List of military checkpoints in the West Bank and Gaza Strip

Open-Fire Policy

Israel resumes ambushes of workers trying to cross known gaps in Separation Barrier; soldiers fatally shoot Nabil Ghanem (53)

Nabil Ghanem (53) lived in Sara, a village west of the city of Nablus. On Sunday, 19 June 2022, at around 10:00 A.M., he tried to cross through one of the gaps in the Separation Barrier near the Qalqiliyah DCO (Eyal) Checkpoint in order to enter Israel, where he worked without a permit, and collect money his employer owed him. As soon as he crossed the barbed wire fence on the eastern side of the barrier, Israeli soldiers who were lying in wait fired several shots at him and at other Palestinian workers who were with him. Ghanem was injured in the torso and was evacuated by soldiers to Meir Hospital in Kfar Saba, Israel, where he died of his wounds a short while later. Israel justified the shooting on the grounds that Ghanem had vandalized the barrier and tried to cross into Israel, and held the body until 23 June 2022. After Ghanem was killed, Israel revoked the work permits of two members of his family. Ghanem is the second Palestinian worker killed by soldiers while trying to cross the Separation Barrier into Israel in the last two months. On 8 May 2022, soldiers killed Mahmoud ‘Aram (27), a resident of Khan Yunis who lived in ‘Aqbat Jaber Refugee Camp in recent years, after, according to the military, he tried to cross the barrier near Far’on. He died of his wounds later that day at Sheba Hospital in Tel Hashomer, Israel. In his case, too, Israel held the body and only gave it back to the family on 11 May 2022. Over the course of four months, from April to July 2022, Israel implemented a lenient open fire policy by the Separation Barrier, permitting live fire at the lower body of Palestinians crossing – or trying to cross – it. The policy change, officially a response to several terrorist attacks by Palestinians who entered Israel via gaps in the barrier, increased the number of Palestinians wounded or killed by live fire in this period. According to media reports, in addition to Ghanem and ‘Aram, Israeli gunfire injured 15 Palestinians in April alone. In comparison, according to UN figures,* one Palestinian was wounded by gunfire near the barrier in the first quarter of 2022. B’Tselem has previously documented periods in which soldiers used live fire against Palestinians crossing or trying to cross through gaps in the Separation Barrier. Israel appears to periodically decide, for its own reasons, whether to allow thousands of Palestinian workers to cross through these gaps or try and stop them. The latter is enforced, among other things, by live fire. As B’Tselem has previously stated, whatever grounds Israel cites, opening live fire against Palestinians seeking to enter Israel through gap in the barrier – almost all of them laborers looking to work in Israel – is unlawful and cannot be justified. The soldiers are not operating on their own initiative, or at the behest of commanders on the ground; they are implementing a declared policy approved by senior officials. It follows, therefore, that no one is held accountable for the injuries and the killings, and that the MPIU investigation launched, according to media reports, after the killing of Ghanem will also result in whitewashing. Y.‘A. (54), a resident of Sara, met Nabil Ghanem and his son at Qalqiliyah Checkpoint and set out with them to find a way to cross the barrier. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb’i on 2 July 2022, he recounted: On Sunday, before dawn, I met Nabil Ghanem and his son Mu’tasem at Qalqiliyah Checkpoint. We sat outside one of the businesses there and waited to cross through one of the gaps in the fence near the checkpoint. We stayed there until the sun rose. Another young man from our village, M.R., joined us, as well as two other young men who I don’t know where they live. One of them said he knew a gap in the fence. We got in a car that drove us there, and asked the driver to wait for us. We noticed soldiers lying in wait near the gap and heard shots. Nabil said it was dangerous and refused to cross there. We went back to the car and drove back to the checkpoint. We talked with fixers who know the gaps and take workers through them. Some people, including Mu’tasem, went and tried to cross through one of the gaps, but after about half an hour, they came back and said there were soldiers and shooting there. Mu’tasem said he wanted to go home because it had been dangerous since the morning. We drank coffee and some of us had breakfast. M.R. suggested we go back to the gap because maybe the soldiers were gone. We went and tried to cross through farmland near the fence, but we heard young guys saying: “Soldiers, soldiers,” so we turned back because we were afraid the soldiers would catch us. Nabil and another young man I don’t know really wanted to go through, and kept walking around the area to find an opening to cross. I heard one of the young guys say there was a way through if anyone wanted. I told them not to go because it was dangerous, but Nabil didn’t listen to me. The young guy trod on the barbed wire fence. He was about 20 meters away from me. M.R. and Nabil and two other young men went over to him. I saw the young guy who was treading