My grandfather, Elias, was 24 in 1948, when his city, Jaffa, was stormed by violent Zionists. He and his family fled, on foot, to Beirut. Elias did not return to Palestine until 2009. He was 85, and I was 9. It was my first time visiting Palestine, and his last. We went to Jaffa, now known to the world as Tel Aviv, Israel. We visited the home he grew up in. I remember my father knocking and a shocked Israeli woman opening the door. 

Long before the watermelon held the symbol of struggle for Palestine, the Jaffa orange held that title. In the 1930s, Palestine was one of the largest orange exporters in the world. Soon after, most Palestinian orange groves were seized by Israel, and like many of the traditions long embedded in Palestinian culture, they were stolen by Israel and falsely adopted as their own.  

Within this piece, I attempt to immortalize the Jaffa orange as Palestinian. There are still Palestinians who grow and harvest oranges through over seven decades of genocide and Nakba. I hope to honor them, my ancestors, and all those in Palestine who resist cultural theft, dehumanization, and genocide. 

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