[Original (January 22, 2026); Translated by Y. Sasamoto]
In JVC’s Palestine project, we have traditionally sent Christmas cards each year to our monthly supporters and to those who have contributed above a certain annual amount. Since 2018, the cards have featured artwork by Wala’a, an artist living in Gaza whom one of our field staff had the good fortune to meet back then.
The worsening situation in Gaza meant that no Christmas cards could be created in 2023 or 2024. Following the ceasefire announced between Gaza and Israel on October 10, 2025, we once again turned to Wala’a. In response, she created a piece that expresses what she most wishes to share with the world today.
Since 2008, Gaza has been subjected to a land, sea, and air blockade imposed by Israel. Over the years, people have endured repeated military attacks while remaining confined within the territory.
Wala’a has spent most of her life under these circumstances. Even so, she has never lost her positive outlook, and her artwork has always carried messages wishing for the happiness and well-being of others.
Greeting cards created by Wala’a in previous years
The home where Wala’a lived in Gaza City was destroyed in an Israeli airstrike in October 2023. The desk where she created her artwork was lost as well.
Wala’a and her family were forced to relocate and live in displacement. When her father later returned to check on the building, he found that it had been completely destroyed.
Wala’a’s creative workspace before and after October 7
The collapsed seven-story building
The long months of displacement that followed were marked by loss, including the death of several family members, among them her grandmother. Yet Wala’a continues to create, using whatever art materials she is able to obtain. Here is her message.
Hello world, this is WALA’A…
I used to introduce myself as a multi-passionate artist and architect. Now, I’m just a soul seeking life again!
Two years of war were enough to steal everything I once loved – my home, my arts, my job, my friends, and my city. But why dwell on the losses while I am still alive?
This is not only my story. But too the story of every soul raised in this city – where we all share the same sorrow.
The drawing I share with you is for my lost home. A scene of destruction – like every place we once loved in Gaza – now turned into ruins.
“My child, we carry the spirit of fighters, like the phoenix,” my grandfather once told me.
Thus, we rise again, over and over, celebrating our repeated birth after every crisis brought by the occupation since 1948.
“This is a land of love,” my grandmother told me once. That’s why our ancestors embroidered every glimpse of life into their daily customs – motifs of love and resilience, symbols of courage and resistance.
A charm that protects the Holy Land – the one gifted to us by the Creator – from the cruelty of every tyrant and occupier.
I often gaze into the embroidered dress she left behind, where trees gain their glorious existence, and flowers have their secret source of ever-blooming. The echoes of my ancestors still swirl around me – whispering: “..this is the land of love.”
I wish I could have shown her this piece. But the war took her from me, too. I would have shown her the cypress trees I embroidered around the house and the flowers she adored. She would have been proud – seeing our home restored again and the birds she loved flying over the olive branches.
Palestine will be free. That is what we, her children, live for.
And until that day comes, we will never stop living… “in the land of love.”
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