Wearing our heritage on Palestinian Derss Day - Islam Al-Sharaa
July 25 marks Palestinian Traditional Dress Day. Since 2015, Palestinians have worn traditional attire on this day as a powerful act of resistance against the erasure of their culture and identity.Among the most iconic garments is the Palestinian thobe — a dress that carries the stories of generations of women, from village groves to cities of exile.Meet Amna Salameh, one of many Palestinian women around the world who use their needle to teach, preserve, and pass on this living heritage.
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Kuwait Times
5 days ago
- Kuwait Times
Wearing our heritage on Palestinian Derss Day - Islam Al-Sharaa
Wearing our heritage on Palestinian Derss Day July 25 marks Palestinian Traditional Dress Day. Since 2015, Palestinians have worn traditional attire on this day as a powerful act of resistance against the erasure of their culture and the most iconic garments is the Palestinian thobe — a dress that carries the stories of generations of women, from village groves to cities of Amna Salameh, one of many Palestinian women around the world who use their needle to teach, preserve, and pass on this living heritage.
Kuwait Times
6 days ago
- Kuwait Times
How two families crossed the rubble of Gaza, fleeing war and hunger
WHO chief warns of man-made starvation in Gaza GAZA/CAIRO: The Bakrons and Al-Bareems, two families from opposite ends of Gaza, have criss-crossed the rubble-strewn territory many times during 21 months of war, in search of food and shelter from Zionist attacks. They've sought refuge in the homes of friends and relatives, in school classrooms and in tents, moving frequently as the Zionist military has ordered civilians from one zone to another. The Bareems, from southern Gaza, have a disabled child who they have pushed in his wheelchair. The Bakrons, from the north, stopped wandering in May after two children of their children were killed in an airstrike. 'Our story is one of displacement, loss of loved ones, hunger, humiliation and loss of hope,' said Nizar Bakron, 38, who lost his daughter Olina, 10, and son Rebhi, eight. The families' experiences illustrate the plight of the 1.9 million Gaza residents - 90 percent of the population - that the United Nations says have been displaced during the conflict. Zionist's war in Gaza has left much of the enclave in ruins and its people desperate from hunger. Before the war, Nizar and his wife Amal, four years his junior, had a happy life in Shejaia, a teeming district in the east of Gaza City. Their eldest Adam is 12; the youngest, Youssef, a baby. Photographs, seen by Reuters, show family parties at home and days at the beach. 'When the October 7 attack happened, I knew it wouldn't be something good for us,' Nizar said. They left home the next day for Amal's mother's house further south in Zahra, he said. Five days later the Zionist entity began ordering civilians in northern Gaza to move south and, on October 27, it launched a ground invasion. Throughout the war the Zionist entity has issued evacuation orders in areas where it plans to conduct operations - though it has also struck elsewhere during those periods. The Zionist entity says the orders protect civilians but it strikes wherever it locates Hamas fighters, who hide among the population. Hamas denies using civilians as shields. GAZA: People make their way along Al-Rashid street in western Jabalia on July 23, 2025, after receiving humanitarian aid from an aid distribution point in the northern Gaza Strip.--AFP Palestinians accuse the Zionist entity of using the evacuation orders to uproot the population, which it denies. The family left for Nuseirat, an old refugee camp in central Gaza, where they crammed into an apartment owned by Amal's relatives for five months. Zionist's bombardment was heaviest in the first months of the war. The Gaza Health Ministry, controlled by Hamas, said the death toll reached 32,845 by the end of March 2024. It has now passed 59,000 people, the ministry says. Food and fuel were becoming very expensive, with little aid arriving. In April, Zionist issued an evacuation order and the Bakrons went further south to Rafah on the border with Egypt where there was more to eat. They loaded the car and a trailer with mattresses, clothes, kitchen equipment and a solar panel and drove 15 miles along roads lined with ruins. In Rafah, they squeezed into a classroom of a UN school which they shared with Nizar's two brothers and their families - about 20 people. Their savings were quickly disappearing. Weeks later, a new Zionist evacuation order moved them to Khan Younis, a few kilometers away, and another crowded classroom. In January, a ceasefire allowed them to move back north to Nuseirat, where the family had land. They cleared a room in a damaged building to live in. 'We thought things would get better,' Nizar said. But, after less than two months, the ceasefire collapsed on March 18. Two days later, Bakron's sister, her husband and two daughters were killed in an airstrike in Khan Younis, he said. As Zionist operations escalated, the family fled to Gaza City. They pitched a tent - the first time they had to live in one - against a building on Wehda Street, a central district. On May 25, as most of the family slept, Nizar was sitting outside, talking on the phone, when an airstrike hit and the building collapsed. He pulled away the debris but Olina and Rebhi were dead. His wife Amal and eldest Adam were injured, and the baby Youssef's leg was broken. Nizar does not know how they can move again. The family is in mourning and their car was damaged in the strike, he said. The UN estimates nearly 90% of Gaza's territory is covered by Zionist evacuation orders or within Zionist militarized zones, leaving the population squeezed into two swathes of land where food is increasingly scarce. The Zionist entity says restrictions on aid are needed to prevent it being diverted to Hamas. World Health Organization chief Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus said on Wednesday Gaza is suffering from man-made starvation. Amal, who still has bruising on her face and wears a brace upon her arm after the attack, grieves for her two children: 'My life changed, from having everything to having nothing, after being displaced.' 