Palestinian American Women on Grief, Resistance, and Refusing Silence
By Tamara Syed
Jul/Aug 25
Palestinian Americans exist within two worlds: ensconced in the safety net of America while witnessing the ethnic cleansing of all that we hold dear in Palestine.
As a Palestinian American journalist, watching a genocide in my ancestral homeland has been both personal and paralyzing. In this piece, I speak with a multitude of Palestinian women: a Gen Z artist, entertainment professionals, two mothers – one of whom recently gave birth – each collectively mourning from a different place in life.
The grief in bearing witness to Israeli atrocities in Palestine carries with it an emotional weight for Noor*, 24. She is a Palestinian who recently immigrated to California from a Gulf Cooperation Council country and she faces that reminder daily. “Every single thing that I do, I’m reminded of Palestine,” she said. “Even if it’s a mundane task like doing dishes, driving around to run errands, or just simply getting my work done, I’m constantly reminded that people in Gaza have been stripped, deprived, and forced into unlivable conditions.”
Witnessing Palestinians bake bread out of animal fodder or grow gardens in their tents is a reminder of their perseverance even in the midst of impending death.
“And even then, I see them persevere and find ways to make their day-to-day work,” Noor said.
In the middle of the ongoing bombardment of Gaza, Mary Saleh-Greenfield, 32, gave birth to her second daughter. “It was the most emotionally dissonant experience I’ve ever had holding this tiny, perfect life while my people were being killed,” she said. “Every cry from my daughter reminded me of the cries of children in Gaza.”
Childbirth should be a joyous occasion, but for Saleh-Greenfield, navigating grief while raising children has taken an emotional toll. “I was pregnant with my daughter, Scarlett, and it put me in a terrible mental space. There’s guilt for laughing when others are grieving,” she said. “But I also remind myself that joy is a form of resistance. Raising children with dignity, love, and hope – especially Palestinian children – is a declaration that we believe in a future worth fighting for.”
As a Christian Palestinian American, Saleh-Greenfield believes Muslims and Christians are united in their struggle to free Palestine. “Our traditions may be different, but our shared values of dignity, community, sacrifice, and resistance are the same.”
Western media often perpetuates a false narrative that the ongoing genocide in Gaza is a religious war. But Palestinians understand the harm of this incorrect notion. “When Palestine is framed only through a religious lens, we lose sight of its richness, its diversity, its culture, and its people as a whole. This struggle isn’t just Muslim or Christian, it’s Palestinian. And it belongs to all of us who believe in justice,” Saleh-Greenfield said.
Bay Area-based Jameelah Shoman-Nsour is a creative operations manager in the retail industry and a mother of two. She grew up deeply rooted in her Palestinian identity and the current genocide in Gaza has profoundly shaped the way she navigates motherhood. “Processing this genocide is impossible without a great deal of faith and understanding of the history and plight of the Palestinians,” she said. “There have been many unbearable moments as I’ve scrolled through social media, trying to process what is happening. I’ve tried to put myself in the shoes of the mother mourning her child, or the father desperate because his children haven’t eaten for days.”
With two young children, a 10-year-old son and a nearly 5-year-old daughter, Shoman-Nsour approached conversations about Gaza with her children with honesty.
“My son already had a basic understanding of Palestine’s history before Oct. 7th. We’ve instilled a strong Muslim identity in our children, and second to that, an understanding of their heritage. When the genocide began, we gave him just enough information to be aware and to speak if the topic came up at school,” she explained.
Some moments have been painful, like when a classmate told her son, “The Palestinians are hurting the Israelis.” Shoman-Nsour guided him through the confusion, encouraging compassion and truthfulness. “Never do we want our children to stick up for Palestine from a nationalistic perspective, but from a human one,” she emphasized. “Our answers always come back to our Islamic values. We tell them to pray, trust in God’s plan, and remember that being a good human and a good Muslim go hand in hand.”
Shoman-Nsour this moment in history deepened her faith. “Prayer and duʿāʾ ‘ grounded me. It reminded me to trust in Allah. My faith has always been the foundation and now, it’s what keeps me upright,” she said.
For Loren Medina Jassir, 46, a Palestinian Cuban American music publicist based in Los Angeles, the past year and a half has brought a swell of emotions from “violent rage” to “a deep, cutting, visceral sadness”.
“Gaza has radicalized me in the most profound ways,” she said. “It has forever changed my outlook on life.”
Jassir, who works in the Latin music industry, says her outspoken support for Palestine has led to professional fallout including being blacklisted by Zionists in the music industry.
Navigating the entertainment industry as a Palestinian American can be polarizing and diminishing, but for Aliya* a Los Angeles-based Palestinian American working at an organization that uplifts underrepresented voices, her workplace is a reminder that there are some seats at the table. “I don’t feel like I have to hide, at least at work,” she said. “My organization is pro-Palestinian and the people who choose to partner with us are on the liberal end. I’m part of an organization that is conscious of the power of narrative and the behemoth of power we’re up against in the industry.”
However, conversations outside her bubble, particularly with powerful agencies, have been disillusioning. “Those have been the most demoralizing conversations. It feels like the people at the agencies are evil and think they’re not evil,” she said. “I’ve had people mention ‘the two-sided nature of the war’, and it makes it so clear we’re existing in such different narratives.”
Even naming her identity as Palestinian in casual conversation carries weight. “There’s this anxiety that if you bring up your identity, people are going to negate it. You brace for a debate or a story about someone’s 2010 mission trip and I have opinions on those,” she said with a laugh.
Although these women come from different ethnic and religious backgrounds, are at different points in their career, and are separated by generations, they share many common threads in their identity as Palestinians.
Jassir understands the importance of standing up to injustice through her upbringing. “I was raised by a political prisoner, as my father is Cuban, and by a fearless Palestinian woman,” she said. “Staying silent and not mobilizing has never been an option in my family. At this point, your silence is unforgivable. Despite all the loss, I found the most beautiful community fighting for collective liberation and a newfound strength in the rubble.”
Saleh-Greenfield is raising her children with the same pride that has been a guiding light for her in these dark times. “I want them to grow up proud knowing where they come from. I want them to know they’re not just American or just Palestinian, but the living intersection of both,” she said.
In the face of ethnic cleansing, Palestinians and Palestinian Americans persevere through upholding cultural practices from dances like the dabke, a traditional dance performed at protests and weddings, to the ancient embroidery technique of tatreez.
To these women, choosing to uphold cultural traditions is an act of resistance. “I’ve been making a few embroidery pieces to keep myself grounded. I’ve really experimented with different styles, and I’ve also been reading up on different motifs and what they mean,” Noor said.
Another act of defiance for some Palestinians, especially in the West, is proudly speaking their language. “I’ve found myself having conversations in Arabic more, especially in the Palestinian dialect,” Noor said. “I realized that I spend way too much time speaking in English that I want to hold on to, strengthen, and preserve the dialect that my family and I continue to speak in despite not being in Palestine.”
Through her NGO, Travel With Purpose, Jassir created a children’s arts camp for Palestinian refugees in Cairo. “I think about them every single hour of every single day and they give me strength on the days I am so consumed with grief I can barely breathe,” she said.
Amid the dread, Aliya found solace in a simple exercise: writing a list of things she is looking forward to or hopes for. “It was actually quite powerful to put ‘a Free Palestine’ on the hope list,” she says. “That felt kind of reassuring, to an extent. There’s still hope.”
*Names have been changed for privacy.
Tamara Syed is a Los Angeles-based Bangladeshi Palestinian journalist, writer, and director. Her work explores the intersection of identity, grief and liberation. She believes in the power of storytelling to incite change through empathy.
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