“Seventeen long hours of dragging around from one place to another, from one bus to another and from one security check to another, getting on, getting off, on and off. Even if I were made out of steel, I would collapse. It’s an arduous journey”.
From the testimony of Hilweh Shabaneh, 80, Sinjil village, Ramallah district
As of the end of December 2019, Israel was holding in its prison facilities at least 4,544 prisoners and detainees (hereinafter: prisoners) defined as “security prisoners.” 296 of the prisoners are residents of the Gaza Strip and the rest are residents of the West Bank. Israel imposes numerous restrictions on family visits to prison – including who may visit an how often. These restrictions are applied both to prisons within its sovereign territory – where Palestinians are held contrary to the provisions of international law – and to Ofer Prison, which is inside West Bank territory but beyond the separation barrier.
As Palestinian visitors are unable to reach prisons independtly, and as Israel takes no part in facilitating prison vists, the task of organizing these visits falls entirely to the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC). Every visit to prison involves an entire day of arduous travel and physical and emotional hardship – especially for elderly relatives and children.
Israel allows only first-degree relatives to visit their loved ones in prison, and even that is subject to the permits it issues, and only as part of scheduled visit days on which the ICRC organizes transportation. The ICRC arranges visits from Sunday to Thursday, with buses leaving from pickup points in the major cities to one or more prisons, depending on the ICRC’s visit program. Until the middle of 2016, relatives who received permits were able to visit imprisoned family members twice a month, but because of cuts in the ICRC budget, in 2016 it reduced the number of visits to only once a month.
Until the second quarter of 2019, visit permits were issued to most family members once a year, and family members banned from entering Israel for security reasons were required to apply for a new permit every two to four months. In August 2019, as a result of pressure from the family members and the ICRC, the Israeli authorities began issuing permits valid for one year to all family members allowed to visit, including those with a “security ban.” Still, none of them really knows whether they will actually make the visit until they reach the checkpoint, as security forces stationed there sometimes do not let them through, and they are forced to return home without visiting their loved one.
Prior to the visit, the ICRC submits a list of visitors to the Israeli District Coordination Office (DCO) in the various areas, and waits for an answer from the Israeli side. Next, the families receive the answers and hear if their requests had approved and they would receive an entry permit, rejected, or removed from the list over failing to meet the criterion of first-degree relation to the prisoner. The visitors who meet the conditions board a bus in the early morning from the pickup points in the major Palestinian cities, accompanied by an ICRC representative. When the bus reaches the checkpoint, all of the visitors are required to disembark and undergo a physical and personal effects search, which takes a long time, and then on the other side of the checkpoint they board an Israeli bus that takes them to the prison.
The visit itself lasts only 45 minutes, during which the family members talk to their loved ones through a phone receiver from behind a glass screen. Every prisoner is entitled to receive up to four visitors. Visitors may give the prisoners only specific items of clothing permitted under prison regulations, and these are inspected before being handed to the prisoner. They may also deposit money for them for buying commodities.
After the visit, the visitors get back on Israeli buses that take them to the checkpoint, and from there onto ICRC buses. They usually get home in the evening after an exhausting day.
In testimonies relatives of prisoners gave B’Tselem field researchers, they described the arduous journey to prison, the brief visit, and the painful longing when the visit is not permitted:
Hilweh Shabaneh, 80, married and the mother of 11, a resident of the village of Sinjil in the Ramallah district spoke about the difficulties involved in visiting her son in prison in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Iyad Hadad on 30 December 2019:
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Hilweh Shabaneh, Photo: Iyad Hadad, B'Tselem
My son Khaled, 41, was sentenced to life in prison, and is at Nafha Prison. Three years ago I broke my hip, and since then my health has deteriorated and I visit him less. But every few months I gather my strength to come anyway. My husband, ‘Abd a-Rahman, passed away in 2010, and before that he was very sick and was not able to see Khaled and say goodbye to him. Khaled’s brothers and sisters visit him, but he always waits for my visit.
In the first year after I broke my hip, the ICRC picked me up from home and took me back in a private ambulance, but it was very expensive and required a lot of coordination so it hasn’t happened again since then.
