The Woman Behind Palestine’s Pioneering Brewery

A small family-run brewery in the West Bank is exporting craft beer, offering a glimpse of a Palestine defined by innovation and endurance rather than the violence that fills the headlines.

At 4am, while the world around her sleeps, Madees Khoury is wide awake and brewing beer in the hills of the occupied West Bank.

“I’m still in my pajamas, but I’m in my zone! It’s fun!” she laughs. “I get my hands dirty and I work. I love it!”

Khoury is not just doing any job. She’s the only female brewer in the Middle East. And from the Palestinian village of Taybeh, she is making beer under occupation, against the grain of tradition—far from the easiest place to run a business.

“I grew up here, since the age of nine, watching my family build the business and work really hard,” the 39-year-old tells me from the brewery over a Zoom call. “When I was in the States, I couldn’t wait for summer so I could return and work here.”

Khoury studied business, returning home after college to join the company full-time in 2007, aged 21. Nearly two decades later, Taybeh Brewing Company now exports to more than 17 countries, including Japan, Germany, Belgium, and Sweden.

They even launched their own version of Oktoberfest in 2005, which put the sleepy village of Taybeh (which, incidentally, means ‘delicious’ in Arabic) firmly on the map.

Each batch of Taybeh carries the history and persistence of those who refused to give up. Now, that resistance has found its way onto shelves across the UK.

In August, Taybeh launched a new lager, Sun & Stone, in collaboration with Scottish social enterprise Brewgooder. The name is a nod to the region’s warm climate and rocky terrain, and the beer is now stocked in 1,600 stores across the UK. Brewgooder has pledged to produce the beer at zero profit, with proceeds supporting Taybeh’s community and the Disasters Emergency Committee (DEC).

“It’s heartwarming to see that kind of support, and for a good cause,” says Khoury.

Founded in 1994 by Khoury’s father, Nadim, and her uncle David, Taybeh is the oldest microbrewery in the region. The idea began when Nadim, then a student in the USA, experimented with home brewing. His father, Canaan, urged him to return to Palestine after the 1993 Oslo Accords brought a fresh wave of optimism.

“My grandfather got the land, the permits, and got the blessings even from Yasser Arafat [the late Palestinian leader]. Then he told me, dad, and uncle, yalla, and that’s how it started,” Khoury says.

The brewery launched with its flagship Taybeh Golden in August 1994. The company produces 6,000 hectolitres of beer and offers seven classic beers, including dark, amber, and IPA, as well as limited editions available exclusively at the brewery. They’re laced with local flavors like za’atar, sumac, Arabic coffee, and Dead Sea salt.

“It’s fun making beer, it’s never boring!” Khoury says.

Their number 2 bestseller is the IPA—it’s bitter and an acquired taste. It was initially a harder sell for the locals, because “Palestinians and Middle Easterners generally like sweet stuff,” Madees explains. “I mean, they’ll put four teaspoons of sugar in a small cup of tea!”

The brewery imports its malt from France and Belgium, hops from the Czech Republic, and bottles from Germany and Ukraine.

“When I was travelling last month, people were still asking me, ‘Oh, there’s beer in Palestine? You guys drink alcohol?” Madees says with a smile. “Like, hello! We have liberal Muslims who drink openly, and we have a Christian population. Beer and wine were created on this side of the world. Yet we still need to keep talking about it.”

In 2010, Taybeh crafted a non-alcoholic malt beverage, specifically to target the teetotal crowd. “We wanted to reach out to consumers who don’t drink but wanted a local, high-quality product. It’s sweet due to the malt and, as I said, Palestinians like sweet things!”

The business employs 15 workers. In 2013, the family opened a boutique winery and hotel to promote tourism. Producing 25,000 bottles a year, the wines are made from 21 local grape varieties and sold under her father’s namesake. “Incidentally, Nadim, in Arabic, means drinking companion. So he was born to do this job,” Madees grins.

Located 12 kilometers northeast of Ramallah, Taybeh is the last fully Christian town in Palestine, home to around 1,300 people. From its elevated spot, it overlooks the Jordan Valley, Jericho, and the Dead Sea.

Taybeh appears in the Gospel of John as Ephraim, the place where Jesus withdrew for rest before the crucifixion.

