Sidi Shayban’s Ramadan iftars challenge Israeli restrictions in West Bank

Nearly 100 displaced Palestinians from Gaza, the majority of whom are receiving medical care, wait silently for iftar in a modest Ramallah hotel. They are bathed in the golden sunset light while reclining on plastic chairs around long tables.

They contain loss-related tales. Some people use crutches and are paralyzed. Parents watch sick children, their exhaustion strewn across their faces.

Ahmed Abu al-Am and his volunteers distribute meals quickly.

Two vehicles had just arrived from the kitchen, some 15 minutes away, and two volunteers had taken trays and boxes of food.

Since 2002, Abu al-Am has served iftar every Ramadan at the Sidi Shayban communal kitchen.

He worries that there isn’t enough food as he wanders the hotel’s dining room. He states, “We do what we can.” Every donor, however, has his or her own priorities. What we receive is the only thing that we can give away.

Haya Nahal, 36, who arrived in Ramallah with her daughter Raghd two months before the war, is one of the displaced. Haya had to leave her husband and son behind to travel to Ramallah to see Raghd, who is 11 years old, for treatment for his neurological condition.

She says, “I haven’t been able to return since,” and she yells with a longing voice. Nothing can replace belonging, no matter how challenging life is at home. Although there is shelter here and generous people there, it’s not home.

Laila, a senior woman from Gaza, is a neighbor of her. She arrived at the Augusta Victoria Hospital in East Jerusalem along with cancer patient Amira. Laila recalls that “we arrived six months before the war.” I arrived instead because none of Amira’s immediate family was permitted to accompany her.

Amira passed away on November 13 at the age of nine. Laila is unable to travel home because she is still stranded.

A white handkerchief is in her hand. “I’ve been here for almost two years. I long for Gaza.

As the iftar begins, people begin to chant thanks and take their first bites. Everyone is served, as Abu al-Am and his team watch. They are the last to break their fast, always.

Back in the kitchen

Abu al-Am, 43, moves quickly between bubbling pots in his apartment in El-Bireh and the living room.

The area has lost its traditional home-like feel; heavy-duty stoves with wood-fueled flames licking the surfaces of enormous cauldrons have long since taken the place of sofas and carpets.

As Abu al-Am lifts each lid, fragrant rice, onions, and slow-cooked meat fill the air as clouds of spiced steam rise. The scent reaches the street, piqueing the curiosity of passing by.

Volunteers work diligently in the makeshift kitchen to season, chop, and stir things up. The food is coming in, and the daily fast will come to an end when the sunset prayer is uttered.

Soon, there will be a swarm of new visitors: some to eat and drink, and others to collect food to bring home.

Qudra, a Palestinian dish made with chickpeas, garlic, and slow-cooked lamb, is on the menu today. A separate gas oven roasts trays of chicken for variety while the meal simmers over a massive wood-fired oven.

Containers are ready to be filled and distributed near long, distant tables lined with them.

This pattern is familiar to Abu al-Am.

Abu al-Am describes the concept behind the “kitchen” as “the second Intifada” testing a cooked chickpea. Many families were left with trouble by the Israeli occupation of the West Bank, and we were called upon to help.

Since the second Intifada ended in the middle of the 2000s, the initiative has grown and changed to meet the needs of the community.

The kitchen’s current name, which is credited to the historic neighborhood where a revered wali, or saint, is said to have traveled from the Maghreb, fought alongside Saladin against the Crusades and was ultimately laid to rest, was first introduced in 2015 when it gained popularity on social media.

Pandemics, employment, and economic hardships have all since occurred. Volunteers sometimes conducted iftars to locations in East Jerusalem and Gaza, while others focused on distributing takeaway meals.

A tradition that dates back to the beginning of Ramadan and is known as “tables of mercy” in Muslim countries. In the spirit of the holy month, they unite communities and encourage generosity and cohesion.

More than 40, 000 people have been displaced by Israeli violence and escalations that have been ongoing since 2002, which have raised concerns of annexation, and this year in the West Bank. El-Bireh has been subject to numerous raids in the weeks leading up to Ramadan, despite the displacements.

addressing growing demands

Abu al-Am, a civil servant and father of two, claims that the kitchen’s goal is to reach as many families as possible despite the difficulties. “We’ve supported many governorates, including Gaza,” the statement reads. He tells Al Jazeera, “No one is left out.

Abu al-Am, who was able to use his inherited home as a charity hub and relocate elsewhere, claims that all of this is entirely funded by donations. According to the saying, “What we offer and when we make it available depends on the response from others.”

Demand has increased significantly since the pandemic. Then, with Israel’s occupation of Gaza and stricter West Bank restrictions, more families are in need.

He claims that in reference to the Gaza war, “many who once had stable incomes lost everything after the October war.” Palestinian workers were prevented from getting jobs by Israel’s restrictions. Who would go after those families, exactly?

More than 900 roadblocks have been erected across the West Bank since the start of the war in October 2023, causing division and choking lives. Abu al-Am and his team worked together with volunteers from various governorates to ensure supplies reached those in need despite the difficulties with the kitchen.

Shireen, who first visited the kitchen alone in need, is one of the volunteers.

For five years, I’ve been a single mother. She says, busily wrapping food containers and wearing her volunteer uniform, “I didn’t even know this place existed until they helped me financially during a difficult time.”

The kitchen’s organizers helped pay for Shireen and her children’s move-in, and they continue to support her financially through donations they make.

Without a formal education, Shireen found it difficult to find employment. She recalls that she was unable to afford rent or tuition for my children. “But we made it through thanks to this kitchen.” The least I can do right now is to help. My children join Abu al-Am in distributing meals, especially during Ramadan, and I help prepare and clean the food.

Mustafa, 14, is the youngest volunteer. He moves quickly between stations while carrying cartons of yoghurt and bottles of water. He claims, “I’m here because I’m an orphan and I want to make others happy.” “Volunteering altered me,” he said. You’re too soft for this kind of work, my mother would always say to me. But I wanted to show her and myself that I could do it.

Source: Aljazeera