US Sales of Palestinian Keffiyehs Soar, Even as Wearers Targeted

Izzat Hirbawi shows different keffiyeh fabric colorss in a textile factory in Hebron in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, January 24,2023. (Reuters)
Izzat Hirbawi shows different keffiyeh fabric colorss in a textile factory in Hebron in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, January 24,2023. (Reuters)
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US Sales of Palestinian Keffiyehs Soar, Even as Wearers Targeted

Izzat Hirbawi shows different keffiyeh fabric colorss in a textile factory in Hebron in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, January 24,2023. (Reuters)
Izzat Hirbawi shows different keffiyeh fabric colorss in a textile factory in Hebron in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, January 24,2023. (Reuters)

A growing number of Americans are donning the keffiyeh, the distinctive patterned scarf that's closely linked with Palestinians, to demand a ceasefire to Israel's attacks on Gaza or to signal their support for Palestinians.

Sales of the scarves have jumped since the Israel-Hamas war began in October, US distributors say, even as keffiyehs have been forcibly removed by security forces at some protests and wearers report being targeted for verbal and physical abuse.

"It was like a light switch. All of a sudden, we had hundreds of people on the website simultaneously and buying whatever they could," said Azar Aghayev, the US distributor for Hirbawi, which opened in 1961 and is the only manufacturer of keffiyehs left in the Israeli-occupied West Bank.

"In two days, the stock that we had was just gone, and not just gone, it was oversold."

Hirbawi, which has patented its brand, sells scarves internationally via its US and German websites and on Amazon. All 40 variations on the US website, which include many in bright colors as well as the traditional black and white, are sold out, Aghayev said.

Unit sales of keffiyeh scarves have risen 75% in the 56 days between Oct. 7 and Dec. 2 on Amazon.com compared with the previous 56 days, data from e-commerce analytics firm Jungle Scout showed. Searches for "Palestinian scarf for women" rose by 159% in the three months to Dec. 4 compared with the previous three months; searches for "military scarf shemagh,keffiyeh palestine" and "keffiyeh" rose 333%, 75%, and 68%, respectively.

The keffiyeh, with its fishing net pattern, is common throughout the Arab world, with roots dating as far back as 3100 BC. It first came to symbolize Palestinian resistance during the 1936 Arab Revolt against British rule and later became the signature head gear of Palestine Liberation Organization leader Yasser Arafat.

While Hirbawi is the best-known manufacturer, others include small artisans and global copycats; luxury goods maker Louis Vuitton sold a version in 2021.

US supporters of the Palestinians and Israel have faced threats and attacks since the Middle East conflict began, with Jewish Americans seeing an increase in antisemitism and Muslim Americans an uptick in Islamaphobia.

Hazami Barmada, 38, a former United Nations official who lives in Virginia, wore one recently as she protested outside the White House and in Washington's Georgetown neighborhood in support of a ceasefire in Gaza.

Donning the scarf felt like a "superpower," she said, reconnecting her with her Palestinian heritage and offering a symbolic link to children in Gaza. But she believes it also attracts verbal abuse. "I'm taking a calculated risk," said Barmada.

Security target, Vermont shooting

At New York City's Rockefeller Center Christmas tree lighting in November, one attendee who wore a keffiyeh had it yanked off by a security officer - a moment captured in a Reuters photograph.

The security officer approached protesters at the front of the crowd who had a banner, a Palestinian flag, and one wearing a keffiyeh, and grabbed all three items, taking the keffiyeh from around the neck of the protester, photographer Eduardo Munnoz said.

The Council on American-Islamic Relations has documented several instances of people targeted for wearing a keffiyeh, from a father assaulted on a Brooklyn playground to a Harvard graduate student who was told she was wearing a "terrorist" scarf.

In the most serious incident, three college students of Palestinian descent - two wearing keffiyehs - were shot in Burlington, Vermont, while taking a walk last month. Hisham Awartani, 20, is paralyzed from the chest down. Authorities have charged a suspect with attempted murder in the shootings and are investigating whether it was a hate-motivated crime.

Tamara Tamimi, the mother of one of the students, Kinnan Abdalhamid, told CBS News last week that she believed they would not have been targeted if they had not been "dressed the way that they were and speaking Arabic."

Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP), a group at the center of US campus activism since Hamas attacked Israel on Oct. 7. has been encouraging students to “wear your keffiyeh” in solidarity with the students shot in Vermont in the week after the incident.

Still, in Houston, Texas, SJP member Anna Rajagopal said she and other members had not worn their keffiyeh outside spaces they considered friendly to Arabs and Muslims since October, after people waving Israeli flags surrounded a cafe they were in, screaming insults.

"Myself and a friend have been cognizant of taking off our keffiyehs after leaving Palestinian, Arab spaces to be safe," said Rajagopal, 23, a freelance writer who graduated from Rice University in May and is also a member of Jewish Voice for Peace, a group that advocates for Palestinian independence.

Demand is unabated, though, sellers say. "If we could stock 20,000 keffiyehs, we would have sold them," said Morgan Totah, founder of Handmade Palestine, a group based in the Palestinian city of Ramallah that sells local artisans' wares online.



To Get Their Own Cash, People in Gaza Must Pay Middlemen a 40% Cut

A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)
A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)
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To Get Their Own Cash, People in Gaza Must Pay Middlemen a 40% Cut

A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)
A destroyed branch of the Bank of Palestine in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City is seen Wednesday, July 9, 2025. (AP)

Cash is the lifeblood of the Gaza Strip’s shattered economy, and like all other necessities in this war-torn territory — food, fuel, medicine — it is in extremely short supply.