The last time I visited Khaled was on 25 September 2019. That morning I got up at 4:00 A.M., got ready and took painkillers, because all of the jostling and walking as part of the visit cause me severe pain. I made sure I had my identity card and all of the papers, including a medical report that states that I have platinum in my leg, so that I could go through the scanners without problems. When me and my daughter Samiha, who always comes with me, set out, it was still dark and the rest of the family was asleep.
We took a taxi to the meeting point in al-Birah and paid 70 shekels. That was the first stop on the journey. The bus left at seven o’clock towards the Ni’lin checkpoint, through the villages west of Ramallah.
There were about 50 of us. The gate at the checkpoint opens only at eight o’clock and then you get off the bus. I use the cain to help me walk, and my daughter, Samiha, too until I go into the checkpoint. You have to go through two turnstiles, which is very difficult for me with the cane. Then we put our bags and belongings and anything metal, including my cane, on a conveyor belt for scanning, and we went through another scanner inspection gate next to it.
Then everybody went one at a time past a glass window, behind which sits a clerk, and you have to raise your hands so that he can see that you’re not holding anything, and then you go to a reception window and you give them your identity card and permit. From there we went out through a turnstile to a lot on the Israeli side of the checkpoint, where an Israeli bus waited for us. Samiha stayed right next to me the whole time to help me. We got on the bus and waited for the last passenger to get on, around 9:30-10:00 A.M. The whole process at the checkpoint takes an hour and a half and sometimes more.
It was still morning but by then I was already exhausted. Then we drove for about two and a half hours nonstop. I was in a lot of pain and felt nauseous. My feet legs asleep.
When we got to Nafha Prison we waited in a courtyard that had nothing in it except for disgusting bathrooms it’s better to avoid. On these visits I try to drink and eat as little as possible that day so I don’t have to go to the bathroom. Sometimes I actually fast.
In the prison courtyard we split up. Samiha went to get Khaled cigarettes, and I walked with my cane to get in line for the visit and hand over my and Samiha’s identity cards, and our tickets and permits. Samiha also rented us a locker for five shekels for our personal belongings, because we’re not allowed to bring anything in with us, not even a tissue.
Then we waited with everyone in the courtyard. It has a roof but there’s no air conditioning in the summer or heat in the winter and the conditions are rough. About 30 minutes later we were called and the third round of security checks in the course of the visit began. We went through an electronic gate, took off our shoes, took off our belts and anything that could make the machine beep. I put my cane through the conveyor belt. We went through a turnstile and then we met a policeman or clerk and deposited with him 1,200 shekels for the canteen so that Khaled could buy whatever he wants inside the jail. And then we went through another electronic gate into a long corridor where we waited. Sometimes you wait there for a few minutes and sometimes more than half an hour. Luckily this time we didn't wait very long. Samiha and I were called, we went through another electronic gate and from there to an inspection room, one at a time. Despite my condition, they didn't let Samiha go in with me. Two policewomen inspected me physically with a handheld device. When they finished checking us we went into a large hall that has room for about 200 visitors. It has wooden benches, air conditioning and water, but no bathrooms. We waited there until they finished checking the whole group. It usually takes between half an hour and an hour, and this time it took 45 minutes.
And then four policemen lead the group towards the visit room. Two policemen walk in the front and two in the back. There are two visit rooms, and one of them is more than 150 meters away. When we have to go to that one it’s very hard for me because every step hurts and there’s no consideration.
When we got to the room, all of the prisoners were already sitting there waiting for us. Sometimes it's the other way around. The visit lasts only 45 minutes and I see my son behind fortified glass and can speak to him only by phone. Thank God, I could see that Khaled was in good health. We talked about all kinds of social and family news and about health.
At the end of the visit they let us out through a gate that leads to the prison courtyard, and there we got on the bus and waited for everyone to arrive. It was already 3:30 P.M. We got to the Qalandia checkpoint at around eight o’clock in the evening. I swear to God, I wouldn't wish this on anybody. We got home at 9:00 P.M.
From four o’clock in the morning to nine o’clock at night, 17 long hours of dragging around from one place to another, from one bus to another and one security check to another, getting on, getting off, on and off. Even if I were made out of iron I would collapse. It’s an arduous journey.”
Amneh Abu Khirmeh, 65, a widow and mother of six, resident of Tulkarm R.C., said in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 31 December 2019, that Israel had been preventing her for a whole year from visiting two of her three sons who are in prison in Israel:
I have three sons in prison: Muhammad, 40, Ahmad, 38, and ‘Adnan, 34. All three of them were arrested in 2003-2004 and sentenced to long terms of more than 20 years. Muhammad and Ahmad are in the Ramon Prison and ‘Adnan is in Hadarim Prison.
