Waze, the most prevalent navigation app in Israel, often instructs drivers to “avoid high-risk areas”—a designation it extends to Palestinian areas in the West Bank. Last month, I disabled this setting before heading toward the small town of Taybeh, where the Taybeh Brewing Company hosts the territory’s lone Oktoberfest celebration. The annual two-day festival, which just marked its 17th year, drew a crowd of roughly 10,000 imbibers.
They came for a schedule packed with tastings, musical performances, dancing and, of course, plenty of cold beer. Despite the preponderance of German-style beer steins (and beer stein-holding competitions), it was a decidedly Palestinian affair. Instead of bratwurst, there was shawarma. Dancers performed and taught dabke, a traditional Palestinian folklore dance. Of the many beers on offer, there was brew flavored with za’atar, a local herb in the thyme family. Canaan Khoury, Taybeh’s master brewer, describes the za’atar beer as “Palestine in a cup.”
In the past, the festival has drawn an eclectic mix of visitors from the West Bank, Gaza, Israel and across the globe. However, it was clear to me that the majority of this year’s attendees were West Bank Palestinians and Israeli Arabs. While the crowd was peppered with foreigners who lived in Israel and Palestine—diplomats, journalists, activists and volunteers—I encountered no Israeli Jews in my reporting.
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Despite this, Madees Khoury, the brewery’s director and daughter of co-founder Nadim Khoury, stresses that the festival aims for inclusivity. “It doesn’t matter what language you speak, where you live, what your religious beliefs are,” she says. “Everyone comes together … and just has a good time.”
The contrast between these impressions—the suds-soaked hope for togetherness alongside the seeming absence of Israeli Jews—perhaps gets at the heart of the region’s problems. It remains tremendously difficult for those on opposite sides of the Israel-West Bank Green Line to share a beer.
Still, there was plenty of diversity in the crowd. During the beer stein-holding competition, the emcee asked contestants from where they came. Answers ranged from Haifa, Ramallah and al-Quds (the Arabic name for Jerusalem) to London and New York, each new place eliciting a cheer from the crowd. A Gazan received the loudest response; less than 20,000 of the over 2 million Palestinians living in the Gaza Strip are granted work permits, which allow them to leave Gaza via Israel. (The only other way out of Gaza is through Egypt, which presents other difficulties.)
The winner of the competition’s men’s bracket, an Israeli Arab who asked to be identified only as Basam, particularly embodied the mashup of German and Palestinian culture. Smartly dressed in lederhosen, Basam bore around his neck a necklace with a pendant in the shape of Handala, a Palestinian political cartoon. Though Basam identifies as Muslim, for whom alcohol is usually forbidden, he’d allowed himself a few beers. “I’m a liberal Muslim,” Basam said by way of explanation.
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Overall, attendees seemed laid-back and welcoming, despite the festival’s setting in a territory infamous for conflict. Indeed, the only real danger I encountered was to my car’s tires, which bumped along through numerous potholes during the drive in. The economic situation in the Palestinian territories is, after all, quite vulnerable. Repaving roads is a low priority.
The mood at the festival, however, was in no need of repair. Madees describes it as “not just a beer festival [but] an open day for the village of Taybeh.” The festival “shows people—locals, Israelis and internationals—an extra side of Palestine, because what you see on the news is completely different from our day-to-day life.”
“We’re Palestinians,” she continues. “We drink beer. We listen to rap music. We wear whatever we feel comfortable wearing and we have a good time.”
Taybeh Beer, which was founded in 1994 by brothers Nadim and David Khoury, is the oldest brewery in Palestine and the first microbrewery in the entirety of the Middle East. The pair, who were raised in Taybeh, but attended college in the U.S., were inspired by the Oslo Accords, a peace agreement signed in 1993 that outlined a two-state solution for Israel and Palestine. Nadim, a home brewing enthusiast, decided to invest in his country and moved back to the town in which his family had lived for over 600 years. Today, Taybeh beer is available across the world.
Nadim organized Taybeh’s first Oktoberfest after the second intifada, which lasted from September of 2000 to February of 2005. During that difficult period, there were no festivals in Palestine. Nadim decided to establish a German-style Oktoberfest to promote area products and boost the economy—and the spirits of locals.
Since its first installment, “the festival has grown depending on the political situation,” Nadim explains. Oktoberfests were canceled during war times, and when the pandemic raged. Politics has always affected how the brewery does business, though.
“We don’t have our own borders,” Madees says, “so everything that goes in and out of the country is controlled by the Israelis.” For a foreigner, driving by car from the brewery in Taybeh to the port in Haifa takes about two hours, she says. “For the beer, it takes three days.” Permits, commercial checkpoints between Israel and the West Bank and numerous security checks can draw out the process.
“Many times, Israelis at the security check change procedures and guidelines without letting us know,” Madees says, so she’s always on her toes.
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For the festival, of course, sending beer through checkpoints isn’t a concern—Oktoberfest always takes place in the courtyard outside the brewery, so the beer doesn’t have to travel far. But a security check awaits many attendees when, post revelry, they return to the Israeli side of the Green Line.
“Where did you come from?” asked a gun-wielding border patrol agent, who looked no older than 20, upon my return from last month’s festival. She was confused when I said Taybeh rather than a nearby Israeli settlement. She let me through only after I showed her the brewery’s location on Google Maps.
Despite the challenges, Madees remains positive about Taybeh Beer and the region at large. “I just keep drinking,” she says with a laugh. “Many times it does get frustrating living and doing business here, [but] I love the business. I love the beer,” she continues. “[I’m] very happy that I get to open up a cold brew and enjoy my day.”
Last Updated: October 5, 2023
