Adel Tartir. Teatro. Theatre. Wonderbox/Sandouq El ‘Ajab [Cajas Maravillosas]. ESP ENG

Photo/Foto. Adel Tartir paints the 12th and final Sandouq El-Ajab (Wonderbox) at his family home in Ramallah, on 13 June 2025 (Courtesy of Alaa Tartir). Adel Tartir pinta el duodécimo y último Sandouq El-Ajab (Caja de Maravillas) en la casa de su familia en Ramallah, el 13 de junio de 2025 (Cortesía de Alaa Tartir).

ESPAÑOL

La emancipadora brújula teatral de Adel Tartir

ALAA TARTIR Loud & Clear 1 de diciembre de 2025

«El teatro, con toda la diversidad de sus escenarios, debe ser siempre un espacio para el debate y la autocrítica, un ámbito que se ponga del lado de los oprimidos, una brújula que apunte hacia la liberación y la emancipación, y un faro de esperanza. Cada vez que se acumulan las cargas del teatro y de los artistas teatrales, y sus esperanzas se desvanecen y se desmoronan sus sueños, todos debemos saber con certeza, como cultura, como sociedad y como causa, que no estamos bien».

Estas son las palabras de Adel Tartir, artista teatral, narrador, guardián de la Wonderbox/Sandouq El ‘Ajab [Cajas Maravillosas] y padre del teatro palestino, que falleció en Ramala el 10 de julio de 2025. Estas palabras resumen la esencia de su filosofía teatral e ilustran su espíritu de resistencia y el papel que concebía para el teatro en la liberación.

Repitió en numerosas ocasiones: «No solo vivimos el teatro; lo respiramos», y siempre defendió que el teatro es ante todo «un espacio, un escenario y un ámbito para la confesión, la revelación, la provocación, el debate y la confrontación creativa».

En su último acto, en su lecho de muerte, me recordó que «nuestra vida es teatro, y el teatro es nuestra vida». No solo conceptualizó todo esto y defendió ideales y valores, sino que los vivió, los puso en práctica, se dejó guiar principalmente por ellos y nunca transigió en ellos. Estaba comprometido con la pureza y la misión del teatro. Estaba decidido a preservar la claridad de la dirección estratégica de su teatro. Y se mostraba inflexible en que la producción y la creación de cualquier obra teatral genuina es, en esencia, un acto de resistencia.

Sostenía que el verdadero teatro es un acto infinito de entrega, y que la auténtica producción teatral no tiene que ver con la escenografía, la decoración del escenario, los patrocinadores , o con aparentar ser «occidental» ante los donantes para reivindicar la «modernidad».

Cada Día del Teatro, el 27 de marzo, practicaba sus rituales anuales y renovaba su compromiso de seguir dando forma a la visión colectiva del teatro que aspiraba a crear. Ese día, instaba sistemáticamente a sus compañeros artistas teatrales a unirse para crear un teatro capaz de dar, perdurar y sostenerse; un teatro veraz que eleve la pasión y la esperanza. Abogó con persistencia por una visión teatral colectiva y progresista, que se resistiera a todas las formas de opresión e injusticia.

Durante décadas, con obstinación, hizo un llamamiento a reunirnos y sentar las bases, o al menos a soñar, con un teatro que «nos acoja a todos; un cuerpo teatral que nos represente, que dé voz a nuestras preocupaciones y que cumpla nuestras aspiraciones y ambiciones». Abogó apasionadamente por un movimiento teatral genuino, puro y sincero, vinculado orgánicamente al espíritu del teatro como la vida misma, y a la creatividad sin límites que se resiste a todas las formas de opresión y recorre el camino de la liberación y la emancipación.

A través de su obra, transformó el teatro en un espacio de reflexión colectiva y desafío, dando voz a los silenciados y dignidad a los desposeídos. En esencia, así era Adel Tartir y así eran los valores, principios y filosofía que representaba.

Durante más de medio siglo, Adel Tartir dedicó su vida al teatro, sentó las bases del movimiento teatral palestino contemporáneo y llevó estos principios a lo largo de su trayectoria teatral, desde el Teatro As Saqifa hasta la Compañía Balalin, y desde 1975 hasta el Teatro Sanduq El ‘Ajab, desempeñando un papel esclarecedor, movilizador, educativo y liberador; el mismo papel que él concebía para el teatro.