on the barbed wire go through and so did Nabil. Then I heard three or four shots, I’m not sure how many. I immediately turned and ran away. While I was running, I heard someone say, “Oh, I’m dying.” I was afraid the soldiers would chase us and catch us or shoot at us. Some young men told me how to get to the main road, and from there I got in a car and went home. On the way home, I saw on social media that one of the workers trying to cross the fence had been injured. I realized it was Nabil. I was shocked. I’ve had coffee with him more times than with my own family. For years, we slept in Israel together for weeks at a time. I later learned he’d been killed. M.R. (21), single, a resident of Sara, cannot obtain a permit to work in Israel as he does not meet the criteria set by Israel. Instead, he enters through gaps in the barrier. In a testimony he gave B'Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb'i on 20 June 2022, M.R. described what happened that morning: At around 10:00 A.M., one of the young men went to the fence and trod on it in order to cross through to the other side. After he got through, he called out to us to cross too. We went towards him. A resident of my village, Nabil Ghanem, was walking ahead of me. He put his foot on the fence, and then I heard four shots. I saw three soldiers hiding in a low place behind the fence, seven to ten meters away from us. I had no choice but to run away. I turned and ran without stopping until I got away. I didn't know what happened to Nabil. Everyone who was with me ran away. I decided to go home. I was very scared by what happened. After about an hour, I called drivers in the area. They told me they’d seen an ambulance and that there was probably a wounded person. I later found out through social media that Nabil had been killed. The next day, I had to go to the fence again. I can't stay without work. My employer owes me money and if I don't go to him, I won't get it. This is our life. We have no other choices. Nabil's son, Mu'tasem Ghanem (23), a plasterer, set out with his father from home before dawn towards the Separation Barrier. They reached the checkpoint at around 5:00 A.M. In a testimony he gave B'Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb'i on 27 June 2022, he recounted: The drivers in the area told us there was a gap in the fence in an area called Abu al-‘Adas. We drove there. There were other workers there trying to enter Israel. When we were 200 meters from the fence, I heard shots but didn't know what was happening exactly. We went back to the car and drove back to the checkpoint. We had breakfast there. My dad had schnitzel and I had falafel. We waited until about 6:30 A.M., and then I went to check other gaps near the checkpoint, but they all had soldiers nearby. I called my dad and told him we couldn't go through. He asked me to come back to him. When I got there, the bus to Qalqiliyah was just passing and my father signaled it to stop and told me to go. I asked him to come with me, but he wanted to stay and try to cross the fence anyway. He wanted to go to his employer to get his salary, so he could give money to my brother Mu'taz (31) and help him buy an apartment. I got on the bus and went back home. At 8:30 A.M., my dad called and asked if I was home. I said I was, and he said he was still waiting to cross. I asked him to come home, and he said he'd cross the fence soon. We hung up and I went back to sleep. I woke up at 11:00 A.M. and called him, but he didn't pick up. His phone was off. I was worried, because he’s only never answered when he’s been arrested. I called M.R., whom I met in the morning by fence, and he told me he’d seen Dad go through the gap in the fence, and then heard gunfire and ran away. He later found out an ambulance had come and he thought the soldiers had arrested my dad. I didn't believe him. I went out of the room and found my mother, my sisters and my brother Mu'taz crying. I asked them what happened, and they said dad had been injured. I told them it didn't make sense. Even an hour later, when news of his death was shared on social media, everyone was crying and I still didn't believe it. I said he’d been arrested and nothing had happened to him. Very quickly, relatives, friends and neighbors started arriving. I started to grasp that he was dead. In addition to our mourning over Dad, Israel refused to hand over his body. The Palestinian DCO told us the body was being held because Dad was a terrorist and wanted to cut the fence. Only on Wednesday evening did the Israeli DCO hand over the body, at Huwarah Checkpoint. Dad wasn't a terrorist. He worked in Israel for 35 years without a permit, and always crossed through the gaps in the fence to support us. He was arrested many times in Israel because he didn't have a work permit. His last arrest was in 2018, when he spent two months in prison. Yet he still returned to work in Israel every time. We have no other choice. There's no work in the West Bank, and whatever there is, is irregular and badly paid. We just want to work and earn a living, like everyone else. * According to the database on the protection of civilians of the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA). Updates: On 1 July 2022, media reports stated that an MPIU investigation had been launched.

