Three Post-Nationalist Flags: Pomegranate, Fig, Orange

“Unity is plural and at minimum two.”
—Buckminster Fuller

In the context of the harrowing events of October 7th, the ongoing destruction and humanitarian crisis in Gaza, and the widening regional wars, I’ve been wondering about the very viability of transnational solidarity—especially with respect to the future of Jewish-Muslim and Israeli-Palestinian relations. How do groups with non-intersecting experiences aid each other in the struggle for human dignity, freedom, and justice? This question has been with me for the last ten years as I’ve tried to guide the Hamsa Flag Project, a social practice art project I began in 2014 that explores new symbols of peace, reconciliation, and justice that reflect the shared history of Jews, Muslim, and Arabs in the Middle East and North Africa. The Hamsa Flag Project was born out of my belief that in order for a shared society to emerge in Israel|Palestine, we need a shared symbol.

This past year has reinforced my belief that nation-states are a major barrier to global cooperation and equity, hindering progress toward genuine peace by putting national “self-interest” ¹ above the greater whole. In Israel|Palestine, this reality is stark: nation-states repeatedly fail to support democracy and justice for all of their citizens, and military responses often exacerbate cultural and political conflicts. I anticipate that in the coming century, nation-states will ultimately be recognized as obstacles to conflict transformation, resource sharing, and fair governance. This is not only my vision; I’ve drawn inspiration from previous generations, especially Buckminster Fuller, the inventor and philosopher who envisioned a world grounded in a shared value of interdependence, and saw part of humanity’s mission as collectively and peaceably stewarding “spaceship earth.”²

I understand that to some this may sound far-fetched, but sometimes the imagination needs a totem to support itself. So to imagine a post-national, postwar future, I believe we need a new visual language of solidarity that transcends borders of identity and place and emphasizes our shared humanity and interconnectedness. Over the past few years, I have developed flags specifically for this purpose, drawing inspiration from Andalusian and Levantine history as symbols of potential solidarity between Jews, Muslims, Israelis, Palestinians, and other communities across the Middle East. These three new flags—the Pomegranate Flag, Fig Flag, and Orange Flag—emerge out of the Hamsa Flag Project and are rooted in principles of peace, nonviolence, and justice. They are not tied to any nation but are symbols of hybridity and possibility, aiming to inspire reconciliation, new forms of identity and cultural expression beyond nationalism, and a world beyond war.

These ideas have been sitting in my drawer for years. And given the many difficult realities this work faces, it’s been challenging to find a clear path to share them. Yet, I believe now more than ever in the urgent need for new flags of planetary and post-national solidarity. I see these flags as emblems of the universal yearning for liberation from suffering, as expressed through symbols of peace and abundance that are found throughout Palestine|Israel, the Mediterranean, and the Middle East.

The project draws on the core principles of the original Hamsa Flag, which sought to unite seemingly opposing narratives into one integrated symbol. However, even as the Hamsa Flag attempts to weave together the stories of Jewish and Palestinian identity, there is still a sense of strict binarism at its core. I began to feel that the symbol remained too tethered to linear, oppositional frameworks—Jewish and non-Jewish, Israeli and Palestinian. To truly move beyond these binaries, I sought to explore new dimensions of connection. This led me to design these new flags, inspired by organic symbols—fruit—whose seeds represent multiplicity and intersectionality across time and space.

Principles of the Hamsa Flag Project:

• Nonviolence
• Coexistence
• The end and abolition of war³
• The end of militarism
• A world beyond nation-states and ethnonationalism
• A post-nationalist Judaism
• A politic of planetary consciousness and interdependence 

These principles remain the foundation of this project, and guide the creation of each flag. By way of simple aesthetic intervention, these three new flags are attempts at opening up new ways of thinking about identity, belonging, and what ties us to the land. They are explorations of solidarity symbolism—invitations to future iterations and extensions by those who share in this vision of peace and human dignity.

To truly move beyond these binaries, I sought to explore new dimensions of connection. This led me to design these new flags, inspired by organic symbols—fruit—whose seeds represent multiplicity and intersectionality across time and space.

