Not a Ramadan to remember for Palestinians in the West Bank

Doom and gloom: Israeli military vehicles in near the West Bank city of Jenin early this month. An Israeli military operation has uprooted tens of thousands of Palestinians who can’t break their fast in their own homes and don’t know when, or if, they will ever return. — Afif Amireh/The New York Times

THE bustle of Ramadan markets has been reduced to a trickle of sombre shoppers. A heavy silence has replaced lively chatter. No lanterns glow in windows, and the strings of lights that crisscrossed alleyways, flickering above children playing in the streets, have gone dark.

“Ramadan used to shine,” said Mahmoud Sukkar, a father of four in the West Bank. “Now, it’s just darkness.”

The holy month has long been commemorated in Palestinian cities by traditions deeply rooted in fasting, community and spiritual devotion. Families gathered in the evenings around tables laden with traditional dishes for iftar – fast-breaking meals. Neighbours shared food and other offerings, and nights were illuminated by crescent-shape lights.

But this year is different.

In the West Bank cities of Jenin and Tulkarem, especially the sprawling refugee camps in the Israeli-occupied territory, the streets that once glowed and reverberated with the laughter of children are shrouded in grief. 

An Israeli military operation that began in January led 40,000 Palestinians to flee their homes, what historians have called the biggest displacement of civilians in the West Bank since the Arab-Israeli war of 1967.

For the first time in decades, Israeli forces sent tanks into Jenin and established a military post in Tulkarem. Nearly 50 people have been killed since the incursion began, according to Palestinian officials. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel said the operation aimed to eradicate “terrorism.”

Before Israel’s operation began, the Palestinian Authority had been carrying out an extensive security operation in Jenin, which allegedly had become a haven for Iran-backed armed fighters from Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad.

A year ago, multiple Israeli officials told The New York Times that Iran was operating a clandestine smuggling route to deliver weapons to Palestinians in the West Bank.

While nearly 3,000 Palestinians have returned home since the start of Israel’s military operation, most remain displaced.

Sukkar, 40, and his wife, Na’ila, 34, fled Jenin with their children and his mother on the third day of the Israeli operation. They left with only the clothes they were wearing – no heirlooms, no keepsakes, none of the decorations they used to commemorate Ramadan.

Their displacement fragmented the family, with Sukkar and their nine-year-old son moving to a friend’s home, and his wife, her mother-in-law and three younger children staying with relatives. But as Ramadan approached, they sought to reunite.

“We couldn’t stay apart,” Sukkar said. “Ramadan means we have to be together. And we don’t want to remain a burden on others.”

Sukkar worked in Israel before the war with Hamas erupted in the Gaza Strip in October 2023, but he has been mostly unemployed since. With no stable income, the family eventually found rent-free housing in dorms at Arab American University in Jenin, an initiative funded by the government. They moved in one day before Ramadan, relieved to have a space of their own.

But the struggles of displacement persist.

“We left with nothing,” Sukkar said. “Now, we don’t know where we belong.”

Palestinians in Jenin long not just for safety, but also for the sights, sounds and tastes that make Ramadan a time of joy and reflection. With tens of thousands displaced, many families can’t break their fast in their own homes.

In the central market in Jenin city, street vendors stand by with racks of seasoned greens and plastic gallons of lemonade and carob juice. But instead of seeing excited shoppers hurrying to prepare for iftar, they face people moving quietly, their faces heavy with exhaustion and worry, navigating the sidewalks rather than the crowded stalls.

In previous years, families would stroll together after breaking their fast, visiting relatives or buying knafeh, a sweet made of dough and white cheese. Now, the streets remain mostly empty.

The musaharati, the traditional night caller who used to walk through neighbourhoods beating a drum to wake people for sahur – the predawn meal before fasting – no longer makes his rounds. For generations, he would stop by doorsteps to collect small donations in exchange for his Ramadan blessings.

“He won’t knock on our door this year,” Na’ila Sukkar said. “We don’t have a door to knock on.”

In Tulkarem, Ramadan is overshadowed by a sense of uncertainty, residents say. The presence of the Israeli military not only instills fear, but it also disrupts the very rhythm of daily life.

Intisar Nafe’, an activist displaced from the Tulkarem camp, said she had taken pride in cooking for her community. Her small kitchen had been a refuge, her meals a gesture of care. Her iftar table would have been filled with musakhan, a fragrant chicken dish, or maftoul, hand-rolled couscous.

“Nothing is like Ramadan this year,” she said in a phone interview. “I used to cook for others, help in Ramadan kitchens. Now, I’m waiting for someone to feed me.”

Nafe’ was displaced with her sister and nieces when her home was destroyed in a military operation, she said. She first moved into a mosque with them while the rest of her family scattered. She, her sister and nieces later rented a small apartment in Tulkarem city.

“Ramadan is about family,” she said. “It’s about breaking bread together, sharing meals, visiting one another. Without that, what is left?”

Ramadan’s meal structure – breaking the fast with water and dates, followed by soup, salad and a main course – is now a privilege that few displaced Palestinians can afford. For many in Jenin, iftar is a boxed meal delivered by volunteers. Every evening around 5 o’clock, people rush outside to receive the donations. The meals often arrive cold.

Many displaced families are uncertain when, or if, they will ever return home. Israel has given no sign of ending its operation soon.

“Ramadan is supposed to be a time of renewal,” Nafe’ said, “but in Tulkarem, it is a month of waiting – waiting for news, waiting for a sign that life might return to what it once was.” — ©2025 The New York Times Company

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.