Threads of Resistance: Inside One of Palestine’s Last Kufiya Factories

How the fight for Palestinian liberation is woven into the threads of our clothes

In a world where fast fashion dominates and cultural identity is too often commodified, the story of Hirbawi - one of the last remaining Kufiya factories in Palestine - offers a powerful reminder: resistance has always lived in the hands that make our clothes.

Founded in 1961 in Hebron, Hirbawi is dedicated to preserving the tradition of high-quality Kufiya weaving, a craft deeply rooted in Palestinian culture and identity. In 2024, the factory launched its Sumud Stories Fair Trade collection, spotlighting only Palestinian-made products, celebrating artisans, and creating sustainable livelihoods.

I spoke with Nael Alqassis, the voice behind Hirbawi’s online revival, about history, heritage, and how clothing can be an act of defiance.

Hi Nael. Thank you so much for your time. Please could you tell me a little bit about where you grew up, and your childhood memories of Palestine?
My father is from Beit Sahour, a town near Bethlehem, and my mother is a refugee. Her parents were originally from Jerusalem and Yafa (Jaffa). I was born in Jerusalem and raised in Beit Sahour.

My earliest childhood memories go back to the time of the First Intifada. Beit Sahour was known for its creative and non-violent resistance to the occupation, particularly through acts of civil disobedience. One of the most well-known was a campaign to refuse paying taxes to the Israeli authorities, inspired by the slogan: “No taxation without representation.”

The Israeli response to this peaceful resistance was severe. They closed our schools, imposed curfews that lasted up to 40 days, besieged the town for months, arrested those who refused to pay taxes, and confiscated ID cards to restrict freedom of movement. They also killed several young people in our town, including my close friend and neighbor, Anton Shomali. He was assassinated in cold blood on his way back from university. They stopped him, checked his ID, and shot him at point-blank range.

Anton was around the same age as my older siblings, but he loved spending time with us younger kids (I was 10 years old), especially during the curfews and closures, when schools were shut down. He would help us organise educational games and activities to raise political awareness. It was a deeply politicised childhood.

What is the item of clothing that is most special to you, and why?
Definitely the Kufiya. And it's not because I work in Kufiya production—in fact, it’s the other way around. I chose to work with Kufiyas at a time when production in Palestine was nearly gone. I chose to promote them because the Kufiya has always been my favorite piece of clothing.

It’s practical, beautiful, and full of meaning. And it’s made under fair conditions. That’s what clothing should be about.

What is your favourite Palestinian recipe or dish? (sorry, I have to ask, I love food and I love Palestinian food!)
I love cooking. I cook to distract myself from constantly following the news. I don’t follow recipes, I let myself imagine the final taste as I go. For a moment, it makes the world feel warm and beautiful.

My favourite Palestinian dish isn’t the most spectacular one, but it’s the one that feels most like home: Mlukhiyah. These green leaves are simmered in a lemony chicken and garlic broth, served with rice and sometimes with a glass of Arak from Bethlehem. Nothing in the world beats that savory, citrusy-fresh flavor. Mlukhiyah is popular in many Arab countries, but the soil of Palestine gives the leaves a unique and distinct flavour. I always bring back several kilograms of dried Mlukhiyah leaves whenever I go home.

What is your favourite thing to do when you’re in Palestine?
I enjoy spending time with my large and beautiful family. During family gatherings, we often come together as more than a hundred people, many of them young and full of life.

I also love hiking in Palestine. The hills, valleys, and desert landscapes are incredibly diverse and always inspiring. Palestine is a land bridge between Asia, Africa, and Europe, and lies along one of the main migratory routes for birds. As a result, it has one of the richest bird diversities in the world.

The Kufiya has a long history, how did it become a political symbol of resistance in the 1930s?
The Kufiya has a rich history that goes back centuries. Originally worn across the Middle East for protection against the sun and dust, in Palestine it was traditionally worn by farmers and Bedouins, while urban Palestinians often wore the Ottoman-style tarboush. But during the 1930s, as Palestinian resistance against British colonial rule grew stronger, the Kufiya took on a political meaning.

