The year is 1920, and you can smell the city before you can see it. A wave of sweet, citrus fragrance washes over you. Then it comes into view, the “Bride of the Sea.” Jaffa is a city where old meets new, where grand cinemas showcasing the latest Hollywood films stand alongside ancient streets and winding alleys. Its rise as a cultural and commercial hub is owed to one thing: citrus.
Founded in the 19th century BC by the Canaanites — the ancient inhabitants of Canaan (modern Israel, Palestine, Lebanon, and beyond) — as a trading hub, Jaffa is one of the oldest cities in the world. Situated in modern-day Israel, its strategic position along the Mediterranean made it a sought-after prize for countless empires. From Egyptian Pharaoh Thutmose III to Israelite King Solomon, from Roman Emperor Vespasian to England’s King Richard I, Jaffa changed hands time and again, becoming a proverbial “hot potato” of conquest. By the 16th century AD, Jaffa fell under Ottoman rule, setting the stage for the city’s citrus boom.
Citrus fruits are not native to the Middle East; they originated in the Himalayan foothills. So how did citrus reach the Mediterranean coast? Through trade and migration. Around the 2nd century BC, the first citrus fruit to arrive in the Fertile Crescent was the citron — an ancestor of the modern lemon. Brought by the Jewish people, it was valued not for consumption but for its spiritual significance. Nearly 800 years later, Arab conquerors introduced the sour orange, also from Asia. By the 15th and 16th centuries, Portuguese traders brought the sweet orange, which quickly gained popularity. In fact, the Arabic word for orange, burtaqal, comes from “Portugal,” a nod to its European route.
Within a few centuries, orange groves flourished across Palestine, but it was Jaffa’s oranges that stood out for their exceptional flavor. By the mid-19th century, one particular variety would redefine the city’s future. According to historical accounts, a wealthy orange grower named Anton Ayub discovered an unusual mutation on one of his trees. The fruit was larger, oval-shaped, and had thick skin. Impressed with the fruit, he grafted the tree with other local varieties, giving rise to a new citrus breed: the shamouti orange. This single breed would transform Jaffa into a citrus powerhouse.
While the shamouti orange was prized for its rich flavor and aroma, it was its thick skin that made it a global sensation. This natural barrier protected the fruit from disease and, more importantly, allowed it to withstand long-distance transport without rotting — a major advantage over the delicate Spanish Valencia and Italian orange varieties of the time. In fact, the British consul in Jerusalem, John Dickson, wrote in 1893 that Jaffa’s orange could remain fresh without rotting 30 to 40 days from the day they were picked and if they were packed properly, they could remain edible for up to three months. The timing for this orange couldn’t have been better. As global demand for citrus soared — driven by new discoveries about its role in preventing scurvy — and steam-powered transport accelerated trade, Jaffa’s citrus growers found themselves at the forefront of a booming industry.
Between 1850 and 1880, Jaffa’s citrus groves expanded fourfold, fueling both economic and population growth. By the 1870s, the city’s population had doubled, outgrowing its fortified walls. A second gate was opened to accommodate the influx, but within a few decades, the walls were dismantled entirely as Jaffa expanded beyond its historic boundaries. The citrus industry had become the backbone of the city’s economy, transforming it from a sleepy provincial town into a thriving port city. By the late 19th century, Jaffa was exporting around 10 million oranges annually to markets in England, Turkey, and Egypt — even reaching the table of Queen Victoria.
As for that famous “Jaffa” brand that many may recognize today, it was during this early citrus boom period that the brand first emerged — but not necessarily from a group you’d expect. In 1869, the German Templers, a Christian society intent on building a spiritual Kingdom of God in Palestine, established a colony in Jaffa. Initially focused on agriculture, they drained swamps, planted orchards, and introduced modern farming techniques that not only enhanced citrus production but also served as a model for later Jewish settlers. Alongside their agricultural advancements, the Templers invested in orange groves and began exporting shamouti oranges under the brand name “Jaffa,” cementing the city’s reputation in the global citrus trade.
