The people of Gaza long to hear the familiar call echoing from the minarets—“Straighten your rows and close the gaps”—words that once marked the beginning of Taraweeh prayers, filling Ramadan nights with serenity and devotion. But this year, the holy month returns with an ache that lingers in every heart. The Israeli occupation has robbed Gaza of its joy for the second consecutive year, following a relentless war that has reshaped life in the besieged enclave.

Israel’s brutal assault has destroyed 1,109 mosques, silencing the voices that once summoned worshippers to prayer. Tens of thousands who used to stand shoulder to shoulder in worship are now gone, victims of relentless bombings. And yet, despite the devastation, faith remains unshaken. The ruins of mosques bear witness to destruction, but the spirit of worshippers endures. They continue to pray—in courtyards, on the streets, and even atop the rubble of what were once sacred houses of worship—defying war with their unwavering devotion.

For many, the pain of loss is inseparable from this year’s prayers. Young Sajda Imad had eagerly awaited Ramadan, longing for the peace that Taraweeh prayers once brought her. Her mosque, “Marj Al-Zuhur,” in Gaza City’s Nasser neighbourhood, was more than a place of worship—it was where she grew up, where memories of faith and community were woven into her soul. But on the evening of 27 October 2023, the Israeli occupation reduced it to rubble. “I can never forget the spiritual retreat (Itikaf), the voice of the Imam, the quiet conversations between prayers,” she told Snd News Agency, her voice faltering. “When our mosque was destroyed, it felt like a part of us was taken with it. The mosque is gone, our home is gone, and Ramadan has returned with nothing but pain and grief.” This year, she prays with her family in their new shelter, desperately trying to recapture the spirit of Ramadan.

Nada Naji shares the same heartbreak. She once performed Taraweeh with her family and neighbours in Deir al-Balah’s eastern mosques, but now, with so many mosques destroyed, she prays in open spaces near the wreckage, sometimes in makeshift tents. “It is painful,” she admits, “but we have learned that prayer is not tied to a place. It is the faith in our hearts that keeps us going.”

For Ahmed Hamed, a long-time Imam in Gaza City, Ramadan feels incomplete. For fifteen years, he led worshippers in Taraweeh prayers, but now, the mosque he once guided them to is nothing but ruins. Yet the longing for prayer, for connection, persists. Even amidst destruction, Gaza refuses to surrender its faith.