Colder nights and brighter streets typically mean that the season is ready for a celebration. Elsewhere in the world, the yuletide passes enthusiastically; in Gaza, however, the lingering feeling of dread remains persistent. The body pauses, but the mind remains braced for loss. Before bells can be heard, the echo of warships must first halt.
For the first time in two years of what media reports have described as Israel’s genocidal war on the Strip, the glow of lights radiating from a Christmas tree has finally graced the streets of Gaza. From the accounts of Al Jazeera reporter, Maram Humaid, the Holy Family Church decided to limit the celebrations to a prayer service and brief family gatherings. Even the ringing of bells was enough to fill people with joy—not from abundance, but from still being alive.
Unfortunately, not even the warmth of lights nor festive decorations can blur the atrocities left by the war. What remains from a city once humming in plenitude is merely a barren land littered with debris. People are beyond exhausted from running for their lives–enduring loss, displacement, and grief for what feels like an eternity. Celebration feels almost inappropriate when survival has demanded everything.
Rejoicing exists alongside fear and suffering. Even now, nearly two million people are still dealing with continued Israeli attacks and violations of the ceasefire. They remain deprived of basic services–food, sanitation, and medicine. Moreover, family gatherings feel out of reach as thousands of families endure a shelter crisis, with more than 80 percent of buildings across Gaza damaged or destroyed.
Additionally, with sites across Gaza turned into mass graves for war victims, it becomes difficult to enjoy the holidays as one once did. How can anyone rejoice when relatives are dead, buried, or never found? Reports from Anadolu Ajansi reveal that the Gaza death toll has now surged to nearly 70,400–almost 400 deaths occurring after the so-called ‘ceasefire’ came into effect. These numbers mean far more than statistics for Palestinian families. They signify empty spaces as families huddle together on Christmas Eve amid the ruins. They mean carols left unsung, as children now lie buried beneath wreckage. The enduring guilt of being among those who survived is heavy—weighed by the names of those who did not live long enough to experience the holidays.
After years of violence, even the ability to feel joy has grown unfamiliar. Happiness becomes fragile—laughter is quickly swallowed by silence, and even simple pleasures feel temporary, overshadowed by memories of those lost. Despite candles burning steadily, Palestinians cannot help but hold their breaths, waiting for everything to shake once more, paired with the familiar whistle overhead. Celebration no longer feels like relief—merely a distraction from the constant sense of impending doom.
Yet amid the ruins, a quiet defiance has begun to take root—tired of being consumed by fear, the people of Gaza are choosing to live, to celebrate, and perhaps…to hope once more.
The Holy Family Church—the only Catholic church in Gaza—has become an enduring symbol of hope for the Palestinians. It stands defiantly intact after being repeatedly targeted by Israeli forces, despite repeated vows to spare places of worship. The people of Gaza remained persistent in decorating the church—their hands might falter, their fingers trembling from habitual fear, but this does not stop them from reclaiming the holidays once stolen from them. For Janet Massadm, a 32-year-old woman from Gaza, her small act of defiance was styling her hair and putting on new clothes to celebrate. Her sentiments were shared by many—exhausted beyond measure, yet still determined to create joy and happiness. After years of constant turmoil, they can finally allow themselves to hope, despite having been deprived of it for so long.
Beyond the holiday season, this hope remains present but cautious. Not a hope for a celebration nor dreams of grandeur, but for continuity—for a return to normal life. They hope to move freely again without the constant threat of death, to go back to school or work, and for the war never to return.
As the rest of the world moves forward into another year, Gaza remains suspended between silence and uncertainty. This uncertainty is precisely why attention must remain, even when looking becomes uncomfortable. Eyes must not be diverted simply because the calendar has demanded it. The war has already stripped Gaza of its liveliness; we should not allow our indifference to normalize this, nor treat survival as anything other than a right. The Palestinians call on us to witness and carry their reality beyond fleeting headlines.
Until then, Gaza waits, wishing the sounds above are no longer bombs, but birds in flight—signaling a freedom long denied.
Written by Gweneth Pablo (odile), Insight PH
Gweneth Pablo (odile), Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
