Ramadan is a month of reflection, gratitude, and spiritual renewal. Every year, I find joy in sharing images of my Iftar and Sehri, cherishing the community, the food, and the quiet moments of prayer. But this year, my heart has been too heavy for such celebrations.
Each day, the news has brought more images of devastation from Palestine—families breaking their fast amidst the rubble of their homes, parents weeping over the lifeless bodies of their children, and the echoes of airstrikes drowning out the call to Maghrib. This Ramadan, instead of celebrating the blessings on my table, I found myself grieving the loss of those who will never see another Ramadan.
In Gaza, Ramadan nights are not filled with the warmth of family gatherings but with the cold reality of displacement, destruction, and death. The images are haunting—children with eyes too weary for their age, women searching for loved ones beneath collapsed buildings, men with trembling hands offering their last morsel of food to someone hungrier than them. The violence has not ceased, the suffering has not abated, and yet, the world continues as if their agony is just another footnote in history.
Nearly 300 women and children were slaughtered by the Israeli army in a recent attack, adding to the ever-growing toll of innocent lives lost. Among them are wounded children, war orphans, who have no surviving family left to comfort them. Hospitals, meant to be sanctuaries of healing, have become targets themselves, with healthcare workers risking and often losing their lives to tend to the wounded. Journalists, whose duty it is to bear witness, have been deliberately targeted, with over 150 now killed for daring to report the truth. These are not accidents of war; they are deliberate acts of terror.
How can we speak of peace when there is no justice? How can we bring ourselves to celebrate Eid-ul-Fitr when our brothers and sisters are burying their children instead of feeding them? It is impossible to ignore that this conflict is not an accident of history but the direct result of the Israeli government’s choices—one that has prioritised land over lives, fleeting gains over faith, and power over peace. What we are witnessing is not just war—it is a systematic erasure of a people, their history, and their right to exist. And yet, in their grief, Palestinians continue to pray, fast, and hope. Their resilience is a testament to their faith, even as the world fails them.
Amid this catastrophe, the fate of innocent Palestinians and the Israeli hostages remains a painful open wound. Their release—one that could have brought solace to so many—has been jeopardised by men seeking glory over humanity. In their pursuit of power, they have chosen to prolong suffering rather than end it. Each passing day is another opportunity lost, another life at risk, another family torn apart. And still, the world watches, complicit in its inaction.
As Ramadan draws to a close, my prayers are with those who have lost their homes, their families, their very sense of security. I pray for the innocent children who did not live long enough to understand the world’s cruelty. I pray for the women who carry the weight of survival, and the men who stand steadfast despite overwhelming despair. I pray for the hostages, held in a fate not of their choosing, and for all those caught in the crossfire of leaders who value their own legacies over human lives. And above all, I pray that those who have lost their lives find eternal peace with our Maker, that their suffering is not in vain, and that justice will one day prevail.
God warns us in the Quran:
“And do not incline toward those who do wrong, lest you be touched by the Fire, and you would not have other than God any protectors; then you would not be helped.” (Quran 11:113)
This verse serves as a stern warning against silence and complicity in the face of oppression. It reminds us that even passive support or neutrality in matters of injustice can have severe consequences. Remaining silent or failing to stand against wrongdoing allows injustice to persist and grow. True faith calls for action, for standing firmly on the side of justice, even when it is difficult or unpopular.
This Ramadan, I have not posted pictures of lavish meals. Instead, I bear witness. And I ask you to do the same. Pray, speak, share—because silence is complicity, and the world has been silent for far too long.
“O you who have believed, be persistently standing firm in justice, witnesses for God, even if it be against yourselves or parents and relatives” (Quran 4:135)
Soulful Spaces 