What started as a regular Saturday in Ramadan, dressed up in our embroidered daraas, prepped new desserts handmade from the comfort of our kitchen to enjoy after futoor, ended with a mass of missiles that shook us to our core, and turned this holy month, or what’s left of it, into days full of fear, anxiety, and exhaustion. Ten difficult days have passed since our country, along with other GCC nations, was unknowingly drawn into this war. A position we never intended to play a part of.

Endless missiles and drones kept shooting up like fireworks from our enemies. Under the once peaceful sky we once settled under, sipping tea, craddling our children, reading a book, or enjoying a conversation with a close friend. We now sit under the loud echo of a running missile that feels like a gunshot to the chest. In anticipation and fear, we wonder where this missile will land. Was it shot down? Where could the debris end up? Did someone get hurt? Did they die? 

Every question that followed grew scarier. One that you don’t want to hear the answer to. And one that spreads dread as fast as cancer. This situation has led the people to live in one of three ways: fear and anxiety, numbness/emotional detachement/carelessness, or anger and frustration at the reality of it all. We see some resuming their routine while others are locked up, similar to when quarantine was mandatory back during COVID. To the first responders who had to work full capacity, leaving behind loved ones, kids, and their leisure time, they probably miss. (Thank you, btw.)

I write this as sirens bark loud and heavy while I bear my children, whom I’m thankful are asleep, so that they do not tremble and fear the sound of it. I remember the sound of a missile interception filled the sky. My heart raced, my hands trembled, and yet I found myself laughing while holding my newborn — one of those strange moments where fear, adrenaline, and disbelief all exist at the same time.   

Despite this, despite the war we’re currently enduring. Here’s what I’ve learned from it: 

• The tension of this war made me realize how frightening motherhood can feel in times like these. When you look at your children, you suddenly realize how fragile safety can be. Holding them close, I find myself wondering how I will keep them safe in a world that can change so quickly. War turns ordinary moments of motherhood into moments filled with worry, because every sound, every headline, makes you think about their future and how deeply you want to protect them. 
• “ ‘Perhaps you dislike something while it is good for you.’ “ (Quran 2:216). I recently came across a video of a woman reflecting on how the holy month of Ramadan was meant to be a time of worship, humility, and closeness to Allah, yet in recent years, it sometimes feels as though it has become more about the “exaggeration” in gatherings, fashion, and events. Seeing what is happening around us now makes me pause and reflect on this verse. Perhaps the hardships and fears we witness are reminders for us to return to the true spirit of Ramadan — to slow down, make more duaa, pray with sincerity, and reconnect with Allah. Sometimes moments that shake our comfort are the very moments that guide us back to what truly matters. 
• Lastly, these past few days made me reflect on how many blessings we often overlook. Living in peace is something we sometimes take for granted until the thought of losing it becomes a reality. This situation made me appreciate what I once saw as ordinary — health, a home, money, a stable job. I used to think the small apartment we lived in felt too small, but as I look around at the memories we’ve built in it I realize it was never small, my eyes were just not big enough to see it. 

As Meister Eckhart once said, “If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is ‘thank you,’ it will be enough.”