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Amneh Abu Khirmeh, Photo: Abdulkarim Sadi, B'Tselem
I'm the only one who visits them because my daughters are married with families, one in Jordan and one in Hebron, and it's hard for them, and the Israeli authorities prevent my fourth son, Mahmoud, from visiting because once he was arrested when he entered Israel without a work permit. For the first five years after my sons were arrested, Israel forbade me from visiting them, claiming I was under a security ban. During that time, other family members received permits to visit them. Since then, the ICRC has managed to get me visit permits defined as permits for people with security bans, and I can visit my sons once a month.
To visit them, I have to leave my house at 5:30 A.M., travel to a point where everybody meets, and from where the ICRC buses leave, and wait there with the other family members until the buses leave at around sevevn o’clock. The buses go to the Sha'ar Efrayim checkpoint that opens at eight o’clock for visitors and other people who have permits to cross by foot for “special needs,” and then you start going through the security procedures. They include a security check with electronic instruments and an inspection of the visit permits. The inspection of all of the family members’ papers takes more than an hour, and if they send someone to the room where they do body seraches it takes longer.
In 2019 the Israeli authorities forbade me from visiting my sons again. I would get an Israeli entry permit, but every time I got to the Sha'ar Efrayim checkpoint the security guards forbade me from crossing. I didn’t see my sons for a whole year and nobody bothered to explain to me why I wasn’t being let through.
It went on like this until on 5 December 2019 I was finally allowed to go through and visit my son ‘Adnan who is at Hadarim Prison.
I didn’t believe they were really letting me enter until I got to the bus depot where all of the prisoners’ relatives wait after they finish going through all of the security checks.
At the prison, I saw ‘Adnan for only 45 minutes. I spoke to him on the phone with a glass window separating us.
On 11 December 2019 I was supposed to visit my sons Muhammad and Ahmad at Ramon Prison. I got ready and left the house at 5:30 A.M.. The bus left the meeting point in Tulkarm and drove to the Sha'ar Efrayim checkpoint, and at eight o’clock the families were allowed to enter the checkpoint and begin the seccurity check. When I got to the point of checking the permits and documents, the security guard from the private security company held me for more than half an hour in the presence of the ICRC representative who oversees the process, and finally forbade me from entering and ordered me to go back to Tulkarm. When I asked why, she said I had an ISA ban.
I don't understand how for all those years I’d been issued permits through the ICRC and then forbidden from crossing. I haven't seen Muhammad and Ahmad for more than a year now because of the security ban.
Husniyeh Abu Shakhdam, 75, a widow and mother of 11, resident of Jabal al-Rahmeh in Hebron, also spoke about the difficulties involved in visiting her son in prison in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Manal al-Ja'bri on 13 January 2020:
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Husniyeh Abu Shakhdam, Photo: Manal al-Ja'bri, B'Tselem
My son, Wael, 38, has been in prison since 2002. He was sentenced to six life terms and another 20 years. Since then he’s been moved between three prisons: Nafha, Rimon, and Ashkelon.
For two years already his brothers and sisters have been visiting him without me, because the visits involve a lot of suffering and I’m an old woman now. It’s an arduous and torturous journey that begins at four o’clock in the morning. On the bus to the Tarqumya checkpoint there are no stops. I’m diabetic and need to go to the bathroom a lot on the way, so to avoid it I don't drink anything that morning.
After all of the hardships and checks there are only 45 minutes for the visit itself, through a glass wall and on the phone. It’s not enough to quench the longing that burns in our hearts.
Tomorrow, despite it all, I plan to go again, after not seeing Wael for two years. The longing burns my heart and I always worry I’ll die without seeing him. I pray to God to give me the strength to bear the difficulties of the travel and the suffering.
After visiting her son, Husniyeh Abu Shakhdam told Manal al-Ja'bri:
Wael was very happy I came. I tried not to cry in front of him, he begged the guards to let him hug me, but they woudn’t. I was so happy I could get there and see him after we hadn't seen each other for two years, but as usual the trip was exhausting. I got very tired and the weather was also terrible and very cold. I don't know if I’ll have another chance to ever see him again.
