Celebrating Palm Sunday in Palestine

Palm Sunday here never feels simple.

Last Sunday, we shared a reel — olive branches, narrow streets, familiar hymns. On the surface, it looked like tradition continuing as it always has. But what you don’t see is how much has already been lost.

The Christian community in this land is almost gone. Families who have been here for generations are leaving, slowly and quietly. Churches that were once full now hold fewer voices each year. And still, those who remain show up — holding onto something that feels like it’s slipping away.

This year, it became even harder.

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre — one of Christianity’s holiest sites — was closed, and worshippers were violently prevented from entering. On one of the most sacred days of the year, people were denied the right to pray where they always have. 

So the community adapted, as it always does. Orthodox, Catholic — differences set aside. They chose to celebrate on the Orthodox date, together, as one. Not out of convenience, but out of necessity. When a community becomes this small, unity is survival.

Palm branches were still carried. Prayers still spoken. Children still walked beside their parents, learning traditions that feel both ancient and uncertain.

At Handmade Palestine, this is the reality behind everything we make. The hands creating each piece belong to people living this moment — holding onto culture, faith, and identity against the odds.

So Palm Sunday here is not just a celebration. It’s a quiet act of resilience.