At that time, many resistance fighters came from the countryside and were easily identified in the cities by their Kufiyas. In a collective act of protection, urban Palestinians began wearing Kufiyas too, replacing the tarboush to prevent the fighters from being singled out. This was the turning point: the Kufiya became a symbol of unity and resistance.

Since then, it has accompanied Palestinians through every chapter of their struggle, from the Nakba to the Intifadas, and today it is known around the world as a symbol of resilience, identity, and solidarity.

What do the patterns and colours of the kufiya represent?
The net-like design is often said to represent fishing nets, while the bold lines symbolise trade routes or the interconnectedness of people. The framing pattern of the Kufiya can resemble olive leaves or ears of wheat—symbols of life and our deep ties to the land. Although there is no historical documentation confirming the original meaning of these motifs, this interpretation is widely shared and adds an extra layer of meaning to the Kufiya—as a symbol of identity and unity.

At Hirbawi, we believe that Kufiyas are not a dead piece of folklore, but a living tradition—one that continues to grow and evolve within its community. So, while the Kufiya began as a simple scarf, history transformed it into something much greater. It represents a struggle for justice, a memory of the land, and a connection between people who refuse to be erased. Today, it's worn not just by Palestinians, but by anyone who stands against injustice—anywhere in the world.

Why did the Hirbawi family start the brand?
Hirbawi is a family-run business that began in 1961 in Hebron, at a time when most Kufiyas in Palestine were either handmade in small workshops or imported. Yasser Hirbawi, the founder, had a clear vision: to modernise Kufiya production in Palestine and ensure that this cultural icon could continue to be produced locally at a larger scale.

He had heard of Suzuki looms in Japan—pioneers at the time in electric weaving machines—and believed they could help achieve this goal. Without knowing a word of English or Japanese, he travelled to Japan, taking a traditional Kufiya with him. His mission was simple, but bold: to convince the engineers to build a loom capable of reproducing the intricate patterns of a real Palestinian Kufiya.

Amazingly, he succeeded. But it wasn’t instant. Once the machines arrived in Hebron, it took nearly five years of dedication and trial-and-error to adapt and fine-tune them so they could mimic the traditional look and feel of the genuine Kufiya. The result was a machine-woven Kufiya that remained true to its heritage.

Some of those very looms—brought over more than 60 years ago—are still running today in our factory.

Hirbawi was never just a brand. It was—and still is—a response to cultural erasure, an act of economic self-determination, and a commitment to keeping Palestinian identity woven into every thread.

It’s not been an easy journey for the Hirbawi family. Were they ever close to closing the factory? What would that have meant for the Kufiya?

A few years after the factory was founded in 1961, we started exporting to Jordan and Syria. It was a strong beginning—until the war of 1967. Israel occupied the West Bank and suddenly we were cut off from our Arab neighbours, with whom we had never been separated before. Exporting became nearly impossible. Thankfully, there was a growing local market, and in the 70s and 80s, production reached its peak.

But in the 1990s, things changed again. After the Palestinian Authority was established, the Paris Protocol forced it to apply free market policies. This led to a flood of imported goods—among them cheap imitations of the Kufiya. Local production was pushed aside. In the early 2000s, during the Second Intifada, Kufiyas became popular worldwide, but it was global brands—not Palestinians—who profited. One by one, all the Kufiya workshops in Palestine closed. Hirbawi was the last one standing.

There were almost no orders. But we kept the machines running—not just to prevent them from rusting, but also to shield Yasser Hirbawi, who was elderly by then, from the painful truth that demand had vanished.

Things began to shift in the 2010s, thanks to activists and journalists who brought attention to our story. Social media played a huge role. We started selling online, at first exporting from Palestine to a warehouse in Germany, and later from Portugal. New designs and growing global awareness helped keep the factory alive.

During the current war on Gaza, demand became overwhelming. We sold out every Kufiya in our warehouses within a month. Since then, we've been restocking monthly, with waiting lists of customers ready to wait hours just to get one. People around the world now understand the importance of having a Hirbawi Kufiya—and not just any Kufiya. They’ve become more conscious of where things are made, and how unfair the world really is.

