GAZA, (PIC)
As the sun rose on the Day of Arafah, millions of Muslims turned their gaze toward Mount Arafat, hands lifted to the sky, chants of takbeer echoing through the sacred sites, hearts yearning for forgiveness and mercy on the holiest day of the year. But in Gaza, the scene was starkly different. Hands were raised too, but from tents, beneath the rubble of destroyed homes, and in hospital courtyards. Here, prayer was no longer only for peace of mind, it became a plea for survival, a cry for relief from a war that has left no room to breathe.
On a day when Muslims await divine mercy, Gaza entered the sacred occasion under the weight of ongoing bombardment, displacement, and siege. Residents continued their daily struggle to endure amid a humanitarian reality growing harsher by the hour.
In the tents… prayer became the language of survival
In narrow alleys and rows of tents sprawling across displacement zones, the Day of Arafah looked unlike anything Gazans had known before. No preparations for the coming Eid, no bustling markets, no joyful sounds heralding the occasion.
Umm Muhammad Abu Ghunayma, displaced from eastern Gaza and now living in a tent in Mawasi Khan Yunis, said, “On this day we used to prepare for Eid, buying new clothes for the children, making sweets, waiting for the mosque chants. Today, all we ask of Allah is to live until tomorrow, to wake up without losing someone else.”
The long war has reshaped days and seasons, turning religious occasions into moments tinged with sorrow, anticipation, and fear. Yet the sky remained the destination of all prayers, mothers mourning sons, fathers searching for food, patients waiting in hospitals starved of resources, all united in one plea: that Gaza might see these days pass in peace, and that Eid arrive without new names added to the lists of loss.
The postponed Eid… joy absent, grief present
From a small tent west of Deir al-Balah, Mahmoud Abu al Awf, father of five, told the PIC reporter, “Eid used to mean joy for the whole house. Today we count the hours, follow the news, and search for water and bread. The Day of Arafah holds great meaning for Muslims, and we too pray, but here the prayer tastes different … the prayer of people exhausted yet still clinging to hope.”
Preparations that once filled homes and markets have shrunk to almost nothing. Families once gathering for visits now find themselves scattered across shelters, tents, and hospitals. Instead of Eid clothes or festive visits, the same questions echo in displacement camps: Will this area remain safe? Is there enough water? Will Eid pass without new airstrikes?
Takbeer under bombardment
In the few mosques still standing, chants of takbeer rose at dawn, while residents watched the skies with caution. The scene was painfully heavy, sacred chants mingling with the roar of warplanes, hearts suspended between the sanctity of the day and the burden of daily survival.
Aya al Najjar, displaced with her family from the north, said, “Watching the pilgrims, I felt deep pain. They stood on Arafat praying to Allah, and we too stand here praying, but our prayer is for the bombing to stop, to return to our homes, to live one day without fear.”
The Day of Arafah holds a special place in Muslim faith, a day of supplication, hope, and salvation. In Gaza, that meaning was more present than ever, as prayer became the daily language of survival, spoken in tents, at hospital doors, in alleys, and at every moment of waiting.
From Arafat to Gaza… one prayer, hearts bound in hope
During the pilgrimage, millions unite in chants and supplication, while Gaza remains etched in the hearts of many who raise their hands in prayer from the holy sites and across the world. It is a scene that ties a land burdened by war to a sky open to hope.
As pilgrims stand on Arafat invoking mercy, Gazans stand on ground heavy with loss, raising the same plea: that the war end, that the city survive, that families return home, and that Eid finally reach Gaza with the peace it has long been denied, without new farewells, without fear, without more absence.