A principios de la década de 1990, con los importantes cambios y transformaciones políticas, se vio empujado y obligado a innovar aún más, y comenzó un viaje y una nueva etapa con Sanduq El ‘Ajab, centrándose en las semillas del futuro: los niños y las niñas. Durante más de treinta años, nunca dejó de experimentar y desarrollar continuamente esta forma teatral, y diseñó, produjo y desarrolló doce Sanduq El ‘Ajabs de diversos tamaños, formas y mecanismos, celebrando y contando la historia palestina.

Custodió la tradición narrativa y el patrimonio cultural palestinos, rindiendo homenaje a uno de los grandes narradores del mundo árabe. Esas cajas de las maravillas, intrincadas y hechas a mano, dieron vida a relatos sobre la identidad, la memoria cultural, la justicia y la resistencia.

Las diversas creaciones del Sanduq El ‘Ajab son fruto de la persistencia, una expresión viva de resiliencia y continuidad, y una expresión teatral integral que tenía como objetivo resistir y oponerse a todos los intentos de despojar al teatro de su papel pionero, esclarecedor, provocador y liberador.

El cautivador universo de Adel Tartir y su creación emblemática, el Sanduq El ‘Ajab, siempre nos invitaban a contar la narrativa y la historia palestinas; a imaginar, recordar, narrar, crear. 

ENGLISH

My father made Palestinian theatre an act of resistance
Alaa Tartir
12 July 2026 

One year after his death, I remember Adel Tartir through his final reflections on theatre as a space for confession, provocation and liberation

June 2025. Iranian missiles streak across the sky above Ramallah, intercepted overhead, while the roar of Israeli fighter jets fills the night as they head east to bombard Iran.

Amid this unfolding war, I sit with my father, Adel Tartir, in the courtyard of my parents' home. Beside me, he is colouring his 12th Sandouq El-Ajab (Wonderbox), choosing an unexpected colour - vivid, vibrant pink, full of life.

Only a few days remain before we complete our work on "A Journey through the Worlds of the Wonderbox", an exhibition in Ramallah celebrating the 12 Sandouq El-Ajabs that he conceived, designed and developed over the course of three decades to tell the Palestinian story.

A pioneer of Palestinian children's theatre and the creator of the beloved character Abu Al-Ajab, whose name later became synonymous with his theatrical school, my father devoted his life to safeguarding Palestinian storytelling, imagination and cultural heritage.

As the explosions grew louder and the night deepened, he carefully applied the final layers of colour to his 12th wonderbox, patiently perfecting every brushstroke.

At the same time, he narrated the opening speech he had already composed in his imagination - not as a conventional address, but as a theatrical performance that neither war nor rockets could silence. When he finished rehearsing it, he looked at me, smiled quietly, and whispered: "And with this, I conclude."

A few days later, we began carrying the wonderboxes out of his theatre in the old city of Ramallah and transporting them to the exhibition hall. I sent my mother, Tahani, a photograph to show her our progress. Her heart tightened. She struggled to breathe, yet remained silent.

The following afternoon, just one day before the exhibition was due to open, I left the final frame for my father to hang later that evening - a small gesture that would complete the installation. As I walked away, my mother called. My father had just been admitted to the emergency department.

I rushed to the hospital, unable to stop thinking about that last frame still waiting to be hung.

Hours later, he closed his eyes forever.

My father devoted more than half a century of his life to theatre and laid the founding pillars of the contemporary Palestinian theatre movement

I stood beside him, holding the hand I had loved all my life and kissing his broad forehead as he whispered his final words to me: "Don't forget, my son - our life is theatre, and theatre is our life."

On 10 July 2025, Adel Tartir passed away.

He was not only my father. He was, in every sense, a father of Palestinian theatre.

Four days later, on 14 July 2025, we opened the exhibition as planned. What had been conceived as a celebration of his life's work became a tribute to his extraordinary journey.

The exhibition traced the many stages of a life devoted to theatre, storytelling and Palestine - a life that he always insisted on describing simply as "a temporary story", never a finished biography.

I knew Adel Tartir not only as my father, but as my lifelong companion. I was his eldest son, his friend and his colleague, and we lovingly addressed each other as ya akhi ("my brother").

For 40 years, we shared far more than blood. We shared warmth and laughter, an unwavering commitment to a common cause, a love of theatre that shaped our lives, hope that endured through the darkest times, the struggles and exhilaration of creation, and the quiet pride of building something larger than ourselves, together.

A space for resistance

My father devoted more than half a century of his life to theatre and laid the founding pillars of the contemporary Palestinian theatre movement.

