The afternoon light was fading gently over the Cairo Opera House complex, where the Cairo International Film Festival was in full swing, when Hiam Abbass walked onto the stage. Elegant and composed, her calm presence radiated a quiet strength — the same inner power that defines every role she inhabits. Her gestures carried the grace of a seasoned performer, and her voice, rich and resonant, drew the audience in, silencing every murmur around her.
The talk, titled “A Journey Through Acting and Filmmaking – In Conversation with Hiam Abbass,” took place during the 46ᵗʰ edition of the Cairo International Film Festival, held from November 12 to 21, 2025, and was moderated by Nahed Nasr. Just a few hours later that same evening, the Palestinian actress would step on stage again to receive the Golden Pyramid for Lifetime Achievement.
On this occasion, the CIFF also published a book by critic Nahed Saleh, titled “Hiam Abbass – That Woman, This Palestinian: A Reading of a Star’s Journey Between Art and Identity,” distributed to all festival attendees. The title captures with precision the dual perspective that defines Abbass’s life and work — that of a woman and that of a Palestinian, inseparable and intertwined.
Her motto, which she repeats with simplicity — “to want is to be able” — echoes throughout her life’s journey, from her Galilean village to Hollywood, without ever breaking her connection to Arab cinema or the memory of Palestine.
Hiam Abbass: A Palestinian Actress with Global Reach
Hiam Abbass was born in a small village in Galilee, Palestine. Over the decades, she has become one of the most distinctive faces of both Arab and international cinema. She has worked across the Arab world, Europe, and the United States.
Audiences first discovered her through roles that made a lasting impression: The Syrian Bride (Eran Riklis, 2004), Nadia and Sarra (Moufida Tlatli, 2004), The Visitor (Tom McCarthy, 2007), Satin Rouge (Raja Amari, 2002), Bab el Shams (Gate of the Sun, Yousry Nasrallah, 2004), Paradise Now (Hany Abu-Assad, 2005), Dégradé (Tarzan and Arab Nasser, 2015), and Gaza Mon Amour (Tarzan and Arab Nasser, 2020).
In television, she reached a new generation of viewers through Succession (Jesse Armstrong, 2018–2023), a sharp, satirical exploration of power and family dynamics, where she played Marcia — discreet, poised, and formidable. She also starred in Ramy (Ramy Youssef, 2019–2023), a series delving into the world of an American Muslim family, exploring questions of faith and identity.
On the big screen, Abbass remains tied to Palestine: she stars in Palestine 36, the film representing Palestine at the 2026 Oscars. Her own family’s story also finds expression in Bye Bye Tiberias (2023), a beautiful, award-winning film directed by her daughter, Lina Soualem, chronicling the intertwined journeys of four Palestinian women across exile, memory, and transmission.
Abbass is also a filmmaker in her own right: her feature Inheritance (2012), shot in her Galilean community, interweaves fiction and family memory.
This position — between Arab cinema, European film, American series, and Palestinian storytelling — gave her Cairo conversation a rare depth. It wasn’t a talk about stardom; it was a portrait of a life built quietly, far from slogans, rooted in meaning, humanity, and choice.
The Dream Begins: Theater, the Hakawati, and the First “Magic”
“I don’t know where to begin,” Hiam Abbass said at the start of the talk. Then she retraced her steps back to Jerusalem, where the theater El Hakawati.
From an early age, she felt drawn to art — to expression — though she hadn’t yet found the right medium. As a student, she discovered theater. She was cast as a mother, even though the actor playing her son was her own age. The situation was amusing, but what mattered wasn’t the irony — it was what happened after the play ended. When the curtain fell, the audience was in tears: fathers, mothers, strangers overcome with emotion. “It was like magic,” she said. “Something left me and reached the audience.”
That, she explained, was the moment she understood the power of performance: “How do you translate that as an adult? The artist can send so many messages to the audience.” It wasn’t simply a triumph on stage; it was a revelation — the discovery of a language made of body, voice, and gaze that could speak directly to others.
A Village Without Theater or Cinema — and the Encounter with Michel Khleifi
Hiam Abbass returned to her roots: “I grew up in a village with no theater, no cinema.” Nothing in her childhood seemed to point toward an acting career. It was only in Jerusalem, while working at a theater, that a horizon opened. There, she was half artist, half office worker.
One day, filmmaker Michel Khleifi arrived — a little discouraged by the lack of infrastructure. He asked for help, and she volunteered. He hired her first as a production secretary. Then one day, he gave her a small role.
That’s how she discovered the camera, as she had once discovered the stage. And again, something within her recognized the feeling — the same movement toward the audience, even if the audience was now behind the lens. She understood then that this was her path.
Leaving Palestine to Breathe
Yet Hiam Abbass insists: she never dreamed of traveling to “become an actress.” She left her country because she needed air. “It wasn’t easy for a woman to thrive in those times in Palestine,” she said. Social and political constraints were suffocating.