4 August 2022

Restrictions on Movement

Isolated: Israel cuts village of Beit Iksa off from East Jerusalem and the rest of the West Bank

The Palestinian village of Beit Iksa lies northwest of Jerusalem, within the West Bank but outside the municipal jurisdiction of Jerusalem. Over the years, land surrounding the village and some plots of land owned by villagers were seized for the establishment of Ramot Alon, a settlement that functions as a neighborhood of East Jerusalem, and Har Shmuel, a neighborhood in the settlement of Giv’at Ze’ev. In 2010, fifty more dunams of village land were confiscated for the Tel Aviv Jerusalem railway. According to a 2007 West Bank census, some 1,900 people live in the village. Many of them are residents of Jerusalem who have Israeli identity cards. Unlike other Palestinian villages in the area, which are surrounded by a fence separating them from Israel, the eastern side of Beit Iksa – which faces the neighborhood of Ramot – is not fenced in. It lies only several hundred meters away from the Israeli neighborhood, separated from it only by a valley. However, the village is separated from nearby Palestinian communities by an electronic fence along its northwestern side that connects to the Separation Barrier. In 2009, Ha’aretz reported that the Israeli government had decided in 2006 to leave the village on the Palestinian side of the Separation Barrier – although according to the original route of the barrier, it was set to remain on the “Israeli” side. According to the article, the reason for this decision was the fact that Beit Iksa overlooks the area of Ramot and Highway 1 and that land previously purchased by Israelis lies adjacent to the village. However, no fence was erected between Beit Iksa and Israel; instead, Israel put up the electronic fence around the northwestern part of Beit Iksa, which the security establishment has defined as “temporary”. In 2008, Israel began setting up flying checkpoints on the outskirts of the village. In 2010, a permanent checkpoint was installed some four kilometers northwest of the village center, toward the neighboring Palestinian village of Bidu. The checkpoint controls the only entrance into Beit Iksa. Since then, Israeli security forces have allowed only people registered as village residents on their identity cards or bearing a special permit to enter the village. The special permits are issued upon completion of a security background check and are largely reserved for people who work regularly in the village, such as teachers and employees of the local medical clinic. The Israeli authorities also issue temporary permits in what they term “humanitarian cases”, such as family celebrations or funerals and mourning rituals, but then, too, restrict the number and age of persons allowed into the village. In 2010, along with the installation of the permanent checkpoint at the entrance to the village, Israel also closed off the road leading from the village to Jerusalem via Ramot with a gate that remains closed. This has extended travel time from the village to Jerusalem by at least half an hour, as residents who hold Israeli identity cards now have to drive to Ramallah and from there to Qalandia checkpoint in order to enter the city. Consequently, the villagers are cut off not only from the rest of the West Bank but also from Jerusalem, which used to be their historical center of life in the district. Since 2010, some fifty families with Israeli identity cards have left the village due to their forced isolation from Jerusalem. These families, which number some 600 people according to local council estimates, have retained their assets in the village, are still registered as its residents, and periodically come back to visit. The checkpoint the military installed at the entrance to Beit Iksa. Photo by Iyad Hadad, B’Tselem, 7 June 2016. The severe restrictions on access to the village make it difficult for local businesses and residents to receive wares and equipment. Many suppliers are not permitted to enter the village, so clients have to go to the checkpoint to collect their goods. Some suppliers are allowed in after a process of coordination with the village council or with the Palestinian Authority, but even they are sometimes delayed at length or ultimately denied entrance. Village residents coming home with goods purchased elsewhere are also delayed at times, although there is no official restriction on bringing merchandise into the village. The Israeli authorities chose not to build the Separation Barrier along the Green Line in the area, instead annexing the village de facto to Jerusalem. However, they also aim to prevent Palestinians from the West Bank from entering Israel via Beit Iksa. The solution they found, to impose draconic restrictions on anyone wishing to enter the village, reflects absolute prioritization of Israeli interests over protection of the Palestinian residents’ rights. The severe restrictions have turned Beit Iksa into an isolated community, and this isolation makes it very hard for the village residents to maintain social and family ties and to access workplaces and other services in East Jerusalem and throughout the West Bank. The restrictions also make it