s far-right national security minister, gave a speech in front of a wall-hanging that glorified Goldstein in 2023.
After the attack, the prayer hall was partitioned on the recommendations of an Israeli-led commission. Two-thirds of the space is reserved for Jews and the remaining third for Muslims.
Could the same now happen to Al-Aqsa? City under siege
Aouni Bazbaz, director of international affairs at the Islamic Waqf, said the closure could have serious consequences.
“The continued closure of Al-Aqsa Mosque, particularly at a time when signs of normal life are returning elsewhere, could carry risks and future consequences that cannot be ignored,” he told Middle East Eye.
Bazbaz warned that keeping the mosque closed could “heighten tensions and public anger”.
Fakhri Abu Diab, a Jerusalem-based activist and expert on the city’s affairs, said the public safety justification for closing the mosque was a lie: “The police and the government do not care about protecting us. There are no bomb shelters for Palestinians in Jerusalem.”
He said the objective of the closure was to empty the mosque, push Palestinians away, and prevent them from exercising their right to worship, especially during Ramadan. “We have been prevented from reaching Al-Aqsa, yet people are still in the streets and the markets,” Abu Diab said.
The closure of Al-Aqsa is part of a wider siege imposed on Palestinians in the Old City. “They destroyed our source of living. We were waiting for Ramadan to make some business, but they forced everyone to close, except if you have a food shop,” one young man, who defied orders to close his juice kiosk, told MEE.
“A friend of mine had to pay a 6,000-shekel ($1,935) fine for opening his shop, even though they allowed food shops to open. But even apart from the fine and the harassment, to whom are you going to sell? The city is closed and there are no customers.”
Israel has closed the entrances to the Old City. Soldiers guard the Damascus Gate and check IDs. Only residents with addresses inside are allowed through.
“Sometimes they open it, and sometimes they decide to close; there is no reason for that, and no one knows when they change the orders,” the man at the juice stall said.
A Palestinian man stands with a tray, selling some wheat. Nearby, an Israeli policeman walks across and confronts him.
“Go before I turn this on its head,” he says in broken Arabic, gesturing at the tray. “Don’t force me to do that to you.” -Lubna Masarwa is a journalist and Middle East Eye’s Palestine and Israel bureau chief, based in Jerusalem.