Jenin's Freedom Theatre rises from the ashes of Israel's brutal assault

The Freedom Theatre, once a cultural oasis in Jenin dedicated to the celebration of life, turned into a dungeon of terror, murder and death overnight. But renovations are already underway.

Palestinian actors perform in the play "Suicide Note from Palestine” directed by Nabil Al-Raee on April 4, 2013 at The Freedom Theatre in the refugee camp of the West Bank city of Jenin.
SAIF DAHLAH / AFP
Palestinian actors perform in the play "Suicide Note from Palestine” directed by Nabil Al-Raee on April 4, 2013 at The Freedom Theatre in the refugee camp of the West Bank city of Jenin.

Jenin's Freedom Theatre rises from the ashes of Israel's brutal assault

Life itself is reborn on stage. Human emotions take on new meaning. Dormant corners of our minds come awake.

For centuries, theatre has allowed us to see past the slog of our daily lives and gain new perspectives, tapping into the human experience in a way that little else does.

Perhaps American actress Audra McDonald said it best: she found home when she found theatre. But for those living under an occupation that threatens their life, is "home" safe?

In 2018, I was reciting poetry on stage at the Said al-Mishal Cultural Centre in Gaza. I couldn’t have imagined that in a few days, that stage would be reduced to rubble.

It was midday. A massive explosion rang out. Then, a newsflash: Israeli F-16 fighter jets hit Al-Mishal.

The Israeli occupation forces had shelled the theatre. It was destroyed. I was heartbroken. A chunk of my core memories of Gaza were gone; I could no longer return “home”.

I felt like my own poems were struck by the bombing. As though my metaphors and imagery had shattered and splintered alongside the building walls.

The Israeli occupation had not only demolished a place: it had erased a part of me.

To fight against the bitterness, I began reciting some of the verses those crumbled walls had heard just a few days earlier.

"My love, come learn with me how to walk and collect the tears of the wall! The city needs a river where it can throw its sorrow."

I felt like my own poems were struck in the bombing. As though my metaphors and imagery had shattered and splintered alongside the building walls.

Earlier this month – and five years after the attack on Al-Mishal Theatre – Israeli Occupation forces re-enacted a similarly destructive scene in Jenin. Once again, they spared no place, stone, or human life.

A rampage of murder, demolition, and oppression followed. Despite cries of mothers, children, and the elderly, they stormed the Jenin camp with dozens of tanks and hundreds of bloodthirsty soldiers to extinguish all traces of humanity.

Read more: Why Israel is threatened by Jenin

The Freedom Theatre was one of their victims.

For occupied nations, arts and theatre have always been an outlet – a way to create alternative realities. The Palestinians are no exception. Despite limited capabilities and funds, they keep planting that creative seed, fragile as it may be.

But if repeated attacks on Palestinian theatres are any indication, it seems that the Israeli Occupation is hellbent on eradicating this kernel of hope.

They understand, after all, the power that art has over our spirits and our minds.

Carrying the torch

Situated at the heart of the Jenin camp, the Freedom Theatre has always been an integral part of daily life for residents.

Events were regularly held for families and children. It also served as a space to discuss how Palestinians can stay rooted in their land and preserve their identity.

For occupied nations, arts and theatre have always been an outlet – a way to create alternative realities. The Palestinians are no exception. 

The Freedom Theatre was established in 1987 by Arna Mer Khamis, a Jewish human rights activist who was married to Palestinian activist Saliba Khamis, during the First Intifada.

She was driven by a desire to mitigate the suffering of Palestinian children; initially, it was called 'The House of Childhood'. Later, it was renamed 'The Theatre of Stones' to honour the Intifada, which had become known as the 'Intifada of the Stones.'

In 2006, the theatre took on its current moniker. Despite Arna's passing in 1994, other intellectuals carried her legacy forward, including her son Juliano, who launched his film 'Arna's Children' there.

Shortly after, Juliano was assassinated at the gate of the theatre by unidentified gunmen. Once again, activists rallied to keep the theatre's cultural message alive (one of whom was escaped prisoner Zakaria Zubeidi).

SAIF DAHLAH / AFP
Former Palestinian militant Zakariya Zubeidi, 31, chats with young members of his newly formed Freedom Theatre in the West Bank refugee camp of Jenin, 17 January 2008.

In 2017, the theatre opened its curtains on the Palestinian play 'The Siege', which told the story of the Israeli forces' besiegement and confinement of Palestinian civilians inside the Church of Nativity in Bethlehem in 2002. It quickly garnered international attention and global media coverage.

But six years later, the theatre that hosted it would be struck and nearly destroyed.

Theatre-turned-barracks

The Israeli forces attacked the Freedom Theatre as part of a military campaign launched against the Jenin camp in early July 2023. They wrecked the gate and stormed the building, hurling grenades into the interior. Several residents were held captive inside for interrogation.

