Grieving Father Ramez al-Souri Leads Memorial for Lost Children at Gaza’s Historic Church of Saint Porphyrius
A Solemn Return to a Damaged Sanctuary
GAZA CITY — Beneath the dim light filtering through the shattered stained glass of Gaza City’s Church of Saint Porphyrius, grieving father Ramez al‑Souri stood among dozens of Christian Palestinians to honor the memory of his three children and several other relatives killed during the war. The centuries‑old church, one of the world’s oldest continuously operating Christian sites, now bears the scars of devastation from the Israeli airstrike on October 19, 2023, that killed scores of civilians who had sought refuge there.
The service, held amid charred pews and fractured stonework, drew families from across Gaza who came to remember loved ones lost in the violence. Al‑Souri’s voice, trembling yet resolute, carried through the candlelit nave as he prayed for the souls of his children — ages 6, 9, and 12 — and for mercy upon all who perished. “They are with God now,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the altar adorned with simple white lilies.
The air was still, except for the breaking of bread and the murmurs of prayer in Arabic and Aramaic. Many participants held small photographs — mementos of those they had lost — as the church’s bells, long silent, tolled once more. It was the first time since the ceasefire on October 10 that worshippers had been able to return safely to the compound.
The Church of Saint Porphyrius: A Pillar of Gaza’s History
The Church of Saint Porphyrius, named after the fifth‑century bishop who shepherded Gaza’s Christian community during the Byzantine era, stands as one of the most revered Christian landmarks in the region. Its stone foundations date back more than 1,400 years, enduring earthquakes, invasions, and successive waves of conflict. For generations, the church has symbolized the persistence of Gaza’s Christian minority, who today number only a few hundred amid a predominantly Muslim population of over two million.
During wartime, the church’s halls have often become a place of refuge. Families fleeing bombardment once huddled in its crypts during the 2014 war and again in 2021. The 2023 strike, however, marked one of the deadliest blows to Gaza’s Christian community in living memory. Local clergy said nearly twenty people were killed within the compound that night, including children sleeping beneath the stone arches of a neighboring monastery.
The recent memorial was both a moment of mourning and an act of defiance — a testament to the survival of a community determined to preserve its identity despite relentless suffering.
Remembering Those Lost: “We Keep the Faith Alive”
As incense rose into the air, parish leader Father Elias Awad led prayers drawn from ancient Byzantine hymns, calling for peace and forgiveness. “We keep the faith alive through remembrance,” he said, his voice echoing off the cracked dome. “Even when bombs fell, this house of God remained a place for our tears — and for our hope.”
Mourners joined their voices in solemn chants, while children held olive branches — symbols of endurance in Palestinian tradition. Several families placed small homemade crosses near the altar, marking names of the dead on strips of parchment. Al‑Souri knelt before a mosaic depicting Saint Porphyrius himself, clutching a piece of debris he had saved from the rubble of his family’s home. “This is all that remains,” he whispered.
Outside the church walls, Gaza City continues to bear the marks of the conflict. Cratered streets, collapsed apartment blocks, and damaged water and electricity lines testify to the war’s relentless toll. Humanitarian agencies estimate that thousands remain displaced, sheltering in makeshift camps or the skeletons of former schools.
A Fragile Ceasefire and Lingering Fears
The temporary ceasefire declared on October 10 has allowed limited humanitarian access and small-scale rebuilding efforts, but residents say the mood remains starkly tense. Sporadic clashes and uncertainty about what comes next have overshadowed moments of calm. For Gaza’s Christians, whose numbers have steadily dwindled over the past two decades, any renewed outbreak of violence could further endanger a community already on the brink of disappearance.
Local aid worker Mariam Haddad described the fragile normalcy since the ceasefire as “a pause between storms.” She noted that families are rebuilding “not just their homes, but their faith in one another.” Food distribution lines run daily near the Old City, and the few remaining hospitals strain to treat survivors of last year’s bombardments and ongoing shortages.
The Palestinian Christian population, which once played a prominent role in Gaza’s civic and educational life, has fallen from more than 3,000 people in the early 1990s to fewer than 1,000 today, according to church officials. Many younger residents have sought emigration to the West Bank or overseas, citing economic collapse and repeated displacements.
Economic Impact and Humanitarian Struggle
The war’s economic devastation has rippled far beyond the immediate loss of life. Gaza’s infrastructure, already strained by years of blockade and recurrent conflict, suffered massive setbacks. Factories that once produced household goods now lie in ruins; fishermen remain unable to access most of the coastal waters; farmers face shortages of clean irrigation water and fuel.
The World Bank estimated last year that Gaza’s economy contracted by more than 25 percent, with reconstruction costs running into billions of dollars. Religious institutions like the Church of Saint Porphyrius have stepped in to provide limited assistance, distributing food parcels and organizing child education programs in partnership with international charities. Yet these efforts, clergy say, barely touch the scale of need.
Father Awad called for “unimpeded humanitarian access” and warned that without sustained economic support, “desperation will drive even more families to flee.” The church is coordinating with other denominations — Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant — to establish a unified relief fund for Gaza’s most vulnerable residents.
Regional and Historical Context
Across the region, faith-based communities have long played vital roles during crises. In Lebanon, local churches have served as distribution centers for Syrian refugees since 2011. In Iraq’s Mosul, the restoration of bombed cathedrals after the defeat of ISIS became a symbol of communal recovery. The memorial at Saint Porphyrius belongs to that same lineage of resilience: sacred sites transforming into spaces of both lament and endurance.
Historically, Gaza’s Christian heritage has linked the enclave to broader Mediterranean currents. Archaeologists have uncovered Byzantine mosaics, ancient baptisteries, and tombs that trace Christianity’s early expansion through the region. The Church of Saint Porphyrius itself stands in the Zeitoun quarter — once home to merchants who traded olive oil and glassware with pilgrims bound for Jerusalem. Its courtyard, where al‑Souri and others now gather in grief, has witnessed centuries of worship, weddings, and, too often, despair.
Calls for Peace and Reconciliation
At the close of the memorial, Father Awad lit a single candle from the altar and passed the flame from one congregant to another until the sanctuary glowed with dozens of small lights. “We carry our loved ones within us,” he said. “May this light guide us toward peace.” Outside, the soft hum of evening returned to the streets — a fragile hint of normal life amid the ruins.
Al‑Souri lingered after the service, sitting beside the names etched into a wall of remembrance. When asked whether he would consider leaving Gaza, he shook his head gently. “My children are here,” he said. “This is where I will stay.”
The Enduring Spirit of Gaza’s Christians
Despite the devastation, the Church of Saint Porphyrius stands as both ruin and refuge — a living witness to Gaza’s layered history. Restoration specialists have begun evaluating damage to its structure, hoping to preserve the integrity of its Byzantine stonework and icons. International cultural organizations have expressed interest in aiding the effort, recognizing the site’s significance as one of the region’s few surviving early Christian landmarks.
For residents, the church is more than a monument; it is a vital symbol of continuity. Its bell tower, singed but still upright, now mirrors the resolve of those who gather beneath it. Each prayer, each candle, each whispered name offers defiance against the void.
As Gaza struggles to heal, the story of Ramez al‑Souri and the memorial for his children has resonated far beyond the enclave’s walls. It speaks to a universal grief shared by parents across faiths and borders — the pain of loss, the hope of peace, and the longing for a future where sanctuaries, both physical and spiritual, might once again be safe.
In a city reshaped by war, the echo of prayer inside Saint Porphyrius carries a message that endures: even amid ruins, faith can still rise.