The Pomegranate Flag: A Symbol of Abundance and Multiplicity

The first flag concept I want to (re)introduce⁴ is the Pomegranate Flag. I am revisiting this idea because the pomegranate has long been a powerful symbol across Jewish, Muslim, and Andalusian histories, making it a fitting emblem for a new vision of solidarity and peace. The original idea came to me intuitively; it draws on the fruit’s deep cultural roots in my own Jewish and Mediterranean heritage. But after further research, I found even more resonance in its history and symbolism, especially within the vexillographical tradition—the history of flags.

After the fall of Granada in 1492, following the expulsion of Jews and Muslims from Spain by Isabella and Ferdinand, a new flag was raised in the Kingdom of Granada. The flag depicted a bleeding pomegranate, crowned and torn open,⁵ an image that carries a range of associations. The tear in the pomegranate is striking—its yonic form suggests creation and rebirth, but it also bears an uncanny resemblance to the landmass of Israel|Palestine. While this could come across as mere coincidence, or fodder for a conspiracy theorist, I see it as a symbolic “wink in the archive”—an emblem of historic fragmentation, exile, and perhaps a hope for wholeness and integration.

Beyond its history in the flag of Granada, which means pomegranate in Spanish, the pomegranate has long been a symbol of abundance, possibility, and divine sustenance. In Jewish tradition, it is closely linked to the mythos of liberation, especially in the context of the Exodus story. A friend shared with me the following passage from Hasidic commentary:

The children of Israel came into the midst of the sea upon dry ground—if in the midst of the sea, why on dry ground? If on dry ground, why in the midst of the sea? Rather, from here you learn that the sea was not split for them until they entered up to their noses, and then it became dry land for them. Rabbi Nehorai expounded: An Israelite woman would pass through the sea, with her son crying in her hand, and she would extend her hand and take an apple or a pomegranate from the sea and give it to him . . .⁶

This imagery of abundance—where anything one desires emerges as if from the sea itself—echoes the central themes of the Pomegranate Flag: multiplicity, sustenance, and infinite potential. The pomegranate’s many seeds symbolize diversity of identity and the creative dissemination of new ideas, while its mythic and biblical associations link it to liberation. Just as the Israelites in the midrashic text of the Red Sea lacked nothing, this flag suggests a world of plenitude, where imagination, justice, and peace for all are within reach. The Pomegranate Flag moves beyond the binaries of old conflicts and points toward a future of abundance, rooted in the shared histories that connect us.

The Fig Flag: A Symbol of Mutual Aid and Equity

The second flag I want to introduce is the Fig Flag, another symbol deeply rooted in Andalusian and Levantine histories, and one that resonates with a utopian vision of a world where everyone has what they need. It is also inspired by my own Sephardic heritage, and represents peace, provision, nonviolence, and the end of war.

The fig has long carried this symbolism, as evidenced by one of the most powerful prophetic texts from the Jewish tradition: the vision of peace in the Book of Micah. Here, the fig tree serves as an emblem of a world where weapons are transformed into tools of cultivation, and every person is able to sit under their own vine and fig tree without fear:

Micah 4:3-4
Thus [God] will judge among the many peoples,
and arbitrate for the multitude of nations,
however distant;
and they shall beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks.
Nation shall not take up
sword against nation;
they shall never again know war;
but every family shall sit
under its own vine and fig tree
with no one to disturb them.
For it was GOD of Hosts who spoke.⁷

To Micah, the fig tree represents a future beyond armed conflict—a utopia where war has been abolished, where swords are remade into plowshares, and where human life is centered on cultivation and community. This vision is not drawn only from ancient texts; it is also connected to contemporary movements rooted in socialist and anarchist thought (as symbolized by the black background and the red of the inside of the fig). At its core is the belief that there can be more than enough for everyone. The fig becomes a symbol of this world of plenty, where resources are distributed equitably. In the Fig Flag, the fig tree represents the possibility of a future marked by mutual care and provision, not conflict and scarcity.

