NARRATOR: Fatma Nator lives in northern Israel in the Galilee, in the Arab town of Tamra. Her husband's death six years ago left her coping with grief --- and much more.
FATMA NATOR: When someone is widowed, people watch her. Where she goes. What she does. They follow her. They want to control her. In our environment, it's really difficult.
NARRATOR: In this tight knit community, widows are expected to stay home and raise their families. The monthly social security allowance Israel provides is barely enough to live on.
KAUSSAR TAHA: My late husband's family -- and my brothers -- would rather I stay at home, and not go to work. They wanted me to live just on social security, but I'm not listening to them?
MANIRA ABU-ELHEJA: Sometimes I sit from six to nine at night near the stove and I just have nothing to do. If a woman's husband dies, does it mean that she has to die too? She should look after herself.
FATUM FAHMAWE: Many came to me and asked me to marry them. They spoke with my father. But if I marry, my new husband wouldn't want me to bring my daughter with me. And then I'd have to leave her with the wives of my brothers and they'd treat her like their servant. And that's why I refused.
NARRATOR: This group of widows met at an entrepreneurship training program offered for women in Tamra by the Center for Jewish-Arab Economic Development, a private agency.
None of them had ever worked outside the home and most had never finished grade school. But in February 2003, with several other widows, they made a bold move. The women decided to start up a business based on what they know and do best. But many of the challenges they would face were beyond their experience.
WIDOWS: Good morning! And good morning to you too! Good morning! Good morning!
NARRATOR: Bottling and selling pickled vegetables was Nator's idea. Like the other women of Tamra, she learned the secret recipe from her mother. The pickles, known as 'makabis' in Arabic and 'chamutzim' in Hebrew, are the ketchup and mustard of the middle east, and a daily staple in Israeli kitchens.
But it's not every day that women in the Galilee become shareholders in a factory.
The widows became unlikely revolutionaries almost overnight.