I prepare myself for the holiday… I smile at my children, participate in simple preparations, and repeat the words of congratulations that I have nothing else to say in response to the dozens of holiday messages I receive from friends and acquaintances.

I write “Happy Eid,” while my soul knows no rest since my brother’s absence, and since all of Gaza has become a place of constant mourning.

I write it… not because I am well, but because I do not want to burden the hearts of my loved ones with sadness, just as the whole world burdens the hearts of the people of Gaza with its silence, with forgetfulness and betrayal.

I write it… knowing that my soul is dead, and that the words of congratulations change nothing of the truth, but at least they do not increase the pain for those we love, nor steal a moment of temporary peace from them.

As for me, I am in a state of forced absence, perhaps a postponed death, my joy is cut short, my peace is postponed, and my words continue to bleed the name “Gaza” in every line and occasion against my will, as my family there lives between death and displacement, knowing neither the taste of the holiday nor its features nor the address of life.

On this second holiday since my brother's absence… and the departure of hundreds of martyrs from my family, and tens of thousands from my people in Gaza,

we prepare for festivals, and participate in celebrations, while in truth we are dead inside trying to escape from sadness and pain.

Joy appears to be a fragile mask on faces worn out by grief,

for what is happening in Gaza has harvested what remained in us of tranquility… of feelings… of features… and of the essentials of life.

We kiss our children with hidden tears, while some are bidding farewell to their children forever, without a coffin or goodbyes.

We eat meat and distribute congratulations, while some are searching for a crumb of bread amidst the ruins of houses and massacres.

We rejoice… while they over there do not ask for joy, they just try to survive, to stay alive for another day, to hold on to a single image of loved ones from whom only the name remains.

Gaza is not just a fleeting piece of news, nor periodic numbers of the bodies of martyrs that vanish in a series, nor a seasonal cause that is only summoned during the escalation of blood.

Gaza is a spirit that resides within us, an unquiet pain, and a constant test for the conscience of the world.

It is not only a land under siege, but our mirror that reflects our truth…

So we must either be human beings with hearts that do not sleep, or witnesses to the atrocities of the age.

And with all this pain and moaning that precedes the holiday, we cannot forget those mischievous elements of the fifth column, and the bats of darkness that thrive in exile, those who grind down every living and creative soul from Gaza, and strive to kill every seed of hope or signs of holding onto life and identity.

They practice betrayal with all the vile and dubious means they possess, without shame or modesty — not just with their hands, but with their destructive tongues, and their ambiguous positions, and the coldness of their cheap complicity.

They forget that holidays are not just rituals, but universal traditions that remind us of mercy and justice, and that Gaza — with its history, its people, and its patience — is also part of these traditions… it does not disappear, nor die, even if the media silences it or injustice mutes it.

On the holiday… we will say to each other: “May you be well every year,”

but do not forget that there are those who will spend the holiday as martyrs, and those who have lost their homes, their families, and their loved ones, and those who are still waiting for the planes to stop, and the bullets to cease, just to know what the holiday looks like… without blood.

And despite all this, Gaza remains — despite the siege and the massacres — a symbol of life and a source of love and resilience, fighting for life, and teaching us that the holiday is not just rituals, but a deep meaning of freedom, patience, and sacrifice.

Finally, I can only say that Eid al-Adha is not just a religious occasion, but a doctrinal and humanitarian right, and a universal reminder of comprehensive human sacrifice with a great message — the message of redemption, mercy, and justice.

And today, Gaza is that living sacrifice in a dead time; steadfast, vocal, a witness to the betrayal of a world drowned in hypocrisy, and faithful despite the wounds that redemption does not come without a cost!.