\n<\/p>\n
The bustle of Ramadan markets has been reduced to a trickle of somber 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.<\/p>\n
\u201cRamadan used to shine,\u201d said Mahmoud Sukkar, a father of four in the West Bank. \u201cNow, it\u2019s just darkness.\u201d<\/p>\n
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 \u2014 fast-breaking meals. Neighbors shared food and other offerings, and nights were illuminated by crescent-shape lights.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
But this year is different.<\/p>\n
In the West Bank cities of Jenin and Tulkarm, 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<\/a> that began in January led 40,000 Palestinians to flee their homes, what historians have called the biggest displacement of civilians<\/a> in the West Bank since the Arab-Israeli war of 1967.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n For the first time in decades, Israeli forces sent tanks into Jenin<\/a> and established a military post in Tulkarm. 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 \u201cterrorism.\u201d <\/p>\n Before Israel\u2019s operation began, the Palestinian Authority had been carrying out an extensive security operation<\/a> in Jenin, which had become a haven for Iran-backed armed fighters<\/a> from Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad. <\/p>\n A year ago, multiple officials told The New York Times that Iran was operating a clandestine smuggling route to delivering weapons to Palestinians in the West Bank.<\/p>\n While nearly 3,000 Palestinians have returned home since the start of Israel\u2019s military operation, most remain displaced.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Mr. Sukkar, 40, and his wife, Na\u2019ila, 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 \u2014 no heirlooms, no keepsakes, none of the decorations they used to commemorate Ramadan.<\/p>\n Their displacement fragmented the family, with Mr. Sukkar and their 9-year-old son moving to a friend\u2019s home, and his wife, her mother-in-law and three younger children staying with relatives. But as Ramadan approached, they sought to reunite.<\/p>\n \u201cWe couldn\u2019t stay apart,\u201d Mr. Sukkar said. \u201cRamadan means we have to be together. And we don\u2019t want to remain a burden on others.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Mr. Sukkar worked in Israel before the war with Hamas erupted in Gaza 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.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n But the struggles of displacement persist.<\/p>\n \u201cWe left with nothing,\u201d Mr. Sukkar said. \u201cNow, we don\u2019t know where we belong.\u201d<\/p>\n 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\u2019t break their fast in their own homes.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n The musaharati, the traditional night caller who used to walk through neighborhoods beating a drum to wake people for suhoor \u2014 the predawn meal before fasting \u2014 no longer makes his rounds. For generations, he would stop by doorsteps to collect small donations in exchange for his Ramadan blessings.<\/p>\n \u201cHe won\u2019t knock on our door this year,\u201d Ms. Sukkar said. \u201cWe don\u2019t have a door to knock on.\u201d<\/p>\n In Tulkarm, 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.<\/p>\n Intisar Nafe\u2019, an activist displaced from the Tulkarm 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.<\/p>\n \u201cNothing is like Ramadan this year,\u201d she said in a phone interview. \u201cI used to cook for others, help in Ramadan kitchens. Now, I\u2019m waiting for someone to feed me.\u201d<\/p>\n Ms. Nafe\u2019 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.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n \u201cRamadan is about family,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s about breaking bread together, sharing meals, visiting one another. Without that, what is left?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n .<\/p>\n She misses watching Ramadan-themed Arab and Turkish soap operas and the traditions surrounding Ramadan meals.<\/p>\n \u201cMy mother, now 88, learned these dishes from my grandmother, who was a Nakba survivor,\u201d she said, referring to the displacement of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians during Israel\u2019s founding in 1948. \u201cOur kitchen was a continuation of the homes we lost.\u201d<\/p>\n Ramadan\u2019s meal structure \u2014 breaking the fast with water and dates, followed by soup, salad and a main course \u2014 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\u2019clock, people rush outside to receive the donations. The meals often arrive cold.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n \u201cWe do what we can to make it feel like home,\u201d Ms. Sukkar said. \u201cI pour water into plastic cups. I lay out what little we have. But it\u2019s not the same.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n A nostalgic smile flickered across her face. \u201cMy iftar table in Ramadan used to be the most beautiful thing,\u201d she continued. \u201cMaybe our house in the camp was small and crowded, but with time, neighbors became family. It was our little paradise, our safety.\u201d<\/p>\n Many displaced families are uncertain when, or if, they will ever return home. Israel has given no sign of ending its operation soon.<\/p>\n \u201cRamadan is supposed to be a time of renewal,\u201d Ms. Nafe\u2019 said, \u201cbut in Tulkarm, it is a month of waiting \u2014 waiting for news, waiting for a sign that life might return to what it once was.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n