'We fear for our lives' Majed Al-Bareem, 32, was a teacher before the war in Bani Suheila, a town east of Khan Younis. He and his wife Samia, 27, have a two-year-old son, Samir. They lived in a pretty two-storey house with an external staircase that had plants in pots running up the steps. During Zionist's initial offensive, which was focused on northern Gaza, the family stayed put. But early in 2024, Zionist forces pushed into Khan Younis and the Bareems fled their home. They learned afterwards it had been destroyed. 'I had a beautiful house which we built with our sweat and effort,' Majed said. He showed Reuters photos of the ruins. They went to Rafah with Majed's mother, Alyah, 62 and his three sisters. The youngest, Rafah, 19, has Down Syndrome. Days before they left Khan Younis, his eldest sister's husband was shot dead. Her son, Joud, nine, is in a wheelchair. At first, the family stayed in a tent provided by UN aid agencies in a district called Nasr in northern Rafah. Three months later, The Zionist entity ordered civilians to evacuate and the family left for Mawasi, a rural area nearby where displacement camps were growing, he said. Although Zionist's military had designated Mawasi a safe zone, it struck it throughout the summer, killing scores of people, according to local health authorities. The Zionist entity said it was targeting militants hiding in the area. Since the two-month ceasefire ended in March the family has moved repeatedly - so often that Majed said he lost count - between Bani Suheila, Khan Younis and Mawasi. 'We fear for our lives so, as soon as they order us to leave, we do so,' he said. Crossing Gaza's ruined streets with a wheelchair has added to the difficulty. During one journey in May, he and Joud were separated from the family. It took them four hours to travel the five miles to Mawasi along roads littered with debris. 'It was exhausting and scary because we could hear gunfire and bombing,' he said. The family is currently in a tent in Mawasi. Their savings are nearly gone and they can only rarely afford extra rations to supplement the little they get from charitable kitchens. 'We are tired of displacement. We are tired of lack of food,' said Majed's mother, Alyah. Last week, Majed went to Bani Suheila hoping to buy some flour. A shell landed nearby, wounding him in the torso with a shrapnel fragment, he said. It was removed in hospital but left him weak. With The Zionist entity and Hamas conducting ceasefire negotiations, the United States has voiced optimism about a deal. Majed says the renewed talks have given him some hope, but he fears they will fall apart, like previous attempts. 'I don't think anyone can bear what we are bearing,' he said. 'It has been two years of the war, hunger, killing, destruction and displacement.' — Reuters
Kuwait Times
19-07-2025
- Kuwait Times
Stitching solidarity
Women across Kuwait have embraced tatreez — a centuries-old nPalestinian craft — as an act of remembrance, resistance and connection By Leena Alsuwaidan uring the pandemic lockdowns, as routines dissolved and isolation set in, a quiet cultural revival began in living rooms across Kuwait. Among those drawn to it were my mother, Mariam Baghdady, and her close friend, who found not just a hobby but a purpose in a centuries-old Palestinian tradition: Tatreez, the art of embroidery. They joined an online class hosted by Wafa Ghnaim called Tatreez and Tea, dedicated to teaching traditional Palestinian embroidery and the history embedded within it. What began as a weekly stitching session quickly evolved into something deeper. Participants weren't simply copying patterns — they were also learning their meanings, origins and the symbolism behind each motif. Certain shapes represented villages, colors reflected regional identities and lines carried legacies. Each stitch was part of a larger story passed down through generations. In a time when Palestinian identity is often politicized or erased, embroidery has emerged as a powerful act of cultural resistance and remembrance — especially for women in the diaspora. Tatreez is more than a craft; it's a living archive, a way of remembering, honoring and holding onto a homeland that exists more in memory than on any map. Palestine Map made with Tatreez Cross Stitch Embroidery Vector Art isolated on white Tatreez, decorative Palestinian embroidery symbol Kuwait Times asked Baghdady why practicing tatreez is important to her. 'Even though I am not Palestinian, I feel connected to these women and hope that I can contribute to the preservation of this art and pass it on to the next generation,' she said. Kuwait Times also spoke with Montaha Alsuwaidan, another participant in the sessions. When asked about a moment that stayed with her, she shared: 'The moment that stayed with me was when she explained the Biyut pattern. I never knew it actually represented something real, like an aerial view of the neighborhood. It made me realize that whether you look at tatreez from close or far, it's one big, beautiful story.' Here in Kuwait, the tradition has taken root in new and unexpected ways. Small groups of women — Palestinian, Arab or simply connected to the cause — are gathering to learn the stitches and the stories behind them. For my mother, joining the class was an act of cultural solidarity and learning. With each needle pulled through cloth, she wasn't just practicing a new skill — she was engaging in an act of remembrance, care and respect. The revival of Palestinian embroidery here reflects more than artistic interest. This movement is not confined to a single class or space. Organizations like the Women's Cultural and Social Society (WCSS) have hosted tatreez workshops in collaboration with local Palestinian activists. Cultural hubs like Bayt Lothan have included embroidery exhibitions and storytelling sessions to deepen public understanding. Even informal stitching circles have sprung up in homes, cafés and cultural centers — offering women a way to gather, share and resist quietly and consistently. These embroidery circles are forming quiet but meaningful communities. They connect women across generations and backgrounds through shared stories and steady hands. While the world rushes forward, tatreez asks its practitioners to slow down, to sit, to stitch, to remember. When asked why embroidery became so meaningful to women in Kuwait during that time, Alsuwaidan reflected: 'Because handcrafts were always how women expressed themselves when they didn't have a voice. And now maybe it's fading because women are finally being heard more.' In Kuwait, the revival of Palestinian embroidery is more than a cultural trend — it's a testament to survival. One stitch at a time, women are keeping Palestine alive — not only on fabric, but in memory and spirit.