From Al-Saqifa Theatre to Balalin Troupe, and later the Sandouq El-Ajab Theatre, he believed wholeheartedly that genuine, committed theatre - born of and belonging to the people - plays an enlightening, mobilising, educational and liberating role.

He repeated time and again: "We live theatre, we breathe it, we walk it, we dance it, we sleep it."

He always argued that theatre is, above all, a space, stage and arena for confession, revelation, provocation, debate and creative confrontation.

Adel Tartir, who made the stage a space for resistance, summarised the essence of his theatrical philosophy by saying:

"Theatre, with all its diverse stages, must always be a space for debate and self-critique, a realm that takes the side of the oppressed, a compass pointing towards liberation and emancipation, and a beacon of hope. Whenever the burdens of the theatre and theatre-artists accumulate, and their hopes fade and their dreams scatter, we must all know with certainty, as a culture, as a society and as a cause, that we are not well."

In his final reflection for World Theatre Day, celebrated every 27 March, my father wrote:

"For us in Palestine, 27 March has always been an occasion to celebrate theatre despite all hardships and challenges - an occasion for continuity and persistence despite all obstacles, a moment for gathering and reminding ourselves that true theatre is a continuous creative, resistant and engaged state. It is an occasion to affirm that we remain and persist, even when we are not well; an occasion to declare our love for theatre; an affirmation that theatre is life; and a reassurance to the public not to fear true theatre - for theatre infused with love and life has nothing to fear and nothing to be feared."

He loved details

My dad loved details. As a storyteller, he believed they were where meaning lived, where emotion took shape and where every story found its truth. He described his ritual on World Theatre Day:

"I begin 27 March with a phone call from Michael Mseis, recalling the Theatre Month we organised in 1973. I then go to my theatre - my small world in old Ramallah - to greet the characters of the monodrama "Ras Ros", check on the posters and tickets of 'Lamma Injannina' (When We Went Mad) and 'Taghribet (The Journey) of Saeed Ibn Fadlallah', make sure that the egg from 'al-Qubba wan-Nabi' (The Hat and the Prophet) has not hatched and still stands as almost the only stage prop, and check on my Sandouq El-Ajab, my stories and my tales.

"I receive a call from Samia Qazmoz, remembering our honouring on World Theatre Day in 2005. I speak with my comrade Mustafa al-Kurd, recalling how we shared bread and the sickle. I meet colleagues with refined theatrical sensibilities and unstoppable creative energy, and we remember Yacoub Ismail, Anis al-Barghouthi, Francois Abu Salem, Omar Samara and others who have left the stage and its backstage, renewing our commitment to continue."

He continued, with his affection for details: "From Jerusalem, Ahmad Abu Salloum calls to greet me, always saying: 'I was just quickly passing through Ramallah and wanted to greet you on this day.' By coincidence - now a yearly ritual - this always happens on 27 March.

"Then come Reem Talhami, Fadi al-Ghoul, Nidal al-Khatib, Majed al-Maani, Akram al-Malki, Darwish Abu al-Rish, Hussein Nakhla and others, as we share tea and doses of theatrical passion. We check on theatre and delight in it, along with the sincerity of Hossam Abu Aisha at Zaatara Cafe.

"We live theatre, breathe it, walk it, dance it, sleep it, and dream of it, as Ziad Khaddash once described us in 2006, calling us - affectionately - the madmen of Palestinian theatre when we closed the streets of Ramallah in celebration of our day. World Theatre Day, in its symbolism, reminds us all that theatre - the father of the arts - is fundamentally a space and platform for expression, revelation, provocation, dialogue and creative engagement."

Yet World Theatre Day was also an occasion to remember and share the burdens of theatre and the challenges he and his theatrical comrades faced, and to reflect on ways to overcome them and ensure continuity.

World Theatre Day, he argued, was always 'a day for reflection on ourselves and our theatrical condition … to draw inspiration from our past, look towards our future'

The challenges were many, the conditions were difficult, financial resources were limited when they existed at all, freedoms kept shrinking, and the state of theatre was always far from ideal. Every stage and step of theatrical production was filled with challenges, making the creation of any genuine theatrical work an act of resistance in itself.

For my dad, true theatre was endless giving, and serious production was not measured by the complexity of scenography or the extravagance of stage decor, nor by the number of funders listed on posters, nor by how "western" it appeared to justify its "modernity" to donor communities.