difficult for workers, suppliers and other service providers to enter the village, disrupting daily life there and curtailing the council’s ability to provide residents with basic services. These arbitrary, draconian restrictions deny the residents of Beit Iksa the ability to lead reasonable daily lives and cause severe harm to the entire village. The closed gate the army installed on the road from Beit Iksa to Jerusalem, in the top right – the fence around Ramot. Photo by Iyad Hadad, B’Tselem, 15 August 2016 Over the past two years, B’Tselem field researcher Iyad Hadad collected testimonies from people who live and work in the village about the impact of these restrictions on their lives: Ahmad Faqih, 31, from the neighboring village of Qatanah, drives a bus on the Beit Iksa-Ramallah line. On 26 July 2016, he related the difficulties that he and the passengers encounter upon reaching the checkpoint: I’m not from Beit Iksa but from the neighboring village, Qatanah. They let me through the checkpoint because I’m the bus driver. But every now and then they are especially strict, and then they harass me and don’t let me in. In 2014, during the attack on Gaza, that happened five or six times. I had to call the other bus driver to come to the checkpoint and pick up the passengers. There are no official regulations at the checkpoint, only informal practices that have become standard procedure. I’m ordered to stop twenty meters before the checkpoint and wait for a sign from one of the guards. That usually takes a few minutes, but sometimes it takes longer – depending on the mood of the guards or on current security events. After the guards give me the signal, I drive up to the inspection point and all the passengers get out except the elderly. A guard gets on the bus, checks the identity cards of passengers who stayed inside, and makes sure they are all who they say they are and over seventy years of age. Anyone younger is told to get off the bus. Sometimes, they allow sick people or mothers with babies or little children to stay on the bus. The rest of the passengers line up outside. A guard stands at the door of the bus and the passengers come up to him one by one and show their identity cards. He only lets residents of Beit Iksa and the elderly – even if they are not from Beit Iksa – back onto the bus. The age limit varies according to the guard’s mood. Sometimes it’s anyone over fifty, but it can also be over 55 or sixty. It usually takes them about ten to twenty minutes to check all the cards, depending on the number of passengers. On days when they’re strict, it can take hours. Ahmad Liqianiyah, 29, from Beit Iksa, related in a testimony he gave on 28 June 2016 how he had to hold his wedding outside the village: I got engaged two-and-a-half years ago. My wife, Layali Diab, comes from the village of ‘Arura near Ramallah. The engagement dragged out because it took about a year and a half to change her address to Beit Iksa so she could come live with me. The first request I filed was rejected, so I had to hire a private lawyer for about 530 US dollars. In the end, my wife was only granted the address update after we got married and submitted our marriage certificate. We had the wedding in my wife’s village in June 2015. We couldn’t have it in Beit Iksa because the guests weren’t allowed into the village. But since we had it in ‘Arura, an hour’s drive away, a lot of people from my village couldn’t attend. The wedding was expensive because we had to hire buses and other vehicles to transport the guests, and the wedding hall in ‘Arura cost me much more than it would have cost to have the wedding in Beit Iksa. We got over all the hurdles around the wedding, but then the real suffering began. It’s been especially hard for my wife, who feels that she is slowly losing touch with her family. Since we got married, her parents are the only members of her family who have managed to visit her in the village. Even that was only allowed after council members coordinated it for them. Her parents have only visited us six or seven times in two years. The security situation makes it impossible from them to come sometimes. It’s the month of Ramadan now, and it’s customary for parents to visit their daughter and in general, for relatives to pay visits to each other. Because of the checkpoint, we don’t have many visitors – only our closest relatives, and even then only those who manage to get into the village. It makes us feel cut off and socially isolated. My wife is about to give birth and I ask myself: what will our children’s lives be like? What sort of relationship will they have with their extended family? If my wife stays here in the village, how can her family help her with the children and stay in touch with her? Shahinaz ‘Abdallah, 46, lives in Beit Iksa with her husband and their five children. In a testimony she gave on 23 July 2015, she explained the impact of the authorities’ refusal to update her address on her daily life: I grew up in Jericho and married Iyad, a relative of mine from Beit Iksa, in 1992. At first we lived in al-‘Eizariyah, close to my husband’s workplace, and registered as residents of there. Our children were born and went to school there, and we had