She recalls that she once imagined founding a circus school in London — a space of freedom, creativity, and play. But once there, she realized she needed more — broader experiences, greater liberty. Leaving was not a whim; it was survival — the only way to pursue an artistic journey that had no room to unfold at home.
She would later put it clearly: she didn’t leave out of “love for the West,” but because she wanted to continue an artistic path that, for a woman in Palestine at that time, was nearly impossible. She needed air, space, and new roles that could not exist in a closed world.
London, Paris, Motherhood, and Learning a New Language
After London came France. “I met a man in London, fell in love with him, married him, and followed him to Paris to live a love story. He is the father of my two daughters. I didn’t speak a single word of French.”
At that time, her greatest project wasn’t a film or a role: “My biggest project then was to become a mother.” She embraced that choice. She wanted to devote time to motherhood and her daughters — but without giving up her artistic growth.
Hiam used those years to work on herself, to learn the language, to observe and listen. About four years after Lina’s birth, she began acting in French. By then, her second daughter, Mona, had been born. She emphasizes that her family life is distinct from her artistic one — yet it feeds her empathy and her understanding of human emotion.
Learning a new language, anchoring herself in a new country, balancing family and career — all of this happened quietly, without fanfare, but with steady perseverance.
Lina Soualem and Bye Bye Tiberias: The Journey Home
Then came a reversal of roles: what happens when a daughter, now a filmmaker, asks her mother to return to Palestine for a film?
“Lina asked you to do the reverse journey — to go back to Palestine…” Abbass recalled that the decision wasn’t easy. Lina was still searching for what she wanted to say with the film. The mother feared it might become a documentary centered only on her.
After long conversations, Hiam understood that Lina wanted something broader — a collective story in which the mother was only one piece of a family puzzle. Four women, four personal stories — all part of the Palestinian collective memory.
“It became my duty to do this film,” she said, “to work on collective memory through a personal story.” Bye Bye Tiberias, a deeply moving film, became more than a cinematic gesture — it was an act of transmission: a daughter filming her mother, but also the women before her, the exiles, the ruptures, the returns, and the absences.
A Palestinian Actress Who Never Forgot Arab Cinema
“Why did you choose to work so much in Arab cinema when you already had an international career?”
Her answer is crystal clear: “If I am Palestinian, then I am Arab. How could I forget my identity? It’s not about defending a cause; it’s part of who I am.”
Her first major Arab role came in Satin Rouge (Raja Amari, 2002). She recalled the effort that role required: she didn’t speak the Tunisian dialect, so she had to learn it, mastering every nuance to make the character fully believable. “It’s serious work. I don’t like what’s easy. I need to work, to push myself, to take on challenges.”
When asked whether she wanted an Arab career or if it happened by chance, she replied: “It was neither a plan nor an accident. I choose according to what the project says to me — the cause, the questions it raises, the women’s rights it touches, the way the character carries responsibility within the story.”
Raja Amari, Dorra Bouchoucha, and a Film That Had to Exist
She spoke of the trio she formed with director Raja Amari and producer Dorra Bouchoucha during Satin Rouge: “We were three women, we faced all the difficulties. It was my first major film and my first major role.”
After its release, she remembers the storm of moral criticism that targeted the subject, the character, and her freedom. But she insists: “That film had to be made. It had to exist.” For her, it was the film that tested her strength, made her visible, and gave her a place in the Arab world. “It’s my first cinematic experience that truly reached the audience.”
This Tunisian adventure opened the door to others. With director Moufida Tlatli, Hiam Abbass starred in Nadia and Sarra (2004), playing a mother confronted with her daughter’s awakening sense of freedom — a delicate film about transmission and the passing of the torch between generations. A few years later, she reunited with Raja Amari and Dorra Bouchoucha for Foreign Body (2016), a story of exile and solitude in which she portrayed a displaced woman living between two worlds. Two collaborations once again led by strong women, extending the artistic dialogue and the bond of trust in female voices that began with Satin Rouge.
Bab el Shams (The Gate of Sun): A Duty to Memory and Family
When speaking of Bab el Shams (The Gate of Sun, Yousry Nasrallah, 2004), Abbass’s tone deepens. “I have great respect for Yousry and I love his work. When he offered me The Gate of Sun, I felt it was a duty, because it tells the story of the Nakba.”
By accepting the role, she says, she felt she was paying tribute to her maternal grandfather, who lost his land, his home, and his sanity — and eventually his life. Like her character, Om Younes, he lost everything. Playing the part was, for her, a way to bring that history back to life.
She explained that Nasrallah “filled” her — brought out deeply buried emotions and put them in service of a film that remains essential to the Palestinian cause.
Nasrallah, present at the talk, offered his own tribute. He said she worked not only as an actress but as an assistant of sorts — helping her fellow actors, especially Tunisian actress Rim Turki, adopt the Palestinian accent, adjusting their tone, giving guidance. “Working with her, on and off screen, was a true artistic and human wealth,” he said.