But in the land where Jesus once turned water into wine, the Christian population is being pushed out. Today, they make up an estimated 1% of the population in the Palestinian territories, a decline from roughly 10% in 1948.

Brewing in Palestine became even more tricky after the horrific events of October 7. As war raged in Gaza, settler violence surged in the West Bank. On July 14, Israeli settlers attacked Taybeh’s historic Church of Saint George and its graveyard, prompting a rare condemnation by the American ambassador to Israel, Mike Huckabee.

“If I look from my office and to my right, towards the highest hill in the area, I can see an Israeli telecoms post, and them digging up another road for another settler outpost,” Khoury explains. “If I look straight ahead on the horizon, I see something else happening. We’re surrounded.”

Taybeh’s production relies on water from a local spring, which has been attacked by Israeli settlers “at least three times” in July alone. “95% of beer is water,” she says. “When the Palestinian water company can’t supply us, it’s a problem.”

The business must also navigate labyrinthine shipping logistics, including passing through specific commercial checkpoints and obtaining permits from the Israelis. A delay in receiving the correct permit can often result in missing an order shipment.

“Roads are difficult to move around; 90% of the roads since October 7 have been blocked and closed,” Khoury explains. “Then you have the Israeli checkpoints, waiting one hour here, another hour there. There are 1,200 gates in every single town and village, and [the Israelis] can close the gate whenever they want, so then you’re stuck and you can’t get out.”

In such a situation, what can they do? “There’s nothing you can do,” she frowns. “You just wait like everyone else. Eventually, they’ll open up after a couple of hours.”

In a place where over 200,000 Palestinians are unemployed, and many workers for the Palestinian Authority have yet to be paid, it means cutbacks. Beer, therefore, has become a luxury product. “People are like zombies, trying to get by, day by day,” Khoury frowns. “You don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, if you’re going to be able to return home after work. We’re living in a prison, and it’s terrifying.”

Then, of course, there’s the added element of working in what is traditionally seen as a man’s domain. Living under the occupation as well as in a conservative society, Khoury has it “four times more difficult. People think I’m joking, especially Arabs. They’re like, ‘You? You make the beer?’ And I tell them, ‘yeah, I made that beer you’re drinking!’”

Even now, when drivers arrive to collect the beer or drop off any materials, they “immediately go to whichever man is in front of them,” Madees explains.

While there are plenty of high points, Khoury has overcome some personal difficulties.

“I’ve had a couple of nervous breakdowns over the years. It helps to open your fridge and find a cold Taybeh beer!” she says with a smile. “It’s hard doing business in this country; it’s suffocating. So I’m grateful I have good support from my family.”

On a recent trip to London, she experienced the jarring contrast of freedom of movement. “It felt weird getting on the underground and arriving somewhere 30 minutes later. Living in Palestine for so long, it was strange: not worrying about checkpoints, settler attacks, or running out of water mid-shower.”

Through it all, she remains hopeful. Even in Israel, Taybeh’s popularity is strong. “We’re interconnected. If something affects Palestinians, it affects Israelis too,” Khoury says. “Our beer is available for those who want to enjoy high-quality beer; it doesn’t matter where you’re from.”

But what’s the response from Israeli customers once they discover that they’re drinking a Palestinian beer? “They’re like, ‘oh, you guys drink alcohol?’” Madees laughs again.

So what’s next? Taybeh is finishing work on a new brewery with bigger tanks, better machinery, and expanded capacity. “We want to be ready for when things settle down. I’d love to expand to more Arab countries—we’re already in Jordan and Abu Dhabi—and maybe even Africa.”

Madees Khoury’s vision, like Taybeh beer, is rooted in home but brewed with ambition. Despite the aftermath of the war and the ongoing occupation, she remains optimistic about the future. “Palestinians see the light at the end of the tunnel, and even now, we still have high hopes.”

As well as a product, Taybeh is selling a different image of Palestine—one drink at a time. “I want people to appreciate when they do find Taybeh, that bottle of beer did suffer to get to your hands. It’s a great beer and I hope they do enjoy it!”

Surely we can all raise a glass to that.

Middle East Uncovered is powered by Ideas Beyond Borders. The views expressed in Middle East Uncovered are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of Ideas Beyond Borders.