Six Palestinian Writers on Celebrating Eid During Turbulent Times

Photo credit: Design by Ingrid Frahm
Photo credit: Design by Ingrid Frahm


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Photo credit: Design by Ingrid Frahm
Photo credit: Design by Ingrid Frahm

For Muslims in Gaza, Eid al-Fitr, one of the most celebratory and holy days of the year, was marked by tragedy--the last few days of Ramadan, Israeli forces launched an onslaught of attacks on homes, office buildings and neighborhoods. On the last night of Ramadan, the Al-Aqsa mosque, one of the holiest Islamic sites, was raided. A ceasefire has been reached, but the destruction remains and the ability to rebuild or remake those communities is profoundly uncertain.

Here, Harper’s BAZAAR asks six Palestinian writers from across the diaspora to reflect on what it felt like to celebrate Eid during such a turbulent time. As Randa Jarrar says, Eid al-Fitr is about “abundance,” and “during this time of abundance for some, we are called to fight oppression and injustice.”

What was this holiday like for you and your family growing up? How did you celebrate, or not celebrate, Eid?

Reem Kassis, author of The Palestinian Table and The Arabesque Table: My mother is a Muslim, but my father is a Christian, so we grew up celebrating both sets of holidays. For Eid al-Fitr we celebrated by going to my maternal grandparents’ house … and we got together early in the morning over tables laden with all kinds of food—meat braised in the oven with spices, shakshuka, fried fseekh (a kind of salted fish), fried cheese, and very sweet tea made with mint or sage depending on the season. The cousins then all got dressed up, and we went around to visit family and friends who all gave us money as an Eid present. It was a marvelous time as a child!

Zaina Arafat, author of You Exist Too Much: Growing up, I used to fast during Ramadan. I recall dipping my friends’ french fries into ketchup during lunch and feeding them, in a sort of vicarious eating, and bringing iftar with me to sleepovers. Eid was that much more meaningful, a reward for a challenging month, a day of getting to wake up and eat Cinnamon Toast Crunch in the light of day, instead of at 4 a.m. when my dad would wake me for suhoor.

Isra Al-Thibeh, poet and author of azhar: Where Ramadan teaches us self-restraint, self-reflection, to reset and reestablish productive and meaningful habits, Eid is a time to rejoice with the global Muslim community. In my family, it was always celebrated with the community—checking in on those at the local masjid (mosque) with family, friends, and distant relatives. It has always been a unique time that encapsulates the feeling of love and unity.

Joudie Kalla, author of Palestine on a Plate: Memories from my Mother’s Kitchen and Baladi Palestine: A Celebration of Food from Land and Sea: This holiday was always very special to us. We are very close as a family, and this brings us even closer as it extends not just to us but friends and acquaintances. The more people around the table, the better to celebrate with us on this beautiful day. We celebrate Eid with a large spread of food on the table and plenty of conversation around the month of Ramadan that has just passed us, and reflect on what we benefited from this time.

Yasmin Khan, author of Ripe Figs: Recipes and Stories from the Eastern Mediterranean and Zaitoun: Recipes and Stories From the Palestinian Kitchen: I am of mixed heritage; my father is Pakistani, and my mother is Iranian, and we very much lean in to my father’s traditions for this festival. "Eid" means blessed feast in Arabic, and as you can imagine, after a month of fasting, is a day filled with much feasting. There will normally be an assortment of dishes such as biriyanas, seekh kebabs, samosas, pakoras, chicken karahi–the works! As a child, I was always excited for the desi sweets that my father would bring home after going to mosque for Eid prayers. There would be some gulab jaman, semolina dumplings in a cardamom and rosewater syrup, an assortment of barfi, a milk-based fudge, and my personal favorite, jalebi, which are crisp and chewy sweet spirals.

Randa Jarrar, author of Love Is an Ex-Country and Him, Me, Muhammed Ali: Eid was the first day in 30 or more days when folks could get together for a morning meal. From there, we would all dress in our Eid clothes: shiny, celebratory, and colorful. We would visit family, neighbors, and friends. At each new place, we would play, snack, and receive Eidiyas— coins, cash, and gifts. If we were lucky, my mother would take us to a toy store where we would spend our Eidiyas on games and toys. Eid was a holiday of abundance. Abundant food, abundant gifts, and all the hours we wanted, free of fasting.