a house. But we kept in close touch with my husband’s family in Beit Iksa and with my mother, who had moved there too and is registered as a resident of the village. I have a sister and cousins in Beit Iksa, too. My children went there often, and we also used to visit on weekends and spend our summers there. We built a house in Beit Iksa to make it easier to visit and not inconvenience my in-laws. We lived like that until 2010, when Israel announced that it was going to put up a checkpoint at the entrance to the village and let only local residents in. We thought of our relationships with my husband’s parents and all our family in the village and were afraid they wouldn’t let us in any more. So I moved with the children to our house in Beit Iksa, and my husband stayed in al-‘Eizariyah, close to where he works. He visits us on the weekends. Since we moved to the village, we’ve submitted several requests with the Palestinian Ministry of the Interior to update our address, so we can get through the checkpoint without any hassle. My husband got his updated quickly because he was born in the village. My request was denied, and at first so were the children’s. The Palestinian Ministry of Interior told us that the Israelis had refused without giving any explanation. In the meantime, my older kids have been updated as residents of the village, but I’ve submitted four or five requests that were all denied. It makes my life miserable. I’m afraid to leave the village alone, because on my way back in I’m detained and questioned – why did I come, to whom am I related in the village, and so on. They check on the phone that I really live there. I’m usually kept at the checkpoint about fifteen to thirty minutes, supposedly for inspection. I have to argue with them until they let me in. At first I worked as a teacher at al-Jib, a village nearby. I’m also studying at Al-Quds University and am deputy director of the Women’s Association for Beit Iksa’s Development, so I have to travel a lot. I cannot be dependent on my husband to enter and leave the village. Beit Iksa Boys’ High School. Photo courtesy of the school. Mwafaq Mansur, 47 is a resident of the village of Bidu and the principal of the boys’ school in Beit Iksa. In a testimony he gave on 28 April 2015, he described how the checkpoint affects the school routine: I’ve been the principal of the boys’ school at Beit Iksa since 2004. I never had any trouble getting to the school and back but since they put up the checkpoint, I can only get into the village thanks to a document stating that I work at the school. They are 24 people who work at the school, and only eight of them are registered as residents of Beit Iksa. Almost every week, one of the teachers is kept at the checkpoint and allowed in late, or not at all. Permission to enter or leave the village depends on the mood of the guards and the police officers at the checkpoint. It’s impossible to even consider bringing in services from outside, such as a technician to fix the photocopy machine. The situation certainly interferes with the school. When a teacher is late or denied entry, the students miss a class. It weakens the entire school, creates confusion and disrupts the schedule. In the long run, you see the results in the students’ grades. When a teacher is kept out, we either have to find a substitute or I step in to replace him, as school principal. Fatimah Milo al-‘Ein, 32, from the village of Qatanah, works with a regional program for the rehabilitation and integration of people with disabilities. In a testimony she gave on 2 June 2015, she described how the restrictions on entering Beit Iksa make it difficult to do her job: I work in a community-based rehabilitation program for people with disabilities that is coordinated with local authorities, village councils and the Red Crescent. People with physical and mental disabilities take part in the program. I work in several villages in the area. We offer educational activities to raise awareness among people with disabilities and their parents. We also refer people to tests in special centers, counsel and train parents, help adjust homes to special needs, and integrate children into preschools, schools, and other centers. Thirty people with disabilities who live in Beit Iksa are registered with us. According to my work plan, I’m supposed to visit the village once a week, but because of the checkpoint I think several times before going there. I always worry that I won’t be allowed in because I’m from Qatanah. I’m often detained or denied entry to the village. Last March, for instance, I went to Beit Iksa with a specialist in diagnosing speech and learning impediments who came from Ramallah. We were held at the checkpoint for an hour and a half on the grounds that we weren’t registered as residents of Beit Iksa, even though I showed them my employee card from the Palestinian Red Crescent that always gets me into the village. Eventually we had to get the head of the council to intervene in order to let us in – which they agreed to do only on the condition that we left our identity cards at the checkpoint until we left. We arrived late at the preschool and only had time to examine some of the children on our list.

