In a narrow alley tucked between the rubble of collapsed buildings in Gaza city, the aroma of fried falafel - one of the last available meals - wafts through the air.
Palestinians recall a time when they ate falafels as a side dish, or in sandwiches with tomatoes and cucumbers.
Now finding this Middle Eastern staple is a matter of survival, amid severe food shortages due to war and Israel's blockade on aid deliveries.
“I came here to buy falafel because it's the only meal still available,” said Mousa Al Madhoun, 38, who was displaced from Jabalia and is now living in Gaza city.
“There’s no flour or meat. We eat the falafel without bread.”
Usually prepared from ground chickpeas or fava beans – or both – mixed with herbs and spices, falafels in Gaza are now made plain, to be eaten without vegetables or condiments.
“Today we eat falafel for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Not because we want to, but because we must. It’s only to silence the sound of our stomachs,” Mr Al Madhoun said.
Since Israel's closure of border crossings in March and its severe restrictions on humanitarian aid deliveries, starvation has taken hold across Gaza.
Essentials including eggs, milk, meat flour, and vegetables have vanished from markets.
What little stock remains is often unaffordable.
Flour now costs 150 shekels ($44) per kilogram, nearly 40 times more than the four shekels per kilo before the October 7, 2023 Hamas-led attacks on Israel that sparked the war.
In a makeshift tent lined with soot and dust, Mahmoud Al Madhoun, 32, stands over a crackling wood fire. Before the war, he ran a small restaurant specialising in falafel and hummus in northern Gaza. Displaced by the conflict, he now operates his business out of this tent.
“Before, I had everything I needed. Goods would arrive, and work was easier,” he told The National. “Today, I wake up at dawn and travel south just to find ingredients. The prices are unbearable.”
A kilo of chickpeas, which cost just three shekels before, now sells for 40 shekels, if it's even available. Garlic and onions are now luxuries. Electricity and cooking gas are gone. “I use firewood to make fire. It’s more work, but we have no choice.”
Despite the hardships, Mahmoud continues to fry falafels for anyone who can afford them.
“People come to me with 20 shekels, but it’s not enough for their whole family. I try to help, but everything is expensive, and I need money to keep working.”
Two falafel pieces now cost one shekel, seven times the prewar price. For a population already drained by hunger and displacement, even that is proving out of reach.
Anger is rising among Gazans, not only over the blockade but also against local traders accused of profiteering. Some have begun organising to protest against those who hoard or inflate prices of basic goods.
Falafel, long cherished in Gaza, has become a symbol of survival. In peacetime, it reflected hospitality and heritage. Today, it represents scarcity, resilience, and adaptation.
Yet for many, even this timeless dish is losing its flavour and meaning under the weight of desperation.
“Falafel is not a complete meal,” says Mousa, wiping his hands on his shirt. “We need eggs, we need milk, we need meat. We need dignity.”
