Aunt Jameela's Bread. A Story of Food, Family, and Love..... A beautiful new book by Palestinian-American Mike Odetalla about childhood and baking bread in his homeland.

A beautiful new book by Palestinian-American Mike Odetalla about childhood, family, and homemade bread in his homeland  

Auntie Jameela's Bread

by Mike Odetalla (Author), Jaber Yassein (Illustrator) Format: Paperback

See all formats and editions

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In a small village nestled among golden fields and olive trees, Aunt Jameela baked bread that fills more than just hungry tummies...it fills hearts with joy, stories, and love.

From the wheat grown in the fields to the warm loaves shared with family and friends, every step is a reminder of what truly matters.

A heartwarming tale of tradition, togetherness, and the special memories made around the table.   https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0GXRFK11T/ref=sw_img_1?smid=ATVPDKIKX0DER&psc=1

Buy a copy, enjoy, savor it... then pass it on to your local library or a child that you know and love 

Growing Gardens for Palestine

Sunday, May 10, 2026

Aunt Jameela's Bread. A Story of Food, Family, and Love..... A beautiful new book by Palestinian-American Mike Odetalla about childhood and baking bread in his homeland.

1940s, Bethlehem, Palestine 🇵🇸 Palestinian Christian newlyweds in Beit Sahour. In Palestine, the tradition of sticking green leaves and yeast dough to the newlyweds’ home is a folk blessing symbolizing life, growth, and abundance.

 Pals

@palsofnations

 

1940s, Bethlehem, Palestine Palestinian Christian newlyweds in Beit Sahour. 

 

In Palestine, the tradition of sticking green leaves and yeast dough to the newlyweds’ home is a folk blessing symbolizing life, growth, and abundance. 

 

Green leaves—often olive or fig leaves and sometimes kneaded directly into the dough—represent fertility, renewal, and baraka (blessing), while the yeast dough signifies prosperity, sustenance, and a household destined to “rise” and flourish.

https://x.com/palsofnations/status/2014681684713578666 

 AS ALWAYS PLEASE GO TO THE LINK TO READ GOOD ARTICLES (or quotes) IN FULL: HELP SHAPE ALGORITHMS (and conversations) THAT EMPOWER DECENCY, DIGNITY, JUSTICE & PEACE... and hopefully Palestine, or at least fair and just laws and policies]  

My life in Gaza: ‘We burned our copy of Nineteen Eighty-Four to bake bread. What would Orwell think of us now?’

Palestinians in a badly damaged building in the Rimal neighbourhood of Gaza City, 15 September. Israel’s military had said only days earlier that it would act with ‘great force’ in Gaza City and told people to leave as it stepped up its deadly assault. Photograph: Omar Al-Qattaa/AFP/Getty Images

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Karim in Gaza

Fri 3 Oct 2025 01.00 EDT

Karim is a trained nurse in his early 20s from Gaza City. Until Israel’s recent forced displacement order he lived in the ruins of his former home with his parents and brothers. He has now been displaced by the war 13 times and survived an Israeli strike in Rafah. He kept a diary for the Guardian over the past month.

17 August 2025

After two years, I’ve lost all hope. I don’t believe the news about [US President Donald] Trump ending the war. My father says we should move to Deir al-Balah in the south soon, before they force us out again.If it were anyone else, the UN would have stepped in. But for us, nothing. Now they talk about sending us to South Sudan – a country racked by civil war, already full of displaced people. There are 2 million of us, trapped in less than 20 sq km, just waiting to die slowly. And the world will shrug. [Former Israeli prime minister] Golda Meir once said: “[W]e will perhaps in time be able to forgive the Arabs for killing our sons, but it will be harder for us to forgive them for having forced us to kill their sons.” That says it all. Sometimes, I think Israel should be studied by psychologists – maybe then the world would finally understand the madness we live under.

18 August 2025

I caught a ride to Deir al-Balah with a friend – it felt like an act of daring: cars altered to carry extra people, trailers clinging on like lifeboats. You hold on with everything you have, because if you don’t, you could fall into the open road and be lost.

Near al-Nabulsi Square I saw a “hizam nari” – a ribbon of fire across the sky. Fighter jets carved a line of explosions above Gaza City, one after another; ash clouds rose and everything below them was erased. I counted five, six rockets – then stopped counting because counting felt useless. I have to find shelter for my family – an apartment, a garage, any small place. My mind keeps slipping, I forget things, I forget plans – the chaos steals them...  READ MORE  https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2025/oct/03/my-life-in-gaza-we-burned-our-copy-of-nineteen-eighty-four-to-bake-bread-what-would-orwell-think-of-us-now

AS ALWAYS PLEASE GO TO THE LINK TO READ GOOD ARTICLES (or quotes) IN FULL: HELP SHAPE ALGORITHMS (and conversations) THAT EMPOWER DECENCY, DIGNITY, JUSTICE & PEACE... and hopefully Palestine, or at least fair and just laws and policies]  

 My life in Gaza: ‘Do you know the series Squid Game?’

"For many Palestinians, especially Palestinian Christians, Maundy Thursday is not just a memory of faith but a reminder of their enduring connection to the land where Jesus walked... "

Sliman Mansour's The last supper (العشاء الأخير), oil on canvas, 1994

 

Daoud Kuttab داود كُتّاب

@daoudkuttab

 

Maundy Thursday, the night of the Last Supper, marks a profound moment when Jesus shared a final meal with his disciples in Jerusalem, breaking bread and offering wine as symbols of his body and blood—a gesture of love, sacrifice, and unity. This sacred event, rooted deeply in the land of Palestine, took place among olive trees, stone streets, and communities that still exist today.

 

For many Palestinians, especially Palestinian Christians, Maundy Thursday is not just a memory of faith but a reminder of their enduring connection to the land where Jesus walked. 

 

In a time when access to holy sites is often restricted and daily life is marked by struggle, the Last Supper becomes a symbol of resilience, hospitality, and hope—a sacred moment echoing through centuries of steadfast faith under occupation.