ZOUGHBI ZOUGHBI’s father died when he was six years old. He and his seven brothers and sisters were raised in Bethlehem by their mother, who became “the father and the mother, the educator, the social worker, the psychologist, the economist”. Growing up in a society riven by violence, trauma, resentment, war, terrorism, and despair, he came to see how crucial women were to holding Palestine together.
And so, when he founded his charity Wi’am — an Arabic phrase that he translates as “cordial relationship” or “unconditional love” — work with women became the “backbone” of the project.
Amos TrustZoughbi Zoughbi
For 30 years, Wi’am has sought to uphold Palestinian women. It trains women in business leadership and entrepreneurship, helping them to grow small businesses and be financially independent. It offers counselling and mediation for those suffering from domestic violence and abuse. It teaches across Palestinian society about gender-based violence.
The work has grown and now reaches children, families, and men, too. At the heart of it remains a “message of hope”, Mr Zoughbi says. “Because hope for us is very important, and for the people. Hope is not a naïve approach. It is not based on speculation or guesswork; it is an active, non-violent approach. As Christians, we believe in personal salvation, but also we believe in the social gospel.
“People, they come to us with lots of demands, especially in these days, asking for different help: humanitarian assistance, psychosocial support, domestic violence, how to mediate in conflict. All our work, we serve with a smile. We don’t charge anything.”
Often, beneficiaries of Wi’am’s support return to the charity to pass on what they have learned to a new generation. A core part of their current programming is conflict resolution, which has become more critical in the past year, during the bloody war between Israel and Hamas in Gaza.
While Wi’am is a Christian project, Mr Zoughbi says that they offer their services to all Palestinians alike: “We focus on diversity and unity. We work with civil society to create a better future for our people based on non-violence, justice, mediation, and facilitation.”
Palestinians have experienced layers of trauma, he explains. There was the foundational cataclysm of the establishment of Israel, and the subsequent expulsion of hundreds of thousands from their ancestral villages (known as the Nakba or “catastrophe”). There is also generational trauma passed down from parents and grandparents, sometimes reaching back before 1948 to earlier cycles of violence and oppression. There is the everyday impact of the Israeli occupation of the West Bank, which heaps on indignities almost daily. And there are the fractured personal lives and divided communities, as Palestinians have splintered under the strain of decades of suffering.
“We need to work hard to get rid of the trauma,” Mr Zoughbi explains. “Otherwise, it will be part of our psychological identity and social upbringing. In the cycle of conflict, traumatised people can be perpetrators creating more people to suffer, since we are not able to break the cycle. The oppressed will be the oppressor, and the victims will be perpetrators.”
But the idea that Wi’am can help Palestinians to be healed from their trauma is far-fetched, he says. “We are working on trauma-coping and not trauma-healing at this moment, because it is an ongoing trauma.” Full healing can come only when the trauma has ended, he explains, referring to a recent conversation that he had with a Holocaust survivor who theorised that at least seven generations had to pass before a community could fully move on. “I was happy to hear that people are [healing], but at the same time, oh my! Seven generations after the hostilities will stop: that means a long life. . . So, we don’t wait for the end of the hostilities to start with this work.”
LUCY TALGIEH first encountered Wi’am as a teenager, attending its Bethlehem centre, which sits at the foot of the Israeli security wall — a safe space where she could ask her questions about living under a “dehumanising” occupation and the looming threat of conflict.
Amos TrustLucy Talgieh
Impressed by the charity’s work on conflict mediation and transformation, she became a volunteer, and later got a job as a secretary at the charity. As her self-esteem grew, she was backed by Wi’am to get first a Bachelor’s and then a Master’s degree at university, all while working full-time. She smiles as she speaks of the success stories she has seen over the years: of women empowered to set up thriving businesses, of young people steered away from prison, and of families reunited after disharmony.
A core part of their work today involves young Palestinians’ coming to their Bethlehem centre at the foot of the Israeli security barrier. Much as it did for Ms Talgieh a generation ago, Wi’am seeks to create a space for teenagers and children to let out their pent-up feelings of despair, anger, and sadness, built up through the occupation and violence. The charity runs theatre, singing, and dancing workshops to help the young people express their feelings creatively, as well as anti-bullying programmes.