Choosing Roles by Responsibility, Not Nationality
Asked about how she chooses her roles, Hiam Abbass described a two-step process: first, someone reaches out — a director, a writer — and presents her with a project. Then she asks herself: Can I embody this character’s identity? Can I speak for them?
She emphasizes that she has never accepted a role based on nationality — Egyptian, Tunisian, French, or American. What matters is the character and the story. “I don’t want to act just to act,” she said. “I want to act to convey a message — or at least to help ask questions, whether or not there’s an answer.”
She prefers complex, demanding works over easy ones. Life itself is complex, she said, and only difficult roles allow her to dive into psychological and social depth. These are the roles that build an actor’s name, a trajectory, and the strength to evolve.
For her, the artist’s purpose is exactly that: to step out of the comfort zone, to shed light on what is silenced, to illuminate what others ignore.
Working with Arab Women Filmmakers
The moderator noted that Abbass has often worked with Arab women directors, including newcomers. Abbass nodded: “I’m a woman. If I feel a connection to a woman’s project, it’s important to work together. The Arab woman faces so many challenges to make a film — if I can help, I will. But of course, the project must speak to me, and the character must suit me.”
Her support is not rhetorical — it manifests through presence, commitment, and the willingness to join projects that may lack funding but overflow with artistic necessity.
Young Directors and Refusing to Put Money First
When the discussion turned to her “duty” toward the new generation, Hiam Abbass mentioned the twin brothers Tarzan and Arab Nasser. She met them on Skype. They were Palestinian, about her daughter’s age, and she immediately felt an almost maternal instinct — along with the certainty that they had something important to say.
She knew they had no funding. “I didn’t care,” she said. “Money doesn’t matter. What matters is the need for the film, the honesty of the gaze, the dignity of the project.” She remembered her own beginnings — unknown, uncertain. “Every young person,” she repeated, “has the right to dream and to succeed. And we must help them, so that they, in turn, help those who come after.”
Hiam went on to make two films with them, Dégradé and Gaza Mon Amour, which had its Arab premiere at the 42ᵗʰ CIFF, where it won the Best Arab Film Award and a Special Mention from the International Competition Jury.
She also recalled her collaboration with Ramy Youssef. She didn’t know him when he invited her to shoot the pilot of Ramy. “He had no budget,” she laughed, “but I liked the project. I knew I’d continue with him.”
Later, summing up her philosophy, she said simply: she helps young filmmakers because she believes every generation must move forward — and must remember that everyone, once, was helped so that the dream of cinema could exist.
Before and After October 7: Remaining Palestinian, Whatever the Cost
“As a Palestinian actress working in Hollywood, what’s the difference between before and after October 7?”
Abbass replied calmly: “The real question is how they behave toward me. I’ve never hidden where I come from, what I think, or the roles I choose.”
She said October 7 changed nothing in her daily life as an actress: “It’s like 1948 — only with genocide added. They’re trying to destroy our identity.” She reminded the audience that she arrived as a Palestinian actress — and not everyone likes that. “It’s obvious that some refuse to work with me for that reason,” she said. “But as a Palestinian — too bad for them.”
That refusal to compromise, that steadfast loyalty to her identity, runs through her entire career — from the stages of Jerusalem to American sets, through Arab cinema and stories about Palestine.
Confronting Racism: Laughter as a Shield
She was finally asked: “How do you deal with people who hold racist prejudices?”
Her answer was disarmingly simple: “I laugh. I show that I’m not affected by racist remarks. I’m stronger than that.”
Then she added: either the person persists in their prejudice — in which case she ignores them, refusing to waste time or energy — or they start to think, to question themselves. “Then,” she said, “you can talk, exchange, move forward together.”
Once again, her approach was clear: acknowledge the wounds, but refuse to be defined by them. Shift the conversation toward a place where dialogue and humanity remain possible.
A Palestinian Figure of Strength and Sensitivity
In the light of that Cairo afternoon, Hiam Abbass did not appear as a celebrated icon, but as a woman standing tall. Beyond her talent and longevity, what strikes you is her quiet strength — the way she holds steady to her life and convictions. She speaks with firmness and gentleness alike, with lucidity free of fear or calculation.
Her presence commands respect not through authority, but through integrity. She has never chosen ease — not in her roles, nor in her life, nor in her way of standing by her identity. Hiam Abbass has not merely built a career; she has built coherence — that of a woman who acts with heart, with principles, and who continues, film after film, to question what it means to be free, to be fair, to be oneself.
What distinguishes her is that rare alliance between rigor and tenderness, between modesty and candor. In every role she plays, and in every word she speaks, there’s an unwavering fidelity — to herself, to her roots, to a vision of dignity that never yields.
Hiam Abbass is not just a Palestinian actress who conquered the world: she is a conscience, a voice, a presence — reminding us that freedom only matters when it walks hand in hand with truth.
Neïla Driss
