Gaza, Palestine – On previous Eid holidays, the Baroud family would set out in the early light of dawn to kick off festivities, driving through the streets of Shati refugee camp in Gaza City, visiting homes of relatives, and sharing the meat of a sacrificial animal among family members.

At the end of each holiday, they took an annual family photo – a fixed ritual every Eid – and shared it with relatives abroad.

However, on Eid today, amid Israel’s genocide against Palestinians in Gaza, Walaa Baroud sits before the last version of that photo, holding it in his hands as the only memory of a time that has passed.

Of the 22 faces that filled the frame, 13 are now gone. They were killed in successive Israeli strikes targeting the extended family, in which more than 80 members died.

While the family once gathered for a single photograph, those who remain now gather in mourning for their brother, Baha Baroud.

Baha was killed days ago in an Israeli strike, leaving his relatives with an Eid that begins at a condolence tent for him and continues at the hospital where his body still lies.

“The war has not stopped devouring our loved ones, and we never expected to open a mourning tent during a truce,” Walaa tells Al Jazeera. “We are trapped between two eras and drowning in painful memories.”

Israel’s genocide in Gaza has now killed nearly 73,000 people, according to the Gaza Ministry of Health.

‘An excess of loss and sorrow’

Widow Hajja Shama al-Zorbatli lives in a small tent on the pavement, shielded from passersby only by a hanging piece of cloth.

She has lost both her husband and her home. When asked about the atmosphere of Eid, she looks as though she were hearing the question for the first time. “Eid does not enter tents,” she told Al Jazeera.

Inside her tent, there is no electricity, phone, television or internet — she is so disconnected that she does not know the day or the occasion.

After seeing a clip of pilgrims performing Hajj in Mecca, she could not hold back her tears.

“I have never entered the House of God. My wish is to perform Hajj,” she said. “But what kind of Hajj is this when I can’t even find food to eat?”

Al-Zorbatli, who is in her 70s, recalls the details of her Eid in the Shujayea neighbourhood in Gaza City, when she would go to the market to buy clothes for her grandchildren, bring sweets and make Eid cakes.

Today, however, she describes it as “the Eid of the martyrs, passing without joy and with an excess of loss and sorrow”.

She points to her worn-out shoes, then holds up her threadbare dress. “I have nothing else except one other. I wash this one, then wear the other,” al-Zorbatli said.

‘The war has crushed us’

In the tent beside hers, another elderly Palestinian, Mohammed Obeid, welcomes Eid alone in his tent, after the war cost him his wife, his legs and his home in Shujayea.

Obeid, an amputee burdened by age and illness, sits in a wheelchair; he fills his time by reciting the Quran.

“I was dignified. I owned a four-storey house in the Shujayea neighbourhood, and I moved among people with the confidence of a man accustomed to abundance,” he said.

But after the war, everything changed. His wife was killed, his legs were amputated and a tent became the last place he ever imagined he would end up.

“Eid today is like any other day; nothing is different,” Obeid said. “The war has crushed us. I used to slaughter sacrificial animals and distribute the meat to neighbours in Shujayea. Today, people are the ones distributing and giving charity to me,” Obeid reveals, as he runs his hand over the place where his legs once were.

No sacrifices this Eid

The shift from slaughtering animals to their near absence in Gaza is not just a personal story. It reflects the near-collapse of an entire system that once relied heavily on charities and religious organisations.

Karam Khaled, coordinator of sacrificial animal projects at the Ru’ya charitable foundation, told Al Jazeera that Gaza’s sacrificial season this year has come to a complete halt – amid the closure of crossings, the scarcity of livestock and an unprecedented rise in prices.

He notes that before the war, the foundation used to slaughter between 300 and 400 calves and sheep each season. The number declined sharply after the war started, before coming to a halt this year.

The price of a single sheep in the local market has jumped to between $4,500 and $6,000 – compared with about $350 before the war, Khaled said. “Carrying out sacrifice in the traditional way has become financially impossible for institutions and ordinary people alike,” he added.

Khaled reiterated that the closure of crossings and restrictions on financial transfers from abroad have further complicated the situation and disrupted a large portion of donated projects linked to sacrifices.

Frozen meat

The foundation says it has turned to an emergency substitute: distributing frozen meat instead of live sacrificial animals, despite its high cost.

Ru’ya has allocated nearly 10 tonnes (10,000kg) of frozen meat for distribution over the course of Eid to soften the absence of the ritual sacrifice.

Buying patterns have shifted sharply towards frozen and chilled meat, as live animals move out of reach for most families.

Mohammed al-Najjar, a meat trader, explains that about 80 percent of the frozen meat in Gaza’s markets comes from Israel, mostly sourced from Argentina or Uruguay. The remaining 20 percent enters from Egypt as large cuts – sometimes up to 5kg (11 pounds) – usually of Brazilian origin, al-Najjar said.

Live animals have nearly disappeared from the market, he added, revealing that the price of one kilogramme of lamb has reached about 300 shekels ($105), forcing most organisations to turn to frozen meat instead.

Diminished preparations

The same pattern is reflected across Gaza’s shops and markets, where Eid preparations are more subdued than ever.

On a tour of Gaza’s main commercial streets, stalls and shopfronts display clothes, toys and sweets – but there are few buyers. With unemployment rampant and cash scarce, many families are limiting themselves to essentials.

“Bringing goods into the Gaza Strip has become unprecedentedly expensive, which has been directly reflected in clothing prices in the markets,” Amjad Akram, a merchant who owns a children’s clothing store in the Remal neighbourhood, said.

Shipping costs have risen to about eight times what they were before the war, Akram said, adding that shipping a single box of clothes used to cost 250 shekels ($88).

Today, it is about 2,000 shekels ($705), he revealed, significantly driving up retail prices in local markets.

Price shock

Akram points out that citizens’ purchasing power has fallen drastically, as priorities have shifted towards securing food and necessities, before buying new clothes.

He says this Eid season is nothing like previous ones, with customers coming in just to ask about prices, then leaving in shock without buying.

Except for the sounds of takbirs (calls to prayer) emanating from refugee camps, or from cars roaming the city streets with loudspeakers, the first Eid al-Adha since the October “ceasefire” in Gaza passes with almost no scenes of celebration.

Beyond that, people are immersed in extreme poverty and unrelenting loss, struggling to piece together shattered lives, which Israel has obliterated over the course of two years.