Beneath shattered minarets: Gaza holds first Tarawih prayers after war

As dusk settled over Gaza on Tuesday, worshippers gathered not in grand mosques but atop their ruins, marking the first Tarawih prayers since Israel's two-year war ended under a fragile ceasefire. Across the enclave, Palestinians knelt on uneven concrete and sand where marble floors once lay, their prayers illuminated by faint generator light filtering through nylon sheets stretched over broken walls—a testament to faith persisting through devastation.

Mosques Reduced to Rubble

According to Gaza's Government Media Office, more than 1,015 mosques were destroyed or damaged during the conflict, with at least 835 completely leveled. In place of domes and minarets, plastic tarps now shelter worshippers. Israeli surveillance drones continued circling overhead as prayers began, an Anadolu correspondent reported, underscoring the tension beneath the fragile calm that followed months of relentless bombardment.

Return to Gaza's Historic Al-Omari Mosque

In Gaza City's Old Quarter, hundreds returned to the historic Al-Omari Mosque, one of Palestine's oldest and largest, established over 14 centuries ago. The structure sustained near-total destruction in a December 2023 bombardment, but sections have been temporarily covered to allow limited access. "Even after everything, people prefer to pray here," said Muawiya Kashko, a worshipper from Zeitoun. "During the war, we were dying every day. But this is still our mosque." Abu Abdullah Khalaf added, "We stand here despite the destruction. We want relief. We want stability."

Faith Under Canvas, Loss in Every Heart

Across Gaza, similar scenes unfolded in prayer tents erected over rubble. Sheikh Rami Al-Jarousha, imam of the heavily damaged Al-Amin Mohammed Mosque, noted the changed tone of this Ramadan. "People are exhausted, from war, from loss, from displacement," he said. "Yet we will pray anywhere, even if it is over the ruins." For 65-year-old Ramiz Al-Mashharawi, the month arrives with profound absence—he lost two sons and a grandson, companions who once stood beside him during Ramadan nights. "This year, I feel alone," he said quietly, before joining worshippers at a temporary site built over Al-Kanz Mosque's remains.

A Muted Beginning Amid Fragile Ceasefire

When the Grand Mufti announced Wednesday as Ramadan's first day, many in Gaza described diminished joy. Previous Ramadans unfolded under bombardment and hunger, with families struggling to prepare basic meals. Now, while large-scale fighting has subsided, displacement remains widespread, electricity largely cut, and reconstruction uncertain. Thousands continue living in tents pitched amid rubble. Yet as worshippers lined up between broken walls and temporary tarps, the act of prayer itself carried quiet defiance. The US-backed ceasefire, in place since October 10, halted a war that killed over 72,000 people, mostly women and children, and injured more than 171,000. Since the agreement took effect, Gaza's Health Ministry reports Israeli forces have committed hundreds of violations, killing 603 Palestinians and injuring 1,618. Still, across Gaza, the faithful gather—beneath shattered minarets, on ruined ground, in fragile light—refusing to let war steal their worship or their hope.