Discover how Palestinian artist Maha Aldaieh uses traditional embroidery to preserve the memory of war-torn Gaza while seeking refuge and rebuilding her life in Paris, France.
In the quiet corner of her Parisian workshop, threads shimmer under soft light as Palestinian artist Maha Aldaieh carefully stitches a new piece. Once known for joyful embroidery for celebrations, her needle now carries pain, memory, and resistance.
Maha Aldaieh, 41, is one of hundreds of Palestinians who fled the Gaza Strip seeking safety after the October 7 attacks. Now based in Paris with her husband and three children, she is rebuilding her life while using her art as a living testament to what is happening in her besieged homeland.
From Celebration to Resistance: A Needle of Memory
Before the war, Maha embroidered for weddings and festivals. Now, she says:
“I used to sew joy. Today, I sew pain.”
Her recent exhibition at the Institut du Monde Arabe in Paris showcased her transformation of traditional Palestinian embroidery into powerful political and humanitarian statements. On dark fabrics, thick threads spell out messages like “Stop the genocide”, while maps of Gaza highlight destroyed areas in red. Her color choices—mostly black and gray—mirror the grief and devastation of her homeland.
One of her most poignant works, embroidered with the words “Where should we go?”, was gifted to French President Emmanuel Macron. It wasn’t just an artwork—it was the voice of thousands of displaced Palestinians. Maha explains:
“This is what everyone in Gaza keeps asking… because we are always being driven away.”
A Journey from Gaza to Paris
Maha’s journey began in Gaza, where she left her flower-filled balcony behind and moved to Khan Younis, thinking she’d return in days. But the displacement lasted months. In December, heavy bombardment hit the house where her family had taken shelter, severely injuring her two sons—one losing a leg. They were forced to live in a tent for four months through cold and rain.
“We lived in conditions unworthy of human beings,” she recalls.
After a costly escape from Gaza ($4,000 per person), Maha and her husband—also an artist—regrouped in Cairo. There, she began to heal through art:
“In Cairo, I felt like a bird released from a cage. Returning to painting and embroidery was like breathing again after suffocation.”
Art as Resistance, Survival, and Hope
Thanks to the “Together” initiative, a project supporting Gaza artists during wartime, Maha’s work reached institutions like Columbia University’s Paris branch and the Institut d’Études Politiques. She was later awarded an artistic residency grant through France’s “Passeurs” program, launched in 2018 to support researchers and artists in crisis.
Her family arrived in Paris in early 2025. Mornings are spent learning French, afternoons dedicated to embroidery, and evenings shared with her children—Yafa (8), Rima (15), and Adam (18)—around a small table in their temporary student housing.
Despite this relative calm, Maha remains restless:
“I love Paris, but every day something inside me breaks. How can I be at peace when my family is still in the middle of war?”
Giving Voice to the Displaced
In 2023, Maha held an exhibition titled “Not Just Refugees”, giving voice to the displaced. She refused to see destroyed buildings as mere rubble—instead, she saw them as spaces once filled with life, families, and memories.
“The buildings that have survived the missiles are still standing. If they can endure, how much more can we?”
One of her most emotional works features a laundry line hanging from a broken balcony—an emblem of life that once was.
“A laundry line means someone lived here… it means life hasn’t completely disappeared.”
For Maha, embroidery is more than a tradition—it is a tool for survival.
“I don’t just embroider to document events. I do it to keep our voices alive—to say we still exist, despite everything.”
A Dream of Return
Maha dreams of returning to Gaza one day, though she knows return doesn’t necessarily mean safety.
“Everyone dreams of going back, but ultimately, we just want a better life for our children. Security is what we need most.”
Between every stitch, Maha continues to write Gaza’s history—not with ink and paper, but with thread, fabric, and memory.