Photo credit: AHMAD GHARABLI - Getty Images
Photo credit: AHMAD GHARABLI - Getty Images

What has this time of year meant for you as an adult and an artist?

Jarrar: My art is rooted in my Palestinian-ness, my Egyptian-ness, and my queerness. Every Eid and Ramadan are different. Some are community filled, some are lonesome, some are more creative than others. A few have been times of mourning, depending on what type of colonial nonsense is going on.

Arafat: As an artist, it can be difficult to delineate the boundaries between life and work. We rarely allow ourselves to take days off, to let go of the pressure to create. Ramadan is a time to slow down, and Eid a time to stop. To soak in family, food, heritage; to refuel, feel gratitude, and to channel all that into art when returning to the desk.

Kassis: The beautiful spirit of Eid that I experienced as a child has unfortunately dissipated as an adult. In large part, it is because I now live abroad where there is no large community in my vicinity that celebrates this holiday. You don’t feel the spirit of it (the way you would feel Christmas, for example, where everything is decorated, and shops and music on the radio, and even food in the supermarket, lets you know it’s the holiday season).

Also, my husband is not Muslim, so his family does not celebrate this holiday. And if the holiday does not fall on a weekend, then work and school is never off. So it’s a much smaller affair. I call my parents and grandparents on the day of to wish them an Eid Mubarak. If it’s on a weekend, we might get together with another family who celebrates. But I definitely feel a sense of loss from not being able to experience this holiday the way I did as a child.

Photo credit: AHMAD GHARABLI - Getty Images
Photo credit: AHMAD GHARABLI - Getty Images

Al-Thibeh: After every Ramadan, I am overwhelmed with a renewed sense of happiness and peace that comes from within. Since Ramadan is a time of deep reflection and introspection, it inspires new ideas, thoughts, and perspectives on the world, which extends to the body, mind, and soul. This type of profound inspiration is essential to an artist’s work. It feels like a new realm of the soul or mind has been accessed, which is ultimately a blessing when it comes to creating. However, I believe the most significant and meaningful thing that’s brought about during this time is the revived love for creation, life, and humanity. I think as an artist, this is the ultimate gift.

Kalla: This time of year is always important, not just as a creator, but more so to reflect on being a good person and a positive human being. The world is so chaotic, and this time of reflection just quietens the mind and brings you back to center—like a monthlong meditation period for your soul.

Yasmin Khan: Ramadan is a time that symbolizes compassion, empathy, and reflection, and I try to embody that during the month. As well as taking the time to reflect on spiritual connection, it’s also an opportunity to connect with the experiences of those who are less fortunate than us. Those who have to go without food and water on a daily basis. Those who are suffering. For me, it’s a time to connect to our common humanity.

Photo credit: Anadolu Agency - Getty Images
Photo credit: Anadolu Agency - Getty Images
Photo credit: Anadolu Agency - Getty Images
Photo credit: Anadolu Agency - Getty Images

What joys do you associate with being Palestinian or living or moving through Palestine?

Jarrar: Our connection to our land, our families, our language, and each other. We are warrior poets, and we once defeated Napoleon.

Kassis: I associate being Palestinian with a joy that is intertwined with so much sadness. Our very existence is about struggling for the right to exist, to be heard, and to be seen. From the day you are born, being Palestinian is part and parcel of who you are. It is not a nationality, but a character, a character defined by strength, resilience, love of life, and generosity even in the face of one of the 20th and 21st centuries' harshest and most brutal forms of existence.

Kalla: The joy of being Palestinian is, for me, the fact that I have never in my life seen a more powerful, resilient people fighting for dignity and rights. I have never been more proud to be from Palestine, and I would never change it for the world. Being Palestinian is an honor and one that I hold very dear to my heart. We teach life with elegance and passion.

Arafat: The souk in Nablus, the hills, the sound of adhan, and the mu’addin calling everyone to prayer, the friendliness. The strength and confidence I feel when inhabiting the space where I’m from, where I have roots and lineage. Where people know my family and where I’m less anonymous, less on my own.

Al-Thibeh: The simple joy of being Palestinian can be found in the resistance of the people. Since the inception of the state of Israel, Palestinians have been subjected to unspeakable violence, humiliation, cultural and ethnic cleansing, and apartheid at the hands of the Israeli government and Israeli occupying forces. It’s not new news, but the violence has recently escalated and caused a lot of irreversible and lifelong damage for Palestinians.

