Why Jordanian Christians are marking Christmas with quiet solidarity and hope for peace

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Visitors walk through a Christmas market in Fuheis, Jordan. (Rawan Baybars)
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Diana and Peter celebrate Christmas at their home in Amman, Jordan. (Rawan Baybars)
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Crown Prince Al-Hussein bin Abdullah II lights a tree in Madaba. (Social media)
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Updated 25 December 2025
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Why Jordanian Christians are marking Christmas with quiet solidarity and hope for peace

  • Official holiday festivities have been scaled back as an expression of solidarity with neighbors suffering in Gaza
  • Many families say they are moving away from seasonal consumerism to prioritize simple togetherness

AMMAN: As Christmas approaches in Jordan, Fairouz’s popular Christmas hymn “Laylet Eid” (Jingle bells) plays softly in shopping malls, while large, brightly decorated Christmas trees dominate hotel lobbies and public spaces in Amman.

The festive atmosphere is familiar, but for many Jordanian Christians, celebrations this year feel more restrained, shaped by economic pressures and the continued weight of regional conflict.

“This must be at least the fifth year in a row that the world feels sad and chaotic,” said Diana Haddad, a 32-year-old active member of her church community in Amman.

“After the pandemic, then the cost-of-living crisis, and now ongoing wars in the region, it hasn’t felt right to be fully joyful when so much suffering is happening around us.”

Since 2023, the war in Gaza and the broader situation in Palestine have had a particular impact on how Christmas is marked in Jordan.

While the holiday has traditionally been a time of family gatherings, church activities, and public celebrations, many families have opted for quieter observances as an expression of solidarity and reflection.

In 2023, Jordan’s Council of Church Leaders announced the cancellation of all Christmas festivities, including bazaars, scout parades, children’s gift distributions, and decorative initiatives, in solidarity with the people of Gaza.

“I really respected that decision,” Haddad said. “It felt like the right thing to do.”

Although some public celebrations have gradually returned, churches continue to place greater emphasis on community support rather than festivity as the region reels from political turmoil. 

Haddad and her 36-year-old husband Peter Nimri, both actively involved in church initiatives, said that while charity work continues throughout the year, the Christmas season traditionally includes winter aid distributions, food parcels, bazaars, and children’s activities.




Diana Haddad, 32, and Peter Nimri, 36, are dedicating this Christmas to supporting communities of neighboring countries. (Rawan Baybars)

In recent years, however, many of these initiatives have been adapted to offer support to regional neighbors.Nimri explained that gift boxes prepared for children attending Christmas prayers were instead sent to children in Gaza and Syria for the second year in a row.

In another case, a planned children’s lunch at a fast-food franchise was canceled, with the allocated budget redirected to families in Gaza.

“The community supported this decision,” Haddad said. “They appreciated that their children were being introduced to empathy and solidarity at a young age.”

Nimri added that churches in Jordan view all residents within their parish areas as their responsibility, regardless of faith.

Aid is provided regularly to families in need, though distribution methods have changed. “Instead of cash, we now use supermarket and clothing vouchers to ensure basic needs are met,” he said.

Christmas in Jordan also reflects a contrast between public and private celebrations. Aws Shawareb, a 21-year-old university student working as an usher at a Christmas market in Amman, described the festive season as one embraced by Jordanians from all religions.

“Christians and Muslims enjoy the season together,” he said. “Even in small shops around Amman, you see elements of Christmas. It’s a nice demonstration of unity.”

In a sign of this unity and harmony, Jordan’s Crown Prince Al-Hussein bin Abdullah II, joined the festive Christmas tree lighting ceremony at Peace Square in Madaba last week, with performances by Latin and Orthodox scout bands. 

Despite the flashy public celebrations, Shawareb believes that “the real Christmas happens at home with family and friends.”




Street lights adorn Amman's streets though citizens say they are opting for a more somber Christmas. (Rawan Baybars)

This sentiment resonates beyond the capital. Mary Giragossian, a 42-year-old Armenian Jordanian who grew up in Aqaba, said the Christmas atmosphere there has always felt more subdued compared to Amman.

“Still, I loved Christmas growing up,” she said. “It was about family gatherings, being together, and the feeling of warmth, even without big decorations.”

From elaborate decorations and expensive gifts to carefully styled Christmas dinners, Giragossian said while joyfulness is important, it is important not to lose the essence of Christmas or forget its spiritual meaning.

Nimri agreed, noting that Christmas has become part of a broader trend of seasonal consumerism. “It’s similar to how Ramadan or Mother’s Day are used as promotional opportunities,” he said.

