While the world prepares for Eid…
Muslims decorate their homes, buy sweets, chant takbeer, smile, wear new clothes, and get ready to celebrate joyfully.

But here, Eid comes to us once again under bombing, death, and hunger.
Eid al-Adha arrives while we’re under fire—
no sheep to sacrifice, no echo of takbeer, no joy entering our tents.

I remember how Eid used to feel before the war:
We used to bake date cookies at home, buy chocolates, prepare the house with excitement and love.
The streets would smell like maamoul, and neighbors shared the meat of their qurban generously with family and friends.
Eid had a taste, a smell, a soul.

But now…
Eid feels like any other day—
but not the “normal” people know.
Our normal is filled with spilled blood, bombing, destruction, displacement, and fear.
I search for firewood to cook with, wait for water that only comes once a week, and try to calm my heart, hoping those I love are still alive.

My mother says, “Eid still comes… but there’s no home left to welcome it.”
She kneads dough by hand beside the fire, her eyes glistening with quiet sorrow.
She whispers, “We used to count the guests. Now we count who’s left.”

We still try to visit the loved ones who remain—
even though every step outside the door feels like gambling with your life.
A sudden airstrike could end your journey before it begins.

The day before Eid, I was gathering a little flour to make bread,
when my little brother asked me,
“Are we making cookies this year? Will Uncle come back like before?”
I didn’t know how to answer.
Because Uncle is gone.
And the smell of cookies left with him.

I open social media and see others living Eid—
laughing, visiting, celebrating without fear.
And I don’t feel envy—really, I’m happy for them.
But deep inside, I feel a longing…
a longing for peace and calm.
For Eid’s call to prayer without the sound of drones and missiles.
For children to laugh without fear.
For a family gathering that’s still whole.

This is our Eid.
Every day we live is a form of resistance.
And every small laugh is a victory over war.

But ask yourself…
If your Eid came without electricity, without loved ones, without safety—
would it still feel like Eid?