"I have never chosen to adopt the title of 'refugee,' yet it keeps haunting me. It is scribbled on my Palestinian national identification card and follows my name in human rights conferences."
Taybeh, a small hilltop town in the heart of the West Bank, is one of the oldest Christian communities in the world, now feeling under siege and fighting for its existence.
The designation prohibits the sites from being targeted or used for military purposes, with violations potentially constituting serious breaches of the 1954 Hague Convention and grounds for criminal responsibility.
Textiles are a window into the communities that created them, with every motif and line signalling a different memory, tradition or identity. Often seen as folk art, these pieces of embroidery and weaving bring together dozens of narrative threads, from Japan to South America. But nowhere is it more fraught with meaning than in Palestine.
Ali Sbeity painted vibrant portraits and landscapes of his rural hometown in Southern Lebanon, often sharing his works on his Facebook. He participated in numerous local arts exhibitions and created murals for schools in Beirut.
Two hundred and fifty-six Quran memorisers—Palestinians who have committed the entire holy book to memory—sat in the place while companions beside them listened attentively, following each word carefully to ensure the recitation remained flawless. The gathering, titled Safwat Al-Huffaz—The Elite of Quran Memorisers, has become a special collective way of observing Ramadan in Gaza.
There is a scene in "Morgenkreis | Morning Circle" (2025), a 16-mm film by Berlin-based Palestinian artist Basma al-Sharif, that unfolds at the threshold of a daycare center. A young boy clings to his father, his fists locked into the fabric of his coat, his arms wrapped tightly around him. The father gently tries to pry himself free while a daycare worker crouches nearby, attempting to distract the child and coax him inside. It is an ordinary moment, one that anyone who has ever been a child - or cared for one - recognizes instantly, as well as the gut-wrenching feeling it provokes.
Distance does not soften the terror. It only deepens my helplessness. In moments like this, I realize that geography is not measured in miles, but in attachment. War rearranges distance. These days I find myself returning to "The Conference of the Birds," the 12th-century poem by Attar of Nishapur, seeking meaning through ancient wisdom about spiritual journeys and transformation.
In accordance with the lunar calendar, Ramadan could start as early as Tuesday this year, which falls well before the switch to daylight saving time on March 8 in the United States. This means that iftar will begin around 5:30 p.m. for most of the country for nearly three weeks, leaving a short window after work to get a comforting, nourishing meal on the table.
Unlike virtually all other non-European ethnicities, SWANA - or Middle Eastern/North African (MENA), as used in the show - is grouped under "White" on the US census. It's not just the census, though. It's medical forms, college applications, just about anything with a check box for ethnicity. Efforts have been made to change this, with some success. More institutions are adding a separate category on forms - and one might appear on the 2030 census.
The ongoing repression of dissidents in Venezuela following the US attacks reminds us that President Trump never had the interest of the nation's people at heart. The painful reality of many immigrants is one of being caught between dehumanizing forces in their native countries and in exile, and reduced to abstractions in an increasingly unnuanced "discourse" that flattens lived experience.
The Byzantine-era church lies half hidden in the shade. Roman columns rise from among the olive trees, even older ruins linked to Israelite kings are overgrown. To the west, the Mediterranean is just visible on the horizon. To the north and south are the hills of the occupied West Bank. In the small town of Sebastia, a hundred metres or less east of the ruins, everyone is very worried.
A Chadian chemist and a British activist, both born in Jerusalem, vow to fight for Palestine by any means necessary even if it costs them death. Two men devoted their lives to the Palestinian resistance but paid the ultimate price. Bashir Jibril, born in Jerusalem to a Chadian family, joined the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) after the 1967 Arab-Israeli war. He trained military cadres and took part in the 1970 airliner hijackings, before being killed in a car bomb explosion in Athens in 1978.
But urgency should never become an excuse for illusion, spectacle, or political shortcuts. The contrast between rhetoric and reality could not be sharper. While United States President Donald Trump and a group of world leaders gathered in Davos, Switzerland, to sign the charter of the so-called Board of Peace and unveil glossy reconstruction plans, the killing in Gaza continued. Since the ceasefire came into effect on October 10, no fewer than 480 Palestinians have been killed.
