Rain season and the rituals of predicting the rain in Palestinian heritage

In my village of Qira near Salfit, as in many Palestinian villages, we wait for the first drops of rain with a mixture of longing and unease. Rain is not only the beginning of the agricultural season; it is a reassurance that life can continue despite everything happening around us. In a time of land fragmentation, restricted water sources, and daily obstacles faced by farmers, the coming of al-ghayth feels like both mercy and quiet resistance—a subtle reminder that life and hope persist despite oppression.

Every October, when the sky softens and the earth begins to breathe again, I am reminded that no matter how heavy the burdens of occupation become, the cycle of seasons remains one certainty Israel cannot confiscate or control. Rain is identity, continuity, memory. It ties us to ancestors who read the sky with centuries of wisdom and anchors us to the land in ways deeper than any title deed. It reminds me of the children of the village running to catch drops of water, laughing and playing, unaware of the struggles of the day, yet fully part of this eternal rhythm. It also reminds me of elders recounting tales of seasons past, their eyes lighting up as they speak of rainfall patterns and natural signs they have observed for decades.

Growing up in Qira, I learned that the farmer’s heart is shaped by the rain—its timing, intensity, and generosity. Rains determined whether families could plant their fields, store wheat for winter, or face hardship. Even today, with satellite forecasts and modern weather reports, farmers still look to the clouds with the same ancestral patience. The old proverbs circulate, and the folk calendar quietly guides those who trust the land more than the news. When I speak with elders in my village, they describe the weather as if reading the pulse of the earth itself. It is a language of intuition and observation passed down for centuries, linking every generation to the land and to each other.

The rain season in Palestine

Palestine’s climate divides into two main seasons: the dry summer (May–October) and the rainy winter (mid-October–April). In a land reliant on seasonal rain, the first showers were a promise of survival. Water shaped agriculture and therefore became central in cultural memory. Over generations, Palestinians developed a detailed seasonal calendar built on careful observation of the sky, clouds, winds, and the land itself. What may appear to outsiders as mere folklore is, in fact, a precise environmental record, transmitted orally across centuries, guiding farmers’ actions and expectations in a fragile landscape.

Section One: Wasm rain (initial marking rain)

The agricultural year begins with a light early shower at the end of September or start of October, called Matarat al-Saleeb or Shitwet al-Masateeh. It symbolised purification of the earth and the return from summer dwellings (al-manateer) to begin the olive harvest—the most emotional season for many Palestinian families. These first showers were more than water; they were a blessing, believed to carry healing properties for both the land and the people.

Then comes the Wasm Rain, which “marks” the land for the winter season. It appears during October and November in two phases:

• Wasm Badri (Early Wasm) in October—essential for the growth of early seeds (al-afeer), signaling that farmers may begin preparing their plows.
• Wasm Wakhri (Late Wasm) in November—softens the soil further, preparing it for serious agricultural work before the heavier winter rains.

Proverb:“In awsamet ‘a Eed Lidd u’hurt w’id” (If it rains on the Feast of Lid, start plowing and planting).

Section Two: Heavy winter rain

From December to March falls the heaviest rain, the true lifeline of Palestinian agriculture. These rains saturate the soil, fill ponds and cisterns, and recharge the springs that many villages depended on long before municipal water networks existed.

This stage includes the Marba’aniyyah and Khamsiniyyah, which together form approximately ninety days—the backbone of the rainy season.

• Marba’aniyyah (Dec 21–end of Jan): the coldest and most decisive forty days.
  “Berd Kawaneen ahad min al-sakakeen” (The cold of Kanouns is sharper than knives).
  “Ya shams tihriq ya matar tighriq” (Either sun burns or rain drowns).
• Khamsiniyyah (50 days following Marba’aniyyah): four periods called al-su‘oudat, marking the easing of cold and the first hints of spring.

Al-Mustaqridhat (The borrowed days)

Late February–early March. A tale passed down for generations tells of an old woman who mocked February for being dry. February “borrowed” days from March and sent her heavy rain and storms. Hence the saying:“Adhar Abu al-Zalazil w’al-Amttar” (March, Father of Earthquakes and Rains).

Section Three: Late spring rain

From mid-March until April, and sometimes into early May, comes the late rain—smaller showers but vital for swelling wheat, barley, and beans just before ripening.

“Shitwet Nissan b’tihyee al-Insaan” (April rain gives life).“Tiswa al-sikkah w’al-faddan” (It is worth the plough and the oxen).

Rain after late April may harm olive blossoms, so farmers pray for warm smoum winds:
“Ya Rabb al-Smoum ‘ind ‘aqd al-Zaytoun” (Oh God, send warm winds when the olives set fruit).

Snow

Snow is rare but deeply remembered. It falls mainly in mountainous areas of the Galilee, Jerusalem, Ramallah, Hebron, and Nablus, mostly in December and January, but sometimes in February or March. Some years became part of collective memory, such as the Snow of 1920 and the Snow of 1950, when drifts reached the knees and villages were cut off for days. Elders recall these winters as markers of time, teaching younger generations how to adapt to the climate and store provisions for unexpected hardships.

The system of rain prediction in Palestinian folk heritage

Long before modern meteorology, Palestinian farmers built a sophisticated system of weather prediction based on astronomy, winds, natural signs, and the behavior of animals. It was not superstition but accumulated ecological intelligence, reflecting a deep connection to the environment and its cycles.

1. Astronomical signs

Rising of Suhail (Canopus) warned of floods: “Itha tala‘Suhail la ta’min al-sayl.”
Setting of al-Thurayya (Pleiades) signaled coming rainfall: “Al-Thurayya b’tghib ‘a sadd habis.” Halos around the moon or sun in early autumn indicated abundant winter rain.

1. Winds and atmospheric changes

Southwesterly winds (al-hawa al-Masri) were welcomed as “the gate of winter.”
Eastern winds (al-sha‘louba) were feared for bringing drought: “Sanat al-Sharaqi b’door ma b’tlaqi.”

1. Natural indicators and folk practices

Morning rainbow: clear skies. Afternoon rainbow: rain at night. Dew and fog in late summer signal a good harvest. Salt piles during the Feast of the Cross predicted which months would be wet or dry.

1. Behaviour of living creatures

Arrival of starlings: “Fi sanat al-Zarzour, uhruth fi al-boor.” Sandgrouse: “Sanat al-Qata, bee‘al-ghata.” Pigeons: early nesting indicated a blessed year. Cows lifting their heads toward the sky signaled rain. Emerging worms, scorpions, and snakes indicated warming temperatures: “B’Sa‘d al-Khabaaya b’titla‘ al-‘Aqarib w’al-Hayaya.”

Even human births were interpreted symbolically: “Sanat al-Fuhoul mahouleh” (male-birth years mean drought),“Sanat al-Banat nabat” (female-birth years mean blessing).

Conclusion

Rain was never a trivial event in the Palestinian conscience but the axis of life and a symbol of survival. Farmers waited for it with hope, fear, and prayer. The seasonal calendar and prediction system testify to the insight of ancient farmers who transformed their worries into practical knowledge. This heritage reveals a deep bond between people, land, and sky—linking generations across centuries.

For me, the first rain in Qira still carries the smell of soil rising like incense from the earth, reminding us that despite all pressures, the land continues to breathe. Watching the children play in puddles and listening to elders discuss clouds and predictions, I feel a profound connection that spans generations. As long as rain falls on Palestine, our connection to this land remains unbroken—a living testament to resilience, memory, and hope.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.