As Ramadan comes to a close, Laila El Haddad, a Palestinian American from Gaza, is racing against time to prepare dishes native to her homeland.
She skilfully kneads the dough for Ka’ak El Eid, a cookie popular during festive occasions such as Eid Al Fitr, the Muslim holiday marking the end of month-long fasting. It is traditionally made in large batches and then distributed to friends, family and neighbours.
Following the cherished custom, El Haddad, who now lives in Maryland with her husband and four children, plans to serve the Ka’ak and meals to her community.
But she has help with the difficult day of baking ahead of her: her daughter Bayaan, age seven, and young visitors from Gaza fill the dough with date paste and shape them into rings. El Haddad, who grew up in Saudi Arabia and spent summers in Gaza, says dates – especially red ones – are significant in her homeland. In fact, the name of the city of Deir Al Balah translates to “monastery of date palm”.
As the Israeli military continues its renewed assault on Gaza and the US clamps down on students who participated in campus pro-Palestine protests, Eid celebrations feel subdued for many in America’s Muslim community.
“On one hand, we're trying to go about our life and honour our rituals and our traditions like Eid and our sacred holidays. And on the other, we're preparing ourselves for what might come,” says El Haddad, 47.
“We're preparing ourselves for ICE [Immigration and Customs Enforcement] raids. We're preparing ourselves for the possibility of being questioned by the FBI. We're preparing ourselves constantly for, you know, deportation,” she says. “We're preparing ourselves for the continuation of genocide, and how and what else we can possibly do to stop that and help our families. Everyone is terrified.”
In recent weeks, US President Donald Trump’s administration has cited a seldom-invoked statute authorising the secretary of state to revoke visas of non-citizens who could be considered a threat to foreign policy interests, using this to target students and others who participated in the wave of anti-war protests on university campuses last year. More than half a dozen people are known to have been taken into custody or deported under this initiative.
Despite the anxieties and uncertainties, El Haddad is holding on to the traditions of Eid.
“I think this is a hard concept for a lot of people to understand. Why would you partake in something that is supposed to be joyous at a time that is so incredibly dark and painful? And it is precisely to combat that despair.”
El Haddad prepares the ingredients for Sumagiyya, one of the signature dishes of Gaza city. The tangy stew is prepared with beef or lamb, sumac, chard and chickpeas. The recipes are featured in the cookbook The Gaza Kitchen, which she co-authored with Maggie Schmitt.
“I think we have a sacred duty as Muslims, as human beings, you know, as a part of humanity, to be able to combat that despair with these acts of joy and resistance,” she adds.
El Haddad says the current state of fear among Muslim Americans is reminiscent of the time following the 9/11 terrorist attacks. At that time, she was in her early 20s and living in Boston on a student visa, and was among those detained.
“It was a very scary time for Muslims in general, especially Muslim Americans, but it was especially scary for those of us who were politically vulnerable, like Palestinians, and there was no one you could turn to. There were no advocacy organisations at the time.”
Preserving Gaza’s culinary heritage
Most of El Haddad’s family live in Gaza city, and have endured the harshest of conditions from the beginning of the war, dealing with starvation and displacement amid the bombardment. Since the war began 17 months ago, more than 50,000 people have been killed, including some of her relatives.
“Very early on in the war, in November 2023, I had an aunt and three adult cousins and my cousin's wife who were killed in an Israeli air strike in Gaza city. It was absolutely devastating,” she says.
Several of El Haddad’s family members who had been displaced to the south, returned to the north to the remains of their homes that were destroyed in Israeli air strikes.
She has a special relationship with her aunt, An’am Dalloul, who taught her many traditional recipes. She was a conduit to El Haddad’s grandmother, whom El Haddad had not met, and Ms Dalloul passed on the recipes and traditions that the family loved.
She recounts her two-hour-long interview with her aunt for her cookbook on Gazan cuisine, which ended with her aunt wanting to share with her how her grandmother made Sumagiyya. But it was a hot Ramadan day in August and close to sunset.
“I said, another time. And of course, another time never came,” El Haddad says. “Their entire building was destroyed and they were all killed, and my surviving cousin was described to me in excruciating detail how he had to dig out their remains from under the rubble, and how he couldn't even give them a proper burial because it was during a time of active Israeli strikes.”
So, this Eid, El Haddad is making Sumagiyya to honour her aunt and to keep that connection to a place that she feels is being erased. In these moments, her children create memories of the place that they have visited, but which, for them, is growing increasingly blurry in memory.
“Sumagiyya is something tangible and real and delicious, and I think I feel a connection to her as I'm cooking it, and to my grandmother as well,” El Haddad says.
