Evacuated Palestinians in Qatar, separated from their families, see Eid – once a joyous occasion – as now a holiday marked by longing and loss.

As the phone rings, Shareehan Alloh and her three children—Ameer, Mayar, and Shereen—hold their breath, each one praying that someone will pick up. After several attempts, the call finally connects, and the familiar voice of her husband echoes through the line.

“May peace and blessings be upon you, how are you?” Shareehan asks, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and longing.

“Alhamdulillah, I am well,” her husband replies, though his words are barely audible over the loud hum of Israeli drones buzzing ominously in the background.

For a fleeting second, the distance between Al Thumama Complex in Doha and the Gaza Strip seems to fade away, but the harsh reality of war quickly sets back in. The fear of separation lingers in every word exchanged.

Shareehan, her children, and two wounded orphaned cousins – Bassant and Ahmad Ra’fat – were evacuated from the Gaza Strip to Egypt last year in January before coming to Doha a few months later in April.

This was part of a Qatari campaign led by Amir Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani to sponsor 3,000 orphans and provide medical care for 1,500 Palestinians from Gaza wounded by Israeli attacks.

Bassant and Ahmad’s parents, like more than 50,000 other Palestinians, were killed by Israel since its military assault on the besieged territory began in October 2023. The actual death toll is believed to be much higher, with thousands more missing and under the rubble.

The evacuees are now housed at the Al Thumama Complex in Doha, a residential compound that was initially built for 2022 FIFA World Cup fans.

Shareehan left behind her husband and remaining family in northern Gaza, who refused to move despite Israeli military orders to forcibly displace Palestinians to the south.

“I don’t even know how we managed to survive,” the 30-year-old said, her voice heavy with disbelief. “This war is genocidal and collective, showing no mercy to the young or the elderly.”

‘Nothing to celebrate anymore’

Separation from her family, says Shareehan, her voice is breaking, feels like an unbearable dream.

“You tell yourself, ‘No, my family was with me. We used to celebrate Eid together. What happened? What separated us?’ And now, we are countries apart.”

Shareehan recalls a time before much of the Gaza Strip was devastated and nearly all of its 2.3 million residents displaced, when Eid was a much-anticipated celebration.

“My family and I used to compete over the Eid preparations in Gaza before the war with the decorations,” she said. “And my parents, brother, and other family members used to knock on my door to wish me a Happy Eid.”

As Shareehan reflects on spending the first Eid Al-Fitr holiday in Qatar away from her entire family, she shares how what was once a day of celebration is now marked by sorrow and longing.

“Days come and go, but there is nothing to celebrate,” she said.

For her, Eid is no longer the joyful celebration it used to be in Gaza. And while Shareehan is grateful for the refuge in Qatar, the holiday season is now overshadowed by the pain of missing her family and home.

“Here I wait for someone to knock on my door. This is what I miss the most. My mom, my dad, my husband, my siblings. Back then, just having my family around me was Eid itself.”