The Strip is a body without a soul of joy and happiness under the ongoing aggression

The commemoration of the Prophet’s birthday is a revival of memories laden with sorrow

In a sector burdened with wounds, pain and sorrow weigh heavily on the faces of people who, at this time every year, were used to lighting up their homes with decorations and filling the streets with the scent of sweets shared by young and old in joy at the commemoration of the Prophet’s birthday. But this year is different—no joy can be seen, no chants can be heard, only a silence that weighs on the soul and tears that conceal hope.

In the past, when this occasion arrived, they would gather around tables filled with delight, where sweets were distributed and hands raised in prayer, sharing moments of spirituality that lifted from their hearts the burdens of daily life. Today, those moments have been replaced with long sighs and the search for a morsel of bread to sustain a life under threat, amid the ruins that swallow their memories.

In the narrow alleys that once overflowed with children’s laughter as they carried small flags, silence now prevails. The children, whose hearts once danced with joy on these days, now stare into the faces of their parents searching for a glimpse of reassurance. No colors, no decorations, no sweets—only a hidden groan echoes through every grieving home.

Tel Aviv deprived them of joy and happiness. It stole from their hearts the rituals that once granted them rare moments of serenity and delight. The spiritual celebrations they awaited every year have vanished, and the commemoration now passes heavy with sorrow under the shadows of siege and aggression, instead of being an occasion that revives hope and brings families together.

Yet in their hearts remains a glimmer of the Prophet’s birthday, the memory of the noble Messenger who taught them patience and mercy, planting hope within them despite the cruelty. In every prayer they raise, they ask for relief; in every tear that falls, there is a certainty that tomorrow may bring a better life, when celebrations and chants return, and children’s smiles shine once more.

Thus passes this Thursday, which coincides with the commemoration of the Prophet’s birthday—laden with grief instead of joy. But it remains a witness to the power of faith in hearts worn down by pain, and to a hope that never fades no matter how long the sorrow lasts. Just as they once celebrated, they dream that soon they will regain the joy of this blessed occasion, with decorations, sweets, and laughter lighting the darkness.