In a tent in Al Mawasi in the south of Gaza, Jawaher Hammouda carefully ties plastic bags filled with salted fish – a delicacy known as fesikh.
Before the war, Ms Hammouda, 35, made it at home in Beit Lahia and sold it in the run-up to Eid Al Fitr. It was a family tradition passed down through generations.
When Israel's war forced her family south, that tradition was lost, until this year. “When fish became available at the beginning of Ramadan, we decided to start again,” she told The National.
For the first time in three years, Gaza is celebrating Eid out of wartime. Instead of the roar of warplanes and the echo of explosions, there are street vendors calling out to passers-by, inviting them to buy sweets and clothes for Eid.
Israel's campaign in Gaza has killed more than 70,000 people and left many more wounded or homeless. A famine set in last year after Israel blockaded Gaza's borders.
But between the destroyed buildings and piles of rubble, the scent of freshly baked sweets is again drifting through neighbourhoods.
For a brief moment, Gaza breathes, and for many, that alone is enough to celebrate.
In Ms Hammouda's tent, surrounded by the hum of camp life, her family prepared fish in the traditional way, letting time and salt do their work. With Gaza's economy in ruins, she turned to the internet to sell her products. The response surprised her.
“People are trying to create joy,” she said. “Even if life is hard, even if prices are high, they still want Eid.”
It is a similar story for Sufian Al Rifi, 52, whose Eid once revolved around making sweets. His family had worked in the trade for decades. Before the war, they owned several factories.
Now, all of them are gone. For two years, there was no work, no tools, no materials, no celebrations. But this Eid, that has changed.
“We pulled a few machines from under the rubble and repaired them,” he told The National. With limited resources, they produced small batches of sweets, just enough to bring back a taste of what once was.
“There is demand,” he says. “Not like before. But people want to celebrate. They are determined.”
In another part of Gaza, the smell of freshly baked ka’ak – Eid biscuits – fills the air around a cluster of tents. For Nisreen Nofal, 50, making ka’ak has always been one of the most cherished traditions of Eid.
“This is how we celebrate,” she said, but “many of the people who used to share this moment with us are gone”.
Still, she kneads the dough, shapes the cookies, and places them carefully to bake. “The war destroyed everything, even our traditions,” she says. “But we decided to bring them back. Gaza is destroyed, yes. But people still love life.”
A few days before Eid, Amani Abu Jalhoum, 33, walked through crowded markets and bought clothes for her children, Mohammed and Aseel. She picked up sweets, nuts, and even fesikh, the salted fish that has long been part of Gaza’s Eid traditions.
“We are trying to live again,” she said from her partially destroyed home in Sheikh Radwan. She spent days cleaning and fixing what remained of her house, half of it still in ruins, just to welcome guests like she used to before the war.
“This is the first Eid in two years that comes without war,” she says. “That alone is a blessing.”
Still, the joy is fragile. “There is a heaviness in the heart,” she adds quietly. “Many people are gone. Many families cannot celebrate at all.”
This is not the Eid people once knew, but it is an Eid reclaimed. “We don’t have much,” Ms Abu Jalhoum says. “But we have this moment. We choose to be happy.”