The Orange Flag: A Symbol of Intersectionality and Economic Integration

The Orange Flag, the final piece in this triptych, is rich with layers of meaning and historical significance. The choice of the orange as a symbol is also personal, based on my experience of a family pilgrimage to Andalusia, the region in Spain where my Sephardic ancestors lived under Muslim rule. When we visited Córdoba, we stood in a courtyard in what had been the Jewish Quarter, in front of a statue of Maimonides that was surrounded by orange trees. The presence of oranges in this space sparked in me a deeper reflection on their symbolism. Maimonides, known as the Rambam, embodied the intersection of Jewish and Arab worlds: he was a physician and philosopher who wrote in Arabic, Judeo-Arabic, and Hebrew, and who corresponded with Muslim and Christian theologians while living in exile in Egypt. In Andalusian history, oranges are more than just fruit; they are part of a broader tapestry of cultural exchanges between Jews, Muslims, and Christians. For me, the orange has come to represent not only my heritage but also a symbol of coexistence, a tangible reminder of an ancestral homeland where these cultures once flourished side by side.

In the Israeli-Palestinian context, the orange, particularly the Jaffa orange, stands as a symbol of both connection and contention. Initially cultivated by Palestinian farmers in the nineteenth century, Jaffa oranges became a major export and source of pride, emblematic of Palestinian agricultural innovation. The orange was so central to Palestinian identity at the time that an early iteration of the Palestinian flag, proposed in 1929, featured an orange triangle that symbolized the fruit.⁹

During this same period, Jewish and Arab growers often collaborated on orange production, sharing labor and expertise despite rising tensions.¹⁰ However, after the Nakba and the forced expulsion of Palestinians from Jaffa, orange groves were confiscated, repurposed, and rebranded by the Israeli state.¹¹ The Jaffa orange, once a shared symbol of mutual benefit, was appropriated into Israeli identity, while for Palestinians, it came to symbolize lost land and heritage. Despite this complex history, the orange remains a reminder of a time when cooperation transcended ethnic and political divides.

In Andalusian history, oranges are more than just fruit; they are part of a broader tapestry of cultural exchanges between Jews, Muslims, and Christians. For me, the orange has come to represent not only my heritage but also a symbol of coexistence, a tangible reminder of an ancestral homeland where these cultures once flourished side by side.

These histories make the orange a potent symbol of inclusivity, justice, and mutual understanding. The goal is to reclaim the orange as a symbol of abundance and shared economies. Like the pomegranate on the flag of Granada after the beginning of the Reconquista, the orange can be repurposed for a decolonial and multiethnic framework. The Orange Flag thus represents a convergence of layers—historical, cultural, and political. It signifies the depth of interconnected narratives and the potential for reparations and reconciliation. 

A Cycle of Ideas and a Politics of Process

I think of these flags as part of a larger discourse on the life cycle and evolution of ideas. They are meant to illustrate an iterative approach to politics that values process over fixed identities and goals. It is a vision of politics that is creative and collaborative in the present moment, rather than focused on an idealized endpoint. With that framework in mind, these flags are not necessarily final products, but are invitations to others to join in this collective process. 

War, like slavery, represents one of the basest forms of human behavior and experience and is inherently genocidal. Recognizing this allows us to both engage in a long-term planetary struggle toward the abolition of war and militarism and decenter the role of nation-states. By envisioning a world free from these forces, we can begin to forge a new politics based on process, nonviolence, and inclusivity.

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Created by Tom Haviv in 2014, The Hamsa Flag Project seeks to reimagine ancestral symbols of identity, bridging divides within Israel|Palestine, across the Middle East and the Mediterranean, and beyond. Rooted in the history of the hamsa—an emblem of protection and peace among Jewish, Muslim, and many other communities across—the project centers symbols that transcend the bounds of history, nationality, and religion. For centuries, the hamsa has held cultural significance: it has been worn as jewelry, hung in homes, and used in religious spaces, representing a talisman against evil and harm. Today, when symbols are often wielded to mark territory or assert exclusionary identities, the Hamsa Flag provides an alternative, one that celebrates shared visual language and peace rather than sowing division.

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Tom Haviv is the cofounder and executive director of Ayin Press. His debut book of poetry, A Flag of No Nation, was published in 2019 by Jewish Currents Press, and republished by Ayin in 2024. He is also author of two children’s books, Woven (Somewhere, 2018) & The Porcupine Prince (Somewhere, 2023), and the creator of The Hamsa Flag Project.

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Flag illustrations by Jessica Tamar Deutsch

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