The bust of the Ramadan market has been reduced to a trickle of gloomy shoppers. A heavy silence replaced a lively chatter. The lanterns didn’t glow in the windows, and the strings of light dimmed across the alley flickering over the children playing in the alley.
“Ramadan once sparkled,” said Mahmoud Sukkar, father of four in the West Bank. “Now, it’s just darkness.”
The Holy Moon has long been commemorated in Palestinian cities by traditions deeply rooted in fasting, community and spiritual devotion. The family gathered in the evening around a table loaded with traditional dishes for the Iftar. The neighbors shared food and other offerings, and the evening was lit by crescent-shaped lights.
But this year it’s different.
The cities on the West Bank of Jenin and Tarkarum, especially the vast refugee camps in Israel-occupied territory, the streets that once shining and echoing with the laughter of children are filled with sadness. Israeli military operations that began in January led to 40,000 Palestinians fleeing their homes. This is what historians called the biggest evacuation of civilians in the West Bank since the 1967 Arab-Israel War.
For the first time in decades, the Israeli army sent tanks to Jenin and established a military post in Tulkarm. Palestinian officials say almost 50 people have died since the invasion began. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said the operation was aimed at eradicating “terrorism.”
Before the Israeli operation began, Palestinian authority was carrying out extensive security activities at Jenin. Jenin became a paradise of Iran-backed armed fighter jets from Hamas and Palestinian Islamic jihad.
A year ago, several officials told the New York Times that Iran is running a secret smuggling route to deliver weapons to Palestinians in the West Bank.
Since the start of Israeli military operations, around 3,000 Palestinians have returned, but most have been evacuated.
Sukkar, 40, and his wife, Naira, 34, fled with Jenin and her mother on the third day of the Israeli campaign. They left only the clothes they wore. There were no heirlooms, no memorials, or any decorations used to commemorate Ramadan.
Their evacuation fragmented the family, with Mr. Sukkul and his nine-year-old son moving into a friend’s house, with his wife, mother-in-law and three young children together with relatives. However, as Ramadan approached, they were about to meet again.
“We couldn’t stay apart,” Sukkul said. “Ramadan means we have to be together and we don’t want to burden others.”
Sukkar worked in Israel before the war with Hamas in October 2023, but since then he has been largely unemployed. With no stable income, the family ultimately found rent-free housing in their dorms at the Arab American University in Jenin, a government-funded initiative. They moved a day before Ramadan and were relieved to have their own space.
However, the displacement struggle continues.
“We left nothing,” Sukkul said. “I don’t know where we belong now.”
The Palestinians of Jenin not only for safety, but also for the views, sounds and tastes that make Ramadan a time of joy and reflection. With tens of thousands of people evacuated, many families are unable to destroy fasting in their own homes.
At the central market in Jenin City, street vendors use seasoned green and plastic gallons of lemonade and carob juice racks. But rather than seeing excited shoppers rushing to prepare for Iftar, they face people quietly moving, heavy faces with fatigue and worry, navigating the sidewalks rather than crowded food stalls.
For the past few years, the family has been walking together after breaking quickly, visiting relatives, and purchasing sweet Knafeh made with dough and white cheese. The streets are now almost empty.
Musaharati is a traditional night caller who walked around the neighborhood, playing drums to wake people up before fasting. For generations, he stopped at his doorstep to collect small donations in exchange for his Ramadan blessing.
“He won’t knock on our door this year,” Skull said. “There’s no door to knock.”
In Tulkarm, residents say Ramadan is hidden by a sense of uncertainty. The presence of Israeli military not only instills fear, but also disrupts the very rhythm of everyday life.
Intisar Nafe’, an activist expelled from Tulkarm Camp, said she takes pride in her cooking for the sake of the community. Her small kitchen was a shelter and her meals were a gesture of care. Her Iftar table would have been filled with fragrant chicken dishes, or couscous covered in maftoll’s hands.
“There’s nothing like Ramadan this year,” she said in a phone interview. “I was cooking for others and helping me in the kitchen in Ramadan. Now I’m waiting for someone to feed me.”
When her house was destroyed in a military operation, Nafe was kicked out by her sister and Nie, she said. She first moved to the mosque with them, but the rest of her family was scattered. She, sister, Nie later rented a small apartment in the city of Talcarem.
“Ramadan is about family,” she said. “It’s about breaking bread together, sharing meals, visiting each other. Without it, what’s left?”
.
She misses watching Ramadan-themed Arab and Turkish melodramas and the traditions surrounding Ramadan diet.
“My mother, now 88, learned these dishes from my grandmother, a survivor of Nakba,” she said.
Ramadan’s diet structure – breaking fasting with water and dates, followed by soups, salads and main courses – is a privilege that evacuated Palestinians cannot afford. For many at Jenin, Iftar is a boxed meal delivered by volunteers. Every night around 5am, people go outside to receive their donations. Food often arrives cold.
“We do what we can to make it feel like home,” Sukkul said. “I pour water into a plastic cup. I lay out a bit of what we have. But it’s not the same.”
A nostalgic smile flicked across her face. “My Iftar table in Ramadan was once the most beautiful,” she continued. “Maybe our home in camp was small and crowded, but over time our neighbors became family. It was our little paradise, our safety.”
Many displaced people are unsure when or whether they will return home. Israel has given no indication that it will soon end its operation.
“Ramadan should be the time for renewal,” Nafe said.
