Ramadan Iftars Sidi Shayban Iftars Explain Israeli Limitations in the West Coast | Israel-Palestinian conflict

El-Bireh, busy west coast- At the modest Ramallah Hotel, almost 100 displaced Palestinians from Gaza, who received the most medical treatment, they are quietly waiting for iftar. He sits on plastic chairs around long tables, bathed in the golden light of the sunset.

They carry stories of loss. Some rely on crutches, missing limbs. Parents look after sick children, exhaustion imprinted in their faces.

Ahmed Abu al-am and his volunteers move fast, distributing meals.

Several volunteers full of drawers and boxes of food from two vehicles that have just arrived from the kitchen, some 15 minutes away.

Abu al-am led by Sidi Shayban shared cuisine since 2002, serving iftar every Ramadan.

As he passes the meals around the hotel, he worries that there is not enough food. “We do what we can do,” he says. “But every donor has its priorities. We can only distribute what we are given.”

Among the displaced is Haya Nahal, 36, who arrived in Rahd in Ramallah, two months before the war. Raghd, 11, has a neurological disorder, and Haya had to leave his wife and son behind him to visit Ramallah for Ragh’s treatment.

“Since then, I haven’t been able to come back,” her voice is heavy. “No matter how hard he was at home, nothing replaces affiliation. We have refuge here and kind people help, but it’s not at home.”

Next to her, Laila, an older woman from Gaza, sits. She arrived at the occupied Augusta Victoria hospital from East Jerusalem with her grandson Amir, who had cancer. “We arrived six months before the war,” Lail recounts. “None of Amir’s immediate family is allowed to follow her, so I came instead.”

On November 13, Amira died at the age of nine. Laila remains stranded, unable to return home.

Squeezed a white handkerchief. “I’ve been here for almost two years. I miss the gauze.”

As iftar begins, the room calms down and people take their first snacks, whispering to gratitude. Abu al-am and his team look further, ensuring that everyone is served. They are always the last to break quickly.

Return to the kitchen

Through the living room and balcony of his apartment in El-Bireh, Abu al-am, 43, moving quickly between the pots of pots.

The space no longer resembles home-sofa and carpets have long been replaced by heavy furnaces, and their flames that licked the base of massive boilers on wood.

While Abu al-am lifts every lid, clouds of spicy steam are raised, filling the air with the smell of slow cooked meat, onion and fragrant rice. The aroma descends into the street, attracting curious passers -by.

In improvised kitchen, volunteers mix, chop and season with practical efficiency. The food is coming, and there is still time before Maghrib, when the sunset will signal the end of the daily fast.

Soon, the first visitors will push themselves – some will sit and eat, others to collect meals to bring home.

Today’s menu is quid, Palestinian dish of fragrant rice cooked with chickpeas, garlic and lamb with slow cooked. The meal is settled over a massive wood oven, while a separate gas oven bakes chicken drawers for variety.

Nearby are long tables lined with containers, ready to fill and distribute.

For Abu al-am, this routine is the second nature.

“The idea for the kitchen came during The second intifada“Explains Abu al-am, squeezing chickpeas to test if he’s cooked.” The Israeli siege on the west coast has left many families who fought, and we had to do something to help. “

The initiative has increased since the second intifada ended in the mid-2000s and adapted to the needs of the community.

It was not until 2015 that when she gained attraction on social media did the kitchen take its current name – honor the historical neighborhood in which a distinguished Wali, or a saint, believed to have traveled from Maghreb, fought with Saladin against the Crusades and was set here to rest here.

Since then, pandemic, interest and economic difficulties have come and disappeared. For several years, volunteers have hosted iftars to East Jerusalem and Gaza; In others, they focused on the distribution of meals to take over.

Public iftari, known as “Tables of Mercy“, The centuries -old tradition was noticed in Ramadan across the Muslim world. They gather communities, encouraging generosity and solidarity in the Holy Moon spirit.

This year, on the west coast comes in the middle Israeli violence and escalation unprecedented since 2002, which displaced more than 40,000 people and expressed concern for annexation. While El-Bireh was spared the shift, in the months they had brought to Ramadan, they repeatedly resolved several times.

Satisfying increasing needs

A civil servant and father of two, Abu Al-am, says that the kitchen mission is to reach as many families as possible, regardless of the challenges. “We have expanded our support to many Governet, even Gaza. No one is excluded,” he tells Al Jazeera.

“This is completely funded by donations,” says Abu Al-am, who was able to use a home he inherited to a charity center and moved elsewhere. “What we offer and how often we offer it depends on what people give.”

Pandemic has increased from pandemic. Then he came Israeli war against gauze And tightening the restrictions on the west coast, pushing even more families into difficulties.

“Many who once had stable revenues lost all after October,” he says, calling for a war in Gaza. “Israeli limitations prevented Palestinian workers from reaching a job. Who was supposed to support these families?”

Since October 2023, when the war began, Israel set up more than 900 blocks of roads on the western coast, fragmenting territory and choking for life. The kitchen struggled for work, but Abu Al-am and his team adapted, coordinating with volunteers in different governors to ensure that stocks need to reach.

Among the volunteers are Shireen, who first came to the kitchen in need.

“I am a single mother for five years. I didn’t even know that this place existed until they had financially helped me in a difficult time,” she says, heatedly trimmed meals tanks, dressed in her volunteer uniform.

The organizers of the kitchen helped pay the room Shireen and her children could move in and continue to help her financially through the donations they collect.

Without a formal degree, Shireen struggled to find a job. “I couldn’t afford rent or school fees for my children,” she remembers. “But thanks to this kitchen, we have passed. Now, the least I can do is come back. I help in the preparation of food and clean, and my children join Abu Al-Am in the distribution of meals, especially during Ramadan.”

The youngest volunteer is 14-year-old Mustafa. Wearing yogurt cards and bottled drinks, moving quickly between the cells. “I’m here because I’m an orphan and I want to make others happy,” he says. “Volunteering has changed me. My mother always told me,” You’re too soft for a job like this. “But I wanted to prove to her – and to myself – that I could do it.”

This part was published in collaboration with Egab.