Palestine: A Fortress of Memory in a Time of Fire
Brought to you by Shababek for Contemporary Art and the Eltiqa Art Gallery in Gaza
Greetings Warriors
In the hills of Birzeit, in the occupied West Bank, stands the Palestinian Museum—a fortress of memory built to preserve a nation’s story even as bombs fall and borders tighten. It isn’t just a museum. It’s a pulse. A heartbeat of a people who refuse to be erased.
Founded in 2016, the museum was envisioned as a bridge between past and future, carrying the art, history, and culture of Palestine forward. But in today’s climate of relentless conflict, it has become something even more critical: a lifeline for identity.
Since Israel’s military offensive in Gaza in October 2023, the Palestinian Museum has been tested like never before. It closed its doors for four long months—its galleries silent, its halls dark—before reopening in February 2024 with a renewed mission. That mission is simple yet monumental: to tell Palestine’s story to the world, no matter what it takes.
A Birth Born From Resilience
The roots of this institution stretch back to Taawon, a nonprofit civic organization founded in 1983 by Palestinian business leaders and intellectuals. Taawon saw culture as the soul of a people, and they planted the seeds that would one day grow into the Palestinian Museum.
When the museum finally opened in 2016, it wasn’t just a cultural space—it was a declaration. A declaration that despite walls, checkpoints, and sieges, Palestinian heritage would not just survive, it would thrive.
But history is not kind to dreamers. In October 2023, as Gaza burned under the weight of bombings, the museum’s leadership faced a gut-wrenching choice: stay open and risk lives and collections, or close and regroup. They chose the latter, retreating not in surrender, but to reimagine what survival could look like.
What emerged was a rebirth—a radical rethinking of what a museum can be when the world around it is crumbling.
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“This Is Not an Exhibition” — The Show That Speaks for the Silenced
When the doors reopened in February 2024, the museum didn’t come back quietly. It came back with a roar.
The ongoing showcase, “This Is Not an Exhibition”, is not just an art display—it is a collective outcry. It gathers works from private collectors, Palestinian institutions, and the hands of everyday people, forming a patchwork of resistance and remembrance.
To date, this monumental effort has brought together 335 works by 122 artists—at least five of whom have since been killed in the conflict. Their canvases are now tombstones, their brushstrokes last words. And yet, through this exhibition, their voices refuse to die.
The title itself, This Is Not an Exhibition, is a challenge. It dares you to see beyond walls and labels. It is a living archive of grief, pride, and unbreakable will.
And perhaps most importantly, it is open to everyone—not just the elite, not just academics. The museum invites the public to contribute, making the show an evolving chorus of Palestinian expression.
From Birzeit to the World: Digital Lifelines and Global Partnerships
As violence made travel dangerous and checkpoints near impossible to cross, the museum asked a hard question: If people can’t come to the museum, can the museum go to them?
The answer was bold. In 2024, they launched “Gaza Remains the Story,” a free digital exhibition featuring 35 works by Gazan artists alongside rare archival and audiovisual materials. It wasn’t just a gallery—it was a portal.
The response was staggering. The show was downloaded in 120 locations worldwide, from classrooms in Tokyo to community centers in São Paulo. It sparked tears, conversations, and solidarity, proving that Palestine’s art could breach walls no bomb could tear down.
That success lit a fuse. Two more digital exhibitions are in the works, and they will only expand the museum’s reach.
But the digital frontier wasn’t enough. The museum also forged international partnerships, sending pieces of its collection abroad.
The most notable? “Thread Memory: Embroidery from Palestine” (2025), currently on view at the V&A Dundee in Scotland. This exhibition dives deep into tatreez, the intricate Palestinian art of hand embroidery, tracing stitches that hold centuries of stories—of weddings and funerals, of villages lost and remembered.
For the museum, these partnerships are more than cultural exchange—they’re acts of defiance. Because every stitch displayed in Scotland is a reminder: Palestine’s culture is not a casualty.
Protecting the Irreplaceable
While the museum reaches outward, it also looks inward—at the treasures it must protect.
Its collection is staggering: 19th and 20th century paintings, delicate embroideries, rare political posters, and cultural artifacts that cannot be replaced. But in a region under siege, safety is a moving target.
The museum has quietly made a hard choice: some works won’t come back home. After overseas exhibitions, certain pieces remain in Europe, protected in vaults and galleries far from the frontlines.
It’s not abandonment—it’s insurance. A painful but necessary calculation to ensure that when the fires stop, Palestine’s culture will still have a heartbeat.
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From the Rubble: Rescuing a Nation’s Memory
The Palestinian Museum’s mission doesn’t stop at its doors. Its staff have become cultural first responders, entering the rubble of bombed museums and historical sites to rescue what they can.
From the ashes of the Rafah Museum, they pulled an embroidered dress—a fragment of history that now hangs in the Dundee exhibition, a thread connecting past to present.
These rescues are not just about objects. They are about reclaiming identity from destruction. Each salvaged dress, poster, or document whispers the same truth: you can destroy the building, but not the story.
Struggling But Standing: A Call to Action
Despite all this courage, the Palestinian Museum is bleeding financially.
European and American funding has dwindled. Palestinian and Arab donors are diverting money to urgent humanitarian aid in Gaza. The result? A cultural institution gasping for air.
And yet, the museum refuses to fall. Director General Amer Shomali says it plainly:
“All the technical aspects of our work in the museum are changing, radically and rapidly.”
This is not just a museum’s crisis—it is a cultural emergency. Without support, the risk isn’t just the closing of a building—it’s the silencing of a people’s voice.
But there’s hope. Contributions can be made directly through the museum’s website. Every donation is more than money—it’s a stand. It says, I believe Palestine’s history should be seen. I believe these stories should be told.
Because in a time when the world looks away, the Palestinian Museum stands as proof that culture isn’t just art—it’s survival.
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Final Word: Why It Matters
For centuries, art has been the diary of humanity. When governments fall, when borders shift, when wars devour cities, art remains to tell us who we were.
The Palestinian Museum in Birzeit is not just curating paintings and embroidery—it’s curating a nation’s memory. And memory, once lost, cannot be remade.
This is why its work matters—not just for Palestinians, but for anyone who believes culture is worth fighting for.
Contributions can be made directly at the museum’s website to support its ongoing work.