One third of young people in Palestine have spent time in prison, and trauma symptoms are common: bed-wetting, sleepwalking and night terrors, the inability to manage school, hyper-vigilance, and anxiety in response to loud noises. Mr Zoughbi says that having a space to ventilate what is inside is essential to help young people overcome the oppressive and at times dehumanising effects of growing up in Palestine.
This work with children has been expanded to adults, too, as men in particular find it hard to process their feelings healthily, he says. “We have been raised in a macho mentality: you shouldn’t show your weakness, you shouldn’t cry, you shouldn’t express your emotions.”
Wi’am is trying to teach people to be “assertive not aggressive”, and to relate to others with empathy. While the project has seen success in helping individuals and families overcome conflict and division, Palestine as a society is as divided and despairing as ever. A year after the 7 October atrocity in Israel prompted the ferocious and deadly bombardment of Gaza, tens of thousands of civilians are dead, and many more are injured, traumatised, and displaced from their homes. And, in the safer West Bank, attacks by extremist Israeli settlers on their Palestinian neighbours have risen.
Mr Zoughbi and Ms Talgieh both say that, as Christians, they reject violence as a solution to their nation’s woes, but this is a difficult message to preach at present. “Our people are hopeless and helpless at this time,” Mr Zoughbi laments. “So, we don’t give lectures on non-violence: we are practising it,” through patient service to the community.
Rather than condemn Hamas and others who seek liberation for Palestine with bombs and bullets, Wi’am asks Palestinians to reflect on whether the decades of armed resistance and intifadas have achieved their aim.
“That doesn’t mean everyone is happy with our work,” the charity’s founder admits. “We have challenges, but the most important thing is we don’t give lectures. We practise it.”
Because their Bethlehem centre is at the foot of the wall, it is often overshadowed by clouds of tear-gas, sonic bombs, and even live ammunition flying overhead as the Israeli military puts down the regular demonstrations against the occupation.
“People look at that view, and still come to the office, despite [the fact that] it might be risky and dangerous, and this leads us to the idea that hope which is not risky is not hope,” Mr Zoughbi says.
This message of risky hope chimes even more at this time of year, especially for those few Christians still living in the town in which Christ was born, 2000 years ago. Jesus came to bring hope in a desperate time, under brutal Roman occupation and facing the genocidal threat of King Herod, Mr Zoughbi says.
“Despite the many Herods in the Middle East now, our children are born. Despite all the destruction in Gaza and the West Bank, our children are born under the occupation now, and the life of Christ gives us hope.” It remains, despite it all, a “privilege” to be in Bethlehem, and to identify with the child who turned the world upside down by his birth, death, and resurrection. “This gives us the theme: that injustice will not last for ever.”
Wi’amZoughbi Zoughbi leads ecumenical prayers for peace
Continuing to celebrate is vital, even as Christians grieve what they have lost: their land, their loved ones, their freedoms. Because Wi’am, while an interfaith project which serves all — is also determined that Palestine’s ancient churches should not become museums, Mr Zoughbi says.
Continuing to celebrate is vital, even as Christians grieve what they have lost: their land, their loved ones, their freedoms — because Wi’am, while it is an interfaith project that serves all, is also determined that Palestine’s ancient churches should not become museums, Mr Zoughbi says.
Bethlehem today is gripped by grief for compatriots, friends, and loved ones suffering in Gaza, Ms Talgieh says, and, much closer to home, fear of Israeli settler violence, from which there is no escape. But living in Bethlehem at Christmas means “holding on to hope, drawing the strengths from our shared history and culture, and believing in a future where peace and justice are revealed on earth”. Generation after generation of Palestinians have grown up amid war and violence, and today they are still waiting for peace to celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace. The festival serves to renew hope and strength as they wait.
The message that Wi’am offers to all — but especially the tiny Christian minority clinging on in Palestine — is simple, Ms Talgieh says. “Resist to exist until peace will prevail on this earth.”
More information about Wi’am: The Palestinian Conflict Transformation Center is available at alaslah.org and from the Amos Trust: amostrust.org/palestine-justice/partners/wi-am-conflict-resolution-centre