Ramadan has arrived. I had hoped this year would bring good news for my city, my homeland, and just a little freedom. I don’t know what freedom means to you, but for me, as a Muslim observing Ramadan, it means everything. It means gathering with my family for iftar without fear. It means praying in peace without the threat of danger invading my home.
On the second night of Ramadan at 11pm Israeli soldiers stormed our house without warning. I was lying in bed, trying to sleep, while my parents were fast asleep. A few moments later, eight soldiers barged in. They ordered us all to gather in the living room. When my sister tried to spare our elderly parents the shock of waking up, one of them shouted “Everyone in the same room!” We complied. They questioned my father about how many sons and daughters he had, checking his ID along with my brother’s. Then they searched our home. Before leaving, one of them, with a detached tone, said “Thank you, Ramadan Mubarak.”
Those words, spoken coldly with an air of control, haven’t left my mind. How are we, as Palestinians, expected to live this, to adapt to this reality? Restrictions are tightening around the Ibrahimi Mosque. Worshippers, no matter their age, now find themselves counting minute after minute, waiting to be granted permission to pray, seeking approval for a right that should never be taken away. As for the Al-Aqsa Mosque, entering it has become a distant dream; no Muslim under the age of 50 is allowed in, our right to worship dictated by our age.
I hope that by next Ramadan, I, as a Palestinian, will be able to visit Al-Aqsa freely without permits, without restrictions, without needing permission from an occupying force to practice my faith.
Pray for the freedoms you have, cherish them because losing them is painful. Pray for a world filled with peace, and for the souls who lost their lives in pursuit of freedom. Pray that with next Ramadan comes the long-awaited freedom we yearn for.