Maqboulah ‘Abd al-Jalil, 65, married and a mother of five, resident of Nablus, said in testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb'i on 20 January 2020:
My son Raed, 39, was sentenced to four life terms plus 40 years. We weren’t told where he was until four months after he was arrested in 2002, and even then we weren't allowed to see him, we were told the whole family was under a security ban. Only a year and a half later did they let me visit him for the first time.
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מקבולה עבד א-ג'ליל, צילום: סלמא א-דבעי, בצלם
Then I came down with a heart condition and my health deteriorated. I still wanted to visit him anyway, but every time I tried to get a permit I was refused. My husband and children got permits but I didn't. This went on for about 10 years and then I finally got a permit for a year that allows me to visit Raed once a month.
In the last five years Raed has been at Gilboa Prison. The night before the visit I’m always so excited I can’t fall asleep. I get up at four in the morning and then the exhausting journey begins. I make preparations, and I even take the wire out of my bra so that the scanner at the checkpoint won't beep when I go through.
During the visit, a glass window separates us and we can only speak on the phone. In the past 18 years I saw Raed face-to-face only about four times, each time for only a few seconds, when we were allowed to take our picture together.
When it’s time to leave, after about 45 short minutes, I feel deeply sad that I’m leaving Raed behind alone, that I can't take him home, take care of him and cook him the food he loves.
Raed especially likes okra, and for years after he was arrested I wasn't able to cook okra or his favorite cookies that he used to help me make. All I want so I can die in peace is to see him outside of prison.
Rima Janazra, 37, a homemaker from al-Fawwar R.C., married and a mother of three, spoke about the difficulties of visiting her husband in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Musa Abu Hashhash on 27 December 2019:
My husband Sami was arrested on 16 September 2019 and put under administrative detention for four months. He’s supposed to get out on 15 January 2020. We have three children. The oldest one, Firas, is 16, and the youngest, Maria , is 9, and I’m seven months pregnant.
Sami was already under administrative detention for 11 months in 2017-2018, during which he went on a 10-day hunger strike. Me and the children visited him at the time. He moved between Ofer Prison and Ketziot. The children were young and the visits were really horrible.
At four in the morning we got on a vehicle that took us to Hebron, where we got on buses with dozens of other relatives of prisoners. On the way to the prison we went through the Tarqumya or Metar checkpoints, and waited there for a long time. The soldiers checked us thoroughly one at a time, including the children. They confiscated everything except water.
We also waited for a long time in the prison courtyard where everyone, including the children, went through security checks again, and then we were shut in a room with all the other visitors until the time of the visit. Sometimes we waited an hour and sometimes several hours, because the visit was only in the afternoon or evening. That waiting was particularly difficult. A lot of children cried and the mothers tried to soothe them. Children lay on the chairs.
The visit itself was also a difficult experience, through a glass wall and a telephone receiver. Sometimes I had to shout so my husband could hear me. There was a lot of noise in the room and the visit ended so quickly. It was difficult for me that after such a hard day on the road and all that waiting I could only see my husband and talk to him for a short while.
Because of that and because of my pregnancy, this time I decided not to visit him. My husband also asked me not to come, hoping he’ll be released at the end of four months. But if they extend his detention I’ll have to visit him. Nobody else can visit him because his mother is elderly and sick and can't make the trip, and our children are too young and can't visit him without me.
* Sami Janazra’s administrative detention was extended for four more months on 5 January 2020.