With nearly every bank branch and ATM inoperable, people have become reliant on an unrestrained network of powerful cash brokers to get money for daily expenses and commissions on those transactions have soared to about 40%.

"The people are crying blood because of this," said Ayman al-Dahdouh, a school director living in Gaza City. "It’s suffocating us, starving us."

At a time of surging inflation, high unemployment and dwindling savings, the scarcity of cash has magnified the financial squeeze on families — some of whom have begun to sell their possessions to buy essential goods.

The cash that is available has even lost some of its luster. Palestinians use the Israeli currency, the shekel, for most transactions. Yet with Israel no longer resupplying the territory with newly printed bank notes, merchants are increasingly reluctant to accept frayed bills.

Gaza’s punishing cash crunch has several root causes, experts say.

To curtail Hamas’ ability to purchase weapons and pay its fighters, Israel stopped allowing cash to enter Gaza at the start of the war. Around the same time, many wealthy families in Gaza withdrew their money from banks and then fled the territory. And rising fears about Gaza’s financial system prompted foreign businesses selling goods into the territory to demand cash payments.

As Gaza’s money supply dwindled and civilians’ desperation mounted, cash brokers' commissions — around 5% at the start of the war — skyrocketed.

Someone needing cash transfers money electronically to a broker and moments later is handed a fraction of that amount in bills. Many brokers openly advertise their services, while others are more secretive. Some grocers and retailers have also begun exchanging cash for their customers.

"If I need $60, I need to transfer $100," said Mohammed Basheer al-Farra, who lives in southern Gaza after being displaced from Khan Younis. "This is the only way we can buy essentials, like flour and sugar. We lose nearly half of our money just to be able to spend it."

In 2024, inflation in Gaza surged by 230%, according to the World Bank. It dropped slightly during the ceasefire that began in January, only to shoot up again after Israel backed out of the truce in March.

Cash touches every aspect of life in Gaza

About 80% of people in Gaza were unemployed at the end of 2024, according to the World Bank, and the figure is likely higher now. Those with jobs are mostly paid by direct deposits into their bank accounts.

But "when you want to buy vegetables, food, water, medication -- if you want to take transportation, or you need a blanket, or anything — you must use cash," al-Dahdouh said.

Shahid Ajjour’s family has been living off of savings for two years after the pharmacy and another business they owned were ruined by the war.

"We had to sell everything just to get cash," said Ajjour, who sold her gold to buy flour and canned beans. The family of eight spends the equivalent of $12 every two days on flour; before the war, that cost less than $4.

Sugar is very expensive, costing the equivalent of $80-$100 per kilogram (2.2 pounds), multiple people said; before the war, that cost less than $2.

Gasoline is about $25 a liter, or roughly $95 a gallon, when paying the lower, cash price.

Bills are worn and unusable

The bills in Gaza are tattered after 21 months of war.

Money is so fragile, it feels as if it is going to melt in your hands, said Mohammed al-Awini, who lives in a tent camp in southern Gaza.

Small business owners said they were under pressure to ask customers for undamaged cash because their suppliers demand pristine bills from them.

Thaeir Suhwayl, a flour merchant in Deir al-Balah, said his suppliers recently demanded he pay them only with brand new 200-shekel ($60) bank notes, which he said are rare. Most civilians pay him with 20-shekel ($6) notes that are often in poor condition.

On a recent visit to the market, Ajjour transferred the shekel equivalent of around $100 to a cash broker and received around $50 in return. But when she tried to buy some household supplies from a merchant, she was turned away because the bills weren’t in good condition.

"So the worth of your $50 is zero in the end," she said.

This problem has given rise to a new business in Gaza: money repair. It costs between 3 and 10 shekels ($1-$3) to mend old bank notes. But even cash repaired with tape or other means is sometimes rejected.

People are at the mercy of cash brokers

After most of the banks closed in the early days of the war, those with large reserves of cash suddenly had immense power.

"People are at their mercy," said Mahmoud Aqel, who has been displaced from his home in southern Gaza. "No one can stop them."

The war makes it impossible to regulate market prices and exchange rates, said Dalia Alazzeh, an expert in finance and accounting at the University of the West of Scotland. "Nobody can physically monitor what’s happening," Alazzeh said.

A year ago, the Palestine Monetary Authority, the equivalent of a central bank for Gaza and the West Bank, sought to ease the crisis by introducing a digital payment system known as Iburaq. It attracted half a million users, or a quarter of the population, according to the World Bank, but was ultimately undermined by merchants insisting on cash.

Israel sought to ramp up financial pressure on Hamas earlier this year by tightening the distribution of humanitarian aid, which it said was routinely siphoned off by militants and then resold.

Experts said it is unclear if the cash brokers’ activities benefit Hamas, as some Israeli analysts claim.

The war has made it more difficult to determine who is behind all sorts of economic activity in the territory, said Omar Shabaan, director of Palthink for Strategic Studies, a Gaza-based think tank.

"It's a dark place now. You don't know who is bringing cigarettes into Gaza," he said, giving just one example. "It's like a mafia."

These same deep-pocketed traders are likely the ones running cash brokerages, and selling basic foodstuffs, he said. "They benefit by imposing these commissions," he said.

Once families run out of cash, they are forced to turn to humanitarian aid.

Al-Farra said that is what prompted him to begin seeking food at an aid distribution center, where it is common for Palestinians to jostle over one other for sacks of flour and boxes of pasta.

"This is the only way I can feed my family," he said.