With the booming “Jaffa” orange trade came an influx of wealth. Jaffa was transforming into a modern city with new buildings and institutions. It was now the second-most significant city after Jerusalem in Palestine. However, while the city was evolving, its port remained underdeveloped. Jaffa’s coastline, with its shallow waters and rocky reefs, made it impossible for large ships to dock. So, to ship the oranges, small boats were loaded full of oranges in burlap sacks and ferried to the larger vessels out at sea just beyond the reefs. Despite this challenge, Jaffa’s port remained the second busiest in the region, after Beirut, until World War I, a testament to the immense scale of the citrus trade.
So, who were the people behind Jaffa’s highly valuable citrus groves? In the early years, Arab Palestinians largely managed and operated the industry. They introduced new agricultural technologies, including internal combustion motors, which improved water supply efficiency and boosted production. Each grove was overseen by a bayari — a highly skilled grove manager who lived on-site with their family and was responsible for the entire orchard operation. While most groves were owned and run by Arabs, there was notable cooperation between communities, with Arab grove owners employing Jewish workers and vice versa. On the export side, Arab Palestinians controlled the storage and dock operations at Jaffa’s port, securing exclusive shipping contracts for fruit bound for British markets. However, as Jaffa’s citrus trade grew, a new group began investing in and challenging Arab dominance in citriculture: Jewish settlers.
While Jewish Palestinians had long been part of Jaffa’s community, a new wave of Jewish settlers from Europe — particularly Zionists — began arriving in the late 19th century. Facing rising antisemitism, especially in Eastern Europe and Russia, many sought refuge in Palestine, among other destinations around the world. As Jaffa’s citrus industry flourished, Jewish entrepreneurs saw an opportunity and began investing in the trade. By the eve of World War I, Jewish ownership had grown significantly, with a third of Palestine’s 7,500 acres of orange groves under Jewish control.
With the outbreak of World War I, the British sought to secure Jewish support by pledging to back the establishment of a “national home for the Jewish people” in Palestine — an agreement that would later be known as the Balfour Declaration. This promise was partly driven by antisemitic beliefs among British officials, who assumed that Jewish communities wielded significant global influence. At the same time, the British had also made commitments to Arab Palestinians regarding their own independent state, creating conflicting expectations. When the war ended, Palestine was placed under British mandate by the League of Nations (the precursor to the United Nations). In this new era, tensions between Jewish and Arab communities would begin to escalate dramatically.
Yet, despite the rising nationalist movements, the 1920s saw a period of relative calm in Jaffa. The citrus industry, which had suffered during World War I, rebounded and became a source of pride for both Jewish and Arab communities. With limited supply and soaring global demand for the prized Jaffa orange, prices soared, bringing substantial profits to growers. But these profits weren’t just realized by the growers. Nearly half of Jaffa’s population was involved in some aspect of the citrus trade, from grove laborers and merchants to tax officials, carpenters crafting shipping crates, and printers producing the iconic Jaffa orange labels. The economic ripple effects were immense, fueling the city’s broader industries and services, and reinforcing Jaffa’s status as a thriving commercial hub.
Collaboration between Arab and Jewish citrus professionals continued. They cooperated in agricultural exhibitions, packing contests, and sharing technical expertise to strengthen the Jaffa citrus trade. In 1931, the General Agricultural Council was established, providing a platform for both communities to discuss domestic agricultural policies. From this council, the Citrus Fruit Committee was formed, consisting of seven Arab and seven Jewish representatives, along with two government officials — one of whom served as the head. Within this committee, Arab and Jewish citrus professionals worked together on policies for pest control, marketing campaigns, and quality standards. This is not to say there was no friction between the two groups — there was; despite any misgivings or disagreements they still came together to advance their industry.
By the late 1920s and into the 1930s, Jaffa’s landscape was changing. A new wave of Jewish European immigrants arrived, many of whom invested in citrus cultivation, purchasing land from absentee Arab landlords whose holdings had traditionally been part of collective village ownership. Under the British Mandate government, joint land ownership structures were dismantled, facilitating these transactions. As Jewish land ownership expanded, Jewish-owned citrus groves surpassed Arab-owned ones in acreage by 1930. As tensions over land and national identity grew, the citrus industry became increasingly entangled in the competing nationalist movements. The Jaffa orange was no longer just a prized export — it was transforming into a potent symbol of political identity.