For over 15 months, Israel has been waging an all-out war on the entire Palestinian people. Ever since Israel and Hamas announced a temporary ceasefire in the Gaza Strip and a hostage and prisoner release deal three days ago, on 19 January 2024, Israel has intensified its violence against Palestinians in the West Bank.Far from holding its fire against Palestinians, Israel’s actions demonstrate it has no intention of doing so. Instead, it is merely shifting its focus from Gaza to other areas it controls in the West Bank.The ink had barely dried on the ceasefire agreement before the Israeli army blocked most access points to and from Palestinian villages, and all the cities in the West Bank, severely disrupting the daily lives of more than three million Palestinians: Students could not reach schools and universities, patients could not access medical treatments, and ordinary civilians could not get to their workplaces.A series of military raids in Sabastiya, ‘Azzun, Jenin, Beit Furik and Hebron, among others, have already claimed the lives of eight Palestinians, including at least one minor. Dozens were injured and scores were taken into custody in mass arrests.In the past two nights, a wave of settler violence has swept through the West Bank. As soldiers looked on, Israelis attacked Palestinian communities, trying to set fire to homes with occupants inside, torching cars and vandalizing property on a massive scale, in Turmusaya, al-Funduq, Sinjil, Al-Mughayyir and Jinsafut among other places. The attackers themselves have declared these pogroms were an act of revenge for the release of Palestinian prisoners as part of the deal. Settlers have also blocked major intersections across the West Bank, pelting passing Palestinian vehicles with stones.Adding the military activity of the Israeli army in the West Bank to the war’s official objectives just two days before the Gaza ceasefire agreement took effect, speaks volumes about the Israeli government’s true intentions. Forced to stop the fighting in Gaza by the Americans and Saudis, the Israeli government is using this pause as an excuse and opportunity to ratchet up the oppression of West Bank Palestinians.This is not what a ceasefire looks like.
Over the past decade, settlement outposts and “agricultural farms” have become one of Israel's primary methods for taking over land in the West Bank and driving Palestinian communities out. Unlike the bureaucratic process involved in establishing an official settlement, which is legal under Israeli law, ‘pirate’ outposts can be set up quickly, with relatively few resources and laborers. Taking control of farmland via setting up outposts also allows the state to evade direct responsibility for land seizure and shrug off the violent, illegal acts by settlers involved in the process, while effectively supporting them in various ways. By using these settlers as proxies, the state frames the establishment of outposts as an issue of law enforcement rather than policy.These outposts are set up quickly in key areas of the West Bank. They establish facts on the ground by invading private Palestinian land with herds of sheep and cattle, goading residents into confrontations and assaulting them. In some cases, the outposts are established without formal approval from the Israeli authorities, and in others, they are set up in cooperation with the authorities, relying on agreements concerning land allocation for agricultural needs, such as grazing and farming. Even in cases where land has been allocated by the state, the settlers often go beyond the allotted territory, expanding the territory under their control.The military often cooperates with these settlers by not demolishing structures built by them and by sending troops to guard them, who then often actively join in efforts to expel the Palestinian residents. Since 7 October 2023, this activity has greatly increased in both scope and frequency, with settlers ramping up violence and the military actively involved. This recent spike has so far driven at least 19 Palestinian communities from their homes and placed many more under serious threat.The Mitzpe Yehuda/Tzon Kedar outpost was established in September 2019 in Bariyet a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah, arid pastureland east of the town of the same name in al-Quds District. The outpost consists of several structures, including a café, and hosts events and weddings; a flock of sheep has also been brought there.This area had long been used by farmers from a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah to grow crops and graze flocks. Some of the land is privately owned by residents of the town. Some farmers live in shacks they built on their lands to tend to their flocks and cultivate the land, while maintaining homes in the town. Additionally, for decades, Bedouins from the al-Hazalin tribe—who relocated to the area after being expelled from the Negev by Israel in the 1950s—have lived in the area. There they established the al-Muntar community, which comprises several residential clusters. Immediately after the outpost was set up there was a significant increase in harassment suffered by Palestinian residents. Settlers began invading their lands and damaging fences and crops, sometimes escorted by soldiers. Settlers also prevented some residents from reaching land they farmed and pastureland they used by threatening them at gunpoint. The restriction of available pastureland has forced shepherds who cannot afford to buy feed to sell most of their sheep. After 7 October 2023, settlers blocked the road leading from the town to the residents’ farmland and pastureland by putting up a dirt pile and concrete blocks, escorted by soldiers. This also blocked Palestinians from the town who live on their farmland and residents of al-Muntar from reaching the town for various services. At the same time, the settlers intensified their harassment of the farmers, threatening to hurt them if they did not leave the area, and preventing them from accessing pastureland or repairing their water wells. Settlers also broke into a resident’s home in the dead of night, set a