In Growing Gardens for Palestine Mother and her child (أم وطفلها), mud on wood, 2000 by Sliman Mansour of Palestine

Mother and her child (أم وطفلها), mud on wood, 2000 by Sliman Mansour of Palestine

Mother and her child (أم وطفلها), mud on wood, 2000 by Sliman Mansour of Palestine

During the first Intifada (1987 – 1993), Palestinians boycotted Israeli goods as a form of resistance. 

 

Artists, in their turn, boycotted Israeli art supplies. 

 

Four Palestinian artists, Vera Tamari, Nabil Anani, Tayseer Barakat, and myself, formed the “New Visions” group. 

 

Artists turned towards their environment and used wood, leather, mud, henna, natural dies, and found objects. 

 

This new approach helped to develop Palestinian art and formed a link between Palestinian art produced for several decades after Alnakbah and contemporary art created by young Palestinian artists.  https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=10162242212696051&set=a.10150390568516051  

 

 

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]      

"She was a shadow in human shape, curled in the ruins of a kitchen that no longer existed, feeding her infant an empty spoon. Over and over. “Eat,” she whispered, as if mercy could be faked long enough to save him. And the child obeyed. Because hunger makes gods of mothers, even when they have nothing left to give but lies. "

https://x.com/ezzingaza

https://x.com/ezzingaza/status/1930360856589566428

I saw a woman today. 

No. She was not a woman. 

She was a shadow in human shape, curled in the ruins of a kitchen that no longer existed, feeding her infant an empty spoon. 

 

 Over and over. 

 

“Eat,” she whispered, as if mercy could be faked long enough to save him. 

 

And the child obeyed. Because hunger makes gods of mothers, even when they have nothing left to give but lies. 

 

This is not famine. This is theology. 

This is where faith is tried like meat over flame; slowly, until it screams. 

 

In Gaza, children are not raised. They are rationed. Born between airstrikes, raised under sanctions, educated in silence. 

 

Here, death is no longer a tragedy. It is a statistic. It does not come like a thief in the night. 

It comes like the postman; regularly, predictably, professionally. 

 

 They send trucks. Not enough. Never enough. Ten thousand people chase one truck, like dogs beneath the emperor’s table. 

 

And the world says, “Why do they fight like animals?” 

Because they are starving. Because they are forgotten. Because this was always the plan. 

 

Yes, the starvation is by design. 

Not just to kill, but to unmake. 

To peel back human skin until only impulse remains. So that one day, when they eat each other, the world may say, “See? We were right all along.” 

 

But I ask you: 

 

If a child starves in the dark, while men argue over borders, and priests preach of patience, and human rights organizations hold another symposium.  

 

What is the value of that child’s life? 

Less than your comfort? 

Less than your belief in a just world? 

 

 If a single child must die for your silence, if one infant must be buried beneath rubble so that your country may have good diplomatic standing, then I say: 

 

Return your progress. 

Return your civilization. 

Return your peace. 

 

I do not want it. 

 

You say, “This is war.” 

 

No. War ends. This is eternal. 

 

This is the organized execution of hope.  And somewhere in the dust, beneath the broken mosques and blood-streaked bread lines, God is watching. 

 

But I do not know if He is weeping, or choking on His own shame.  

 

#GazaGenocide

 

Dr. Ezzideen  

 @ezzingaza

Irina Naji: The other day I was sent a photo found under the rubble of our house in Gaza. In the photo I am with my son - 1998. This is all that remains... and memories.

Irina Naji

The other day I was sent a photo found under the rubble of our house in Gaza. In the photo I am with my son - 1998. This is all that remains... and memories.

Artwork by Irina Naji   

Palestinian Heritage

Irina Naji

The sacred between mother and child captured in two images across time... Palestine past & Palestine present.

Sacred Motherhood

 

Palestine- artist unknown

 

Picnics & Palestine

 "One of my favorite memories as a child in Palestine was when my mother (AY) used to make her scrumptious meat pies for us to eat, picnic style, on the grounds of #AlAqsa compound in #AlQuds (#Jerusalem)...She used to get very early in the day, prepare the dough and take it with her to Al Quds (the old city) ahead of us...

 

Once inside the old city, she would buy her fresh ingredients of ground lamb meat, onions, parsley, and spices and take them to the old bakery in the area that she frequented and trusted.

 

Once at the bakery, she would make triangle shaped meat pies (ikraas), which she stuffed with her magic mixture of mouth watering ingredients and give them to the baker to bake in his oven, making sure that they were baked to her exacting standards of golden perfection...

 

Afterwards, she would take the piping hot pies, mouth watering aroma wafting through the air, place them in a large tray, covering them with a blanket to keep them nice and warm, and meet up with us at the ground of Al Aqsa, whereby we would have our picnic under the shade of the ancient trees...

 

She used to make extra pies so that when strangers happened on us, drawn by that intoxicating aroma, she could share with them...

 

Till this day, the fragrance of fresh baked bread evokes memories of my beloved late mother, may Allah have mercy on her soul, and those magical moments spent with her in the holy grounds of Masjid Al Aqsa!"  

 

Mike Hanini Odetalla

 

Merry Christmas from the Holy Land - The Holy Family painting by Palestinian artist Maher Naji

"Let the art and love be our common language." —Maher Naji