For many families, Christmas Day itself reflects this balance. Shawareb spends the morning with his family and the evening celebrating with friends. Yet he expressed discomfort with the influence of social media on the holiday.

“Some people post just to show off outfits and expensive gifts,” he said. “Christmas should be about family togetherness.”

Social media has also reshaped how traditions are presented, particularly when it comes to food. Haddad laughed as she referenced the popularity of sophisticated cheese platters online. 

“They’re chic, but completely new to our celebrations,” she said.




Christmas street decorations in Amman, Jordan. (Rawan Baybars)

Some traditions, however, remain unchanged. Christmas Eve dinners still feature roasted turkey and large pots of waraq dawali — stuffed grape leaves — prepared for family gatherings.

Nimri, who grew up in Zarqa, recalled that his experience of Christmas as a child differed significantly from that of his cousins in the US.

Today, he believes his four-year-old son Amir enjoys greater exposure to festive celebrations, particularly since the family lives in Amman, where public decorations and events are more visible.

While Amman remains the center of Christmas activity, Haddad noted that social media has narrowed the gap between the capital and other cities by giving more people access to festive ideas and decorations.

Still, caution remains. “It’s important to preserve the spiritual meaning and the story behind Christmas,” she said.

For many Jordanian Christians, Christmas this year is less about spectacle and more about continuity, maintaining faith, community, and compassion amid uncertainty.

Reserved celebrations, they say, have become a way to hold on to hope while remaining mindful of the suffering that continues to shape the region.


Morocco flood evacuees mark muted Ramadan away from home

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Morocco flood evacuees mark muted Ramadan away from home

  • When floods forced Ahmed El Habachi out of his Moroccan village, he thought the displacement was temporary. Weeks later, he broke his Ramadan fast in a tent, wondering when he would return home
KENITRA, Morocco: When floods forced Ahmed El Habachi out of his Moroccan village, he thought the displacement was temporary. Weeks later, he broke his Ramadan fast in a tent, wondering when he would return home.
During the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, families traditionally gather over joyous feasts to break the daytime fast.
But the floods that battered northwestern Morocco in recent weeks have left evacuees like Habachi with little to celebrate.
“We prepare Iftar with whatever we can lay our hands on,” the 37-year-old told AFP, referring to the fast-breaking meal.
“After all, it’s not like we’re home,” he said, standing outside his blue tent marked “B190” in a makeshift camp set up by authorities near the city of Kenitra.
Just before sunset, women gathered around small stoves. They made do with no running water, and soon the smell of grilled fish wafted through the site.
The families then retreated to their tents for Iftar, with candles providing light for lack of electricity.
The heavy downpours have displaced over 180,000 people as of last week, authorities said, with at least four people killed.
- ‘Two or three months’ -
Most evacuees in the region have been allowed to return home, but that was not yet an option for Habachi and his children.
“Where would we sleep? There’s still mud up to the knees,” he said, showing cell phone videos of his home in Ouled Amer, some 35 kilometers (22 miles) away.
He said flooding from a nearby river swept away half of the walls of his house.
“We’ll need two or three months to get back to normal,” he added.
The camp managers serve each family water and a bag of rice per day.
Fatima Laaouj, 60, said this year’s Ramadan was “nothing like what we were used to.”
“We lack everything: bread, harira (traditional soup), milk... How can we buy anything when we have no money?” said Laaouj, who picks raspberries for a living.
“We don’t have work anymore. The farmland is all destroyed,” she added.
Not far from the camp, in the town of Mograne which was swamped by the neighboring Sebou River, villagers still waded through deep mud.
Several homes showed signs of flooding, with walls torn open and floors soaked.
Families had left their belongings stored on top of wardrobes out of fear the water could rise again.
- ‘Usually, there’s joy’ -
After two weeks at the camp, 42-year-old Yamna Chtata returned to find her home turned into a pool of mud, with walls threatening to collapse.
Her voice choked with sobs, she said she was forced to observe Ramadan out of her own home for the first time in the two decades she has lived there.
“We are not celebrating... I have two daughters who are unwell because of the severity of the situation,” she said.
Mansour Amrani, a 59-year-old factory security guard, was on his way to the local mosque to fetch drinking water.
That day, he planned to make couscous for his wife and three daughters to break the fast.
“Usually, there’s joy when we make couscous,” he said. “Today, it’s no longer the case. We’re afraid the house will collapse on our heads.”
Abdelmajid Lekihel, a 49-year-old street vendor, believed it would take time for things to return to normal.
“Food products are no longer available like before,” he said, adding that shortages at the local market made preparing the traditional Ramadan meals difficult.
Plus, lingering mud “prevents us from going to see a neighbor, a family member, a friend,” he said.
“We’re living one day at a time.”