The previously lively location had become a barracks for Israeli soldiers to shoot at civilians. What was once a cultural oasis dedicated to the celebration of life had turned into a dungeon of terror, murder and death.

The previously lively location had become a barracks for Israeli soldiers to shoot at civilians. What was once a cultural oasis dedicated to the celebration of life had turned into a dungeon of terror, murder and death.

Mustafa Sheta, general manager of the Freedom Theatre, told Al Majalla he was "horrified" when he learned that the theatre was being shelled, as distressing images flooded his mind of a place that "preserves our intellect, identity, and memories".

"Fear and worry washed over me as I imagined all the women and children who fled to the theatre to avoid the shelling, only to find it transformed into barracks for Occupation forces," he said.

JAAFAR ASHTIYEH / AFP
Palestinian theatre director Mustafa Sheta, general manager of the "Freedom Theatre" at the Jenin camp for Palestinian refugees in the occupied West Bank, gives a tour of the premises on December 12, 2022.

He was particularly concerned about a visiting Brazilian journalist, who had been residing in the theatre's guest room at the time of the attack. According to Sheta, they tried their best to coordinate with him and ensure his safety, but the Brazilian was forced to stay inside the theatre for a long time.

Sheta recalled the journalist telling him: "I covered the war in Afghanistan and the earthquake in Turkey earlier this year, but I never felt such horror and tragedy as during the Israeli aggression against the Freedom Theatre in Jenin. It was such an agonising experience ... My life was seriously in danger."

A desecrated haven

Art centres possess a kind of sentimentality – an emotional sanctity, perhaps; they have a unique capacity to etch powerful memories deep into our souls.

On Sheta's part, he felt an immense loss. Not just of the physical theatre, but its essence, too. It had become his home and identity.

"I was baffled at how quickly this art haven and its deep aesthetic value were desecrated and turned into a hideout for Israeli snipers.

"Through this kind of collective punishment, the Occupation is trying to eradicate every possible aspect of life in the camp and the theatre to instil despair in the hearts of Palestinians in general, and artists in particular," he said.

Several other artists were banned from travelling outside of Palestine, Sheta said. Bilal al-Saadi, the Chairman of the Board of Directors of the Freedom Theatre, was also arrested without justification.

Sheta attributes such attacks to the fact that the artists raise awareness about a need to persevere and struggle for one's land – no doubt inspired by their own deep sense of belonging to Jenin and Palestine.

Through this kind of collective punishment, the Occupation is trying to eradicate every possible aspect of life in the camp and the theatre to instil despair in the hearts of Palestinians in general, and artists in particular.

Mustafa Sheta, general manager of the Freedom Theatre

Restoring hope

However, these assaults on the arts – and the artists – will not slow them down, Sheta said.

Renovation works at the Freedom Theatre are already underway, and the theatre is back to hosting free art performances by artists from all over Palestine to restore hope amongst the camp's families and children.

One of the artists participating in the theatre's upcoming activities, Mahmoud Abu-Aytah, had never imagined that the theatre could be shelled.

"Through destruction and persecution, the Occupation wanted to counter the message of the Freedom Theatre, which only proves the great impact this institution has in the hearts of residents," he said.

When the theatre was attacked, he was afraid of losing his identity and his place.

"I was afraid to envision the stage on which I used to perform getting obliterated. It was so painful to imagine losing those priceless moments I shared with the camp's people during my performances," he said.

A mix of "bitter emotions" overcame him when he visited the theatre for the first time after military operations had concluded. A place that was once alive with posters adorning the walls to advertise upcoming plays and films was suddenly "so pale and desolate".

"The posters were burnt, and the walls were blackened by the exploded grenades. The theatre's fallen bricks were piled on the ground. It was a tragedy to see a place of art and beauty destroyed like that," he said.

According to him, residents of Jenin have a strong attachment to the Freedom Theatre; he often gets stopped by children in the streets asking about the date of his next performance.

Abu-Aytah found it "tragic" that those with power could "silence theatres" and that "the sound of bombs is louder than the sound of art." But it would never stop them from investing in art, he added.

"A few honest lines on a theatre stage are more powerful than all the bombs they have."

A better life

Fellow artist Mu'min al-Saadi also recalled being plagued with "terrible images" when he heard of the tragedy. He imagined the stage turning into dust; the building disappearing into smoke and ash.

"I was more afraid of losing the sentimental value than the brick-and-mortar," he said. "For a moment, I was terrified that we had lost our personal stories that we used to voice freely on that stage."

He called the theatre a "safe haven" for the entire community, including artists, families and children.

"It was where we could envision the better life that we deserve," he said.

"Through this theatre, we brought ideas to life and sent a message that we are here to stay, on this land, and we will never stop struggling for freedom."

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