17 August 2016

No Accountability

Soldiers who shot 16-year-old in the back charged with “reckless and negligent act”; COs who ordered the stakeout will not be held accountable

Update: On 5 January 2014 the MAG Corps informed B’Tselem that the additional investigation had been completed and that it had received the case for review. On 27 March 2013 Samir ‘Awad’s father, Ahmad ‘Awad, petitioned the High Court of Justice together with B’Tselem, demanding that the MAG issue a determination on the case: either indict the soldiers who killed Samir ‘Awad or close the case file. On 30 December 2015, the Central District Attorney’s Office indicted the two soldiers who fired on charges of “a reckless and negligent act using a firearm”. Their trial began on 22 September 2016 at the Ramla Magistrates Court. On 5 June 2018, the State Attorney’s Central District Office told the court that it is withdrawing the indictment because the prosecution’s evidence has been weakened, so there is no longer “a reasonable prospect of conviction.” On Thursday (30 December 2015) the Central District Attorney’s Office filed an indictment against the two soldiers who, on 15 January 2013, shot and killed Samir ‘Awad, 16, near the Separation Barrier in Budrus, Ramallah district. The indictment was filed in accordance with the state’s assurance to the High Court of Justice (HCJ) that the soldiers would be charged with reckless and negligent use of a firearm by the end of 2015. The arraignment will take in the Ramle Magistrates Court on 14 April 2016. Samir ‘Awad being evacuated from the scene after being shot. Photo: 'Abd a-Nasser Murar The facts of the case as described in the indictment are in keeping with the results of B’Tselem’s inquiries. The indictment states that commanders in the 71st Armored Corps Battalion ordered a stakeout near the Separation Barrier for the express purpose of “preventing sabotage to the barrier”. The stakeout unit split into two groups and waited inside the barrier system, which is made of several fences and a patrol road in between, and on the “Palestinian” side of the barrier. ‘Awad did not notice the soldiers and entered the barrier system through an existing breach in the fence. The troops then showed themselves and began pursuing ‘Awad, who had gotten caught in the barbed wire fence, but managed to break loose and escape, with the unit commander and another soldier in pursuit. The indictment describes how while in pursuit, the soldiers first fired in the air, and then fired eight bullets in succession at the fleeing boy. According to the indictment, all the shots at ‘Awad were fired in circumstances in which gunfire is prohibited under open-fire regulations, with five shots fired even without looking through the gun sights. The disparity between the egregious conduct of the soldiers and the minor charges being brought against them beggars belief. Reckless and negligent use of a firearm is one of the lightest firearm use offenses. The maximum penalty it carries is a three-year jail term. In choosing to charge the soldiers with this count, the State Attorney’s Office is sending a clear message to security personnel in the Occupied Territories: even if you kill Palestinians who pose no danger to anyone, even if you breach regulations, we will take action to cover up the matter and make sure it ends without any real accountability. Another aspect of the cover-up is that the focus is only on the soldiers involved in the incident on the ground. The indictment makes no mention of the command-level responsibility for ‘Awad’s death, addressing neither the orders given to the stakeout unit or the arms and gear it was given for the mission, not the very decision to mount such a stakeout. The failure to examine these questions lends support to the military’s policy of posting armed stakeouts for the express purpose of preventing sabotage to the Separation Barrier or stone-throwing near it - a policy that continues to cost lives. The last such case documented by B’Tselem resulted in the death of Lafy ‘Awad on 13 November 2015. The similarities between the killing of 16-year-old Samir ‘Awad and the killing of Lafy ‘Awad in the very same spot are chilling. In both cases, soldiers were in a stakeout near the Separation Barrier inside Budrus, and in both cases, soldiers fired at the backs of youths who were fleeing and posing no danger to anyone. Now, this policy of armed stakeouts, a tactic that has been proven to be dangerous and lethal, will continue taking the lives of Palestinians with the approval of the justice system.

31 December 2015