We can’t imagine a world where Palestinian Kufiyas are no longer made in Palestine. That would be a loss—not only for Palestine, but for collective human heritage. Traditional clothing should be produced within the communities that created them. Only then can they remain a living tradition, growing and evolving in their natural social fabric—not reduced to a folkloric costume for festivals and parades.

How has the textile industry in Palestine changed during your lifetime?
The textile industry in Palestine has changed dramatically over the past 40 years. In the 1980s and 90s, it was one of the most important sectors of the Palestinian economy. By 2000, over 2,600 businesses were operating in the field, employing more than 20,000 people and generating over $120 million in revenue. Gaza, in particular, had a strong textile sector, and in the West Bank, cities like Hebron and Nablus had hundreds of workshops producing garments and traditional items.

Much of this was based on subcontracting—Palestinian factories producing clothing for Israeli companies and other export markets. But things changed quickly after the Second Intifada in the early 2000s. Movement restrictions, closures, and instability made it difficult to maintain production. At the same time, cheaper imports—especially from China—flooded the local market. Palestinian producers couldn’t compete with these prices.

By the mid-2000s, the impact was clear: about two-thirds of textile businesses had closed, income in the sector had dropped by 60%, and over 75% of salaried jobs were lost. The Palestinian Authority, under the Paris Protocol, had little ability—or will—to protect local industries, so the decline continued.

Traditional production, like embroidery (tatreez) and the weaving of the Kufiya, survived on a small scale, often driven more by cultural and symbolic importance than by economic viability.

Today, there is renewed interest in Palestinian-made textiles and leather goods, especially those that carry cultural significance. But overall, the sector has not returned to its former size. Political restrictions, military occupation, the absence of sovereign Palestinian borders, and dependency on imports remain major challenges for Palestinian textile producers.

In short, the industry went from being a vital part of the economy to one of its most fragile sectors. And while parts of it are being revived, the structural challenges remain.

How important is it that traditional methods of Palestinian craft like weaving are preserved?
There’s no such thing as a one-click machine that can produce a genuine Kufiya. Making an authentic Palestinian Kufiya requires a lot of know-how—both technical and cultural. This knowledge lives in the hands and eyes of the people who’ve worked with these machines for decades. If that know-how is lost, the original Kufiya as we know it disappears—and it's not something you can easily bring back.

We’ve already seen this happen with the traditional ‘Igal—the black cord used to hold the Kufiya on the head. In Palestine, its original method of production has been lost. What’s left are cheap, mass-produced versions made for tourists. The artisans who once made the real ‘Igal are now too old or no longer with us. We have been searching for someone who can give training to younger workers on the art of ‘Igal production, but it has been very hard. Once a craft is gone, it’s very difficult to recover—especially when the transmission of skills between generations is interrupted.

We’ve observed this pattern not only in Palestine but in many traditional industries around the world. That’s why we at Hirbawi feel a deep sense of responsibility. Preserving the knowledge behind the kufiya’s production is just as important as preserving the object itself. We carry that responsibility on our shoulders every day to ensure this doesn’t become just another lost heritage.

How can my readers be in solidarity with Hirbawi’s mission?
The fight for justice in Palestine requires more than a moment of attention—it calls for a long breath. It’s a journey filled with hope, but also with deep frustrations. We’ve felt this firsthand: whenever Palestine is in the headlines, there’s a wave of support. Orders come in, and messages of solidarity pour through. But once the spotlight fades, interest fades with it.

So how can your readers help? By staying engaged, even when the media moves on. By continuing to talk about us, share our story, visit our website, and follow us on social media. That steady connection means everything to us. It helps us grow and gives us the strength to continue.

We’re also expanding our efforts to support more producers in Palestine—craftspeople and artisans whose work, like ours, is deeply rooted in heritage and resistance. That means your readers will discover even more beautiful, meaningful items made in Palestine in the months ahead.

Justice takes time. But with loyal hearts and continued support, we believe it is possible.

One such item is their Copper Kufiya Bracelets, which uses a heritage metalwork technique using discarded copper from old wires, pipes, and industrial scraps. Not only is this an Indigenous zero-waste means of production, it’s also important material isn’t wasted due to restrictions imposed by the Israeli occupation. Not just any bracelet.