By 1941, the Second World War had brought Jaffa’s citrus exports to a standstill, plunging the industry into crisis. In response, an emergency meeting was convened at Alhambra Hall in Jaffa, drawing some two thousand Arab and Jewish growers. Seated side by side, they listened to speeches in both Arabic and Hebrew, applauding whenever shared concerns about the industry’s survival were raised. The meeting was a powerful reminder that, for all the divisions, the citrus industry remained the “backbone” of the local economy, and cooperation wasn’t just an aspiration; it was a necessity.
As fragile cooperation persisted through the early 1940s, rising tensions between Arabs and Jews became unavoidable. On November 29, 1947, the United Nations passed a partition plan proposing separate Jewish and Arab states, with Jaffa designated as part of the Jewish state. Almost immediately, civil war erupted, turning Jaffa — the heart of the citrus trade — into a battleground. Yet, in a remarkable effort to shield their shared livelihood, Arab and Jewish orange growers signed an agreement declaring the citrus groves between Jaffa and Tel Aviv off-limits to attacks, allowing the harvest and export of oranges to continue. However, as violence escalated, this truce proved impossible to uphold.
Jewish militia groups began conducting raids in the Jaffa area, and by April 1948, the city was under siege. As Jewish forces bombarded Jaffa, residents fled however they could — many by boat — seeking refuge elsewhere. By May 13, Jaffa, now a city in ruins, formally surrendered. The following day, on May 14, 1948, Israel declared its independence. Of the 70,000 Palestinians who had once called Jaffa home, fewer than 5,000 remained. Those who fled left behind their homes, businesses, and citrus groves. Across the region, more than 30,000 acres of Arab-owned orchards were either destroyed or expropriated under Israel’s 1950 Absentee Property Law. Still, some sought reconciliation. In January 1950, five leading figures in the Israeli citrus industry petitioned the government to reinstate four Palestinian citrus board members. Their request was swiftly rejected by Foreign Minister Moshe Sharett.
By the end of 1948, the Jaffa orange — once a symbol of Jewish-Arab cooperation — had become an emblem of the Nakba, or “Catastrophe.” For Palestinians, it represented their forced displacement and the profound loss of land, culture, and livelihood. The orange emerged as a symbol of resistance, immortalized in works like Sliman Mansour’s iconic image of a young Palestinian woman holding oranges.
For Israel, however, the fruit took on an entirely different meaning: a source of national pride, economic strength, and a justification for Zionist land claims. The Zionist movement embraced the Jaffa orange as a symbol of modernization and agricultural success. In 1948, Jaffa oranges became a registered trademark under the Israeli Citrus Marketing Board, solidifying citrus as both an economic pillar and a defining feature of the young state’s identity.
In the decades following 1948, the Jaffa orange trade steadily declined due to disrupted trade networks, lower yields, and damage to the groves. By the 1980s, most of the remaining orchards had either been abandoned or destroyed, as the once-prized oranges lost their competitive edge in the global market. Increased competition from European producers further eroded returns for Israeli growers. Though the Jaffa brand continued to sell citrus worldwide, the fruit no longer came from Jaffa — or even its surrounding groves. For Palestinians still cultivating oranges, particularly in Gaza, the situation was just as bleak. Bureaucratic and political obstacles often left Gazan oranges to rot at border crossings, despite Israeli officials having a vested interest in maintaining some level of Palestinian agricultural exports.
Today, Israel’s orange exports are a shadow of their former glory in the 1920s. For Gazan farmers, the citrus industry has all but disappeared due to market forces, financial constraints, Israeli bulldozing, and the region’s political turmoil since Hamas took control in 2007. The Jaffa orange, once a symbol of cooperation and prosperity, now stands as a reminder of division and loss. What was once a thriving economic and cultural bond has faded, overshadowed by decades of conflict. Perhaps one day, the sweet, aromatic Jaffa orange may once again serve as a testament to a future where shared traditions triumph over division.
