Stand with Our Olive Trees. Stand with the Palestinian People this Christmas.

Every Christmas, people talk about hope. In Palestine, hope isn’t a word we say lightly. We grow it. We hold onto it. We plant it in the soil, even when the world feels harsh and unpredictable. Nothing represents that quiet, stubborn hope more than our olive trees.

If you’ve ever walked through an olive grove here, you know what I mean. The trees look tired but unbreakable, scarred by everything they’ve survived, yet still standing.

They’re like our families. Like every farmer who refuses to leave their land, because leaving would mean losing a part of themselves.

Maha Ahmad Al Masri olive trees.

This year has been especially heavy. Farmers are struggling to reach their land. Trees that have stood for centuries are disappearing in minutes. These losses aren’t numbers — they’re wounds. Deep, personal, painful.

That’s why, this Christmas, we’re inviting people in Sweden to stand with Palestinian farmers. Not out of charity, but out of shared humanity.

Out of the understanding that protecting an olive tree is protecting a family’s dignity, livelihood, and sense of home.

When someone supports an olive tree, they’re really supporting the woman who wakes up before dawn to check on her land. They’re supporting the young farmer who refuses to give up.

They’re supporting a community doing everything it can to stay rooted — despite everything trying to push them away.

Harvest Olives in Dirista, West Bank.

Christmas is a season of light. In Palestine, that light often begins with something as simple as an olive tree — a reminder that we’re still here, still growing, still insisting on life.

If people in Sweden choose to stand with us this Christmas, they’re choosing to protect something living. Something deeply human. Something that carries generations of stories.
And that is a beautiful act of solidarity.

Merry Christmas,

Mariam