Despite all of Israel’s efforts to silence the people of Palestine and their continuous efforts in expanding state-sponsored settlements, the people of Palestine choose love and solidarity. Both Palestinians within Palestine today and Palestinians living in the diaspora continue to show solidarity for the Palestinian cause—fighting for the rights of Palestinians and challenging Israel’s racist system and bigoted ideologies. This is something I am immensely proud of. It’s inspiring to say the least and makes me hopeful for the future of Palestine and the Palestinian people.

Photo credit: Abid Katib - Getty Images
Photo credit: Abid Katib - Getty Images

Khan: I’ve traveled extensively through Palestine on numerous occasions both when I was working as a human rights campaigner for a British NGO and also while researching my cookbook, Zaitoun, which is a celebration of recipes and stories from the Palestinian kitchen. When I think of Palestine, I think of olive trees, dabka dancing, and dining tables laden with bountiful, colorful mezze. I think of tomatoes so sweet and fragrant that you can eat them as if they were an apple and sticky diamonds of pistachio-filled baklava. I think of the Palestinians’ generosity of spirit, their laughter and humor, their resilience and hospitality.

Most of all, I remember hearing the phrase ahlan wa sahlan dozens of times a day. Loosely translated as, "Welcome," in English, the saying also has a deeper meaning, something along the lines of, "May you arrive as part of the family and tread an easy path as you enter." It’s a phrase that is extended in greeting from everyone you meet, be that falafel vendors and fruit sellers, taxi drivers or shopkeepers, and is always accompanied with a beaming smile. The warmth with which Palestinians welcome strangers to their land is one of the things I love most about traveling through the region.

Photo credit: Anadolu Agency - Getty Images
Photo credit: Anadolu Agency - Getty Images

How did you acknowledge this Eid? How has celebrating Eid this year felt different ? And how did you cope or find some sort of normalcy?

Jarrar: Since it's a time of abundance, I shared Eid Mubarak messages with my friends, ate delicious foods, dressed up, and made out with someone for hours.

Arafat: This Eid, I traveled from NYC to D.C. to spend the holiday with my parents and a few relatives. The darkness and pain of what’s happening in Palestine loomed over everything, the fear, the sadness. We hugged and shed tears and played music, and consciously appreciated what we have.

Khan: The Israeli army’s attacks on Palestinians dominated Eid this year. All the family and friends I spoke to that day all acknowledged they were finding it hard to celebrate while bombs were being dropped on the people of Gaza. In Islam, we believe in what we call the "ummah," which is a term used to describe the worldwide community of Islam. This sense of global solidarity runs deep, which is why so many people of Muslim background feel so strongly about the issue of Palestine.

Al-Thibeh: This year has been about sadness and solidarity. It’s been about standing for the voiceless against injustice, aggression, and suppression. Although the aggressor is clear, the greater community has decided it will no longer support the injustice carried out by Israel’s government. This has provided a glimmer of hope for Palestinians as we continue to challenge Israel’s apartheid right-wing government and fight for the liberation of Palestinians.

Kalla: Eid has been extremely difficult and painful. Watching what is happening back home in Palestine has been excruciating and very shocking. How do we celebrate such an important day and time when so much suffering and injustice is happening? How do we sit and gather safely in our homes while others are taking their last breath?

It was not easy but, of course, nothing compared to what is going on over there. It has totally destroyed us inside as a family to watch this from a distance and really there was nothing to celebrate. Also, we are all separated by COVID and have not seen each other as a family in more than two years, like many people, so it was definitely fragmented to say the least. But we have to count our blessings that we are alive and safe.

Kassis: My daughters were at school, and my husband and I spent the day glued to the news, speaking to friends and family from back home to check on their safety as our own friends checked in with us to ask about them as well. We marveled at how Palestinians back home still managed to pray, to celebrate, to bake cakes and cook food even as they were witnessing yet another atrocity unfold in front of their eyes. We felt privileged to be able to tuck our kids into bed at night without fear for their lives, but immense grief at the unfairness our Palestinian brothers and sisters back home endure.

We realized the best way to cope and find normalcy was to do our bit to raise awareness about the oppression Palestinians face and try to do our bit to change that reality. For dinner, we made the breakfast foods I used to eat as a child for Eid al-Fitr and talked to our daughters about what was unfolding at home, why we should be grateful for what we have, and what sense of duty and responsibility we have when we are given this privilege.

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