neighboring house on fire, cut water pipes and vandalized fences. Some residents were forced to abandon their homes in the agricultural area out of fear for their lives, and farmers from the town stopped cultivating their lands. The residents repeatedly called the police and even filed complaints, to no avail. The police arrested one of the residents, who was released only two weeks later. The deliberate creation of such friction clearly demonstrates the motivation behind establishing outpost farms as settlers expand their control over these lands. The targeted harassment of Palestinian farmers by settlers from outposts creates a false show of symmetry between the settlers and the farmers, which the military then uses to justify removing Palestinians from their lands, often using force, under the pretext of security constraints. When such incidents recur, farmers’ access to their own lands is barred, preventing them from cultivating their fields and making a living from them. With the military’s backing, settlers exploit the situation they have created to take final control over Palestinian-owned lands. In February 2023, the Israeli government announced its intention to legalize the Tzon Kedar Farm and nine other outposts. A year later, in February 2024, the head of the Central Command signed an order regarding the jurisdiction of a new settlement named Mishmar Yehuda, among other things advancing the legalization of Tzon Qedar. The jurisdiction is apparently based on state land declared there and on land allegedly purchased by settlers from Palestinian landowners in 1992. This action completes Israel’s takeover of the land, which began with the outpost’s establishment, formalizing the residents’ loss of access to lands that served them until the outpost was built. Testimonies that B’Tselem field researcher ‘Amer ‘Aruri collected from several Palestinians who own pastureland in Bariyet a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah illustrate the impact of the outpost on their lives and the harassment they face from settlers and the military.On 9 May 2024, J.S. (31) said:I am married without children and work in agriculture. I own land in the pastureland of a-Sawahrah, east of the town. Before the establishment of Tzon Kedar, I lived in a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah and could easily reach my land. We felt safe here.Since the outpost was built, I started hearing from family members who lived on the land that settlers were attacking shepherds and not letting them reach pasture and farmland. This land has been ours for many generations. My father, my grandfathers and their grandfathers lived in this area and grazed huge flocks in these open spaces. I spent a lot of time here as a child with the family, with the sheep out in the pasture, and there was nothing to fear. The place was safe.Because it’s become so hard to access our land, I moved here with my wife a year ago. The settlers have reduced our grazing areas, which once spanned hundreds of dunams. Now we only have access to about ten dunams [~2.5 acres] right next to my house and my cousin N.S.’s house. Whenever we do try to reach the grazing areas near the outpost, the settlers threaten to shoot us with their rifles.The settlers also show up at our homes here, accompanied by soldiers. Once, a settler arrived with a map and said he’d bought the land my house and my cousin’s house are on. He also claimed that until recently, there were no structures here, even though my family had a trailer here, donated by an international organization 25 years ago. The settlers also cut the fence around our cultivated land and let their sheep roam there. They ate the crops we put so much work into.A week after 7 October 2023, while I was driving home, a settler blocked the road and told me I wasn’t allowed to reach the area by car. Later, the settlers and the army blocked the road to the town with a dirt mound and dug a trench next to it.One night after the war broke out, while my wife and I were asleep, three settlers suddenly knocked down our door and burst in. My wife started screaming and calling for help. The settlers told us we had to leave the area. One of them threatened me and said, “If you come near us, I’ll shoot you.” He said it was our final warning and that we had to leave.That night, my cousin’s house suddenly caught fire. It’s made of cement blocks and tin. I called in relatives from a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah, who arrived half an hour later and helped me put out the fire, but part of the house was destroyed. Thank God my cousin and his family weren’t home that night. Since the war began, his wife and children have been sleeping in town because they’re afraid of the settlers and their attacks on Palestinian communities across the West Bank, so that night he wasn’t there.Since the war began, I’ve filed three complaints against the settlers and the army, for cutting off our access to the town and for the invasion of my home, but nothing has come of it. Our complaints don’t lead to any action against the settlers.Today, 9 May 2024, we tried to repair a water cistern near our homes. We hired four workers for the job. But then an armed settler arrived and threatened us that if we didn’t stop the work, he would be back in an hour, shoot anyone working on the cistern and blow it up. The workers got scared and left, and the repairs stopped. Someone once cut the pipes leading water out of the cistern, and we suspect it was the settlers.N.S. (35), a father of four and cousin of J.S., a resident of a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah, related on 9 May 2024:I am a farmer. My extended family owns about 500 dunams [~124 acres] in the pastureland of a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah. My ancestors grew grains in this area and our family has been cultivating it since ancient times. I farm the same lands. My extended family has always had flocks of sheep that graze here.Since the settlers built their outpost a few years ago, our situation has deteriorated. Until then, we raised 500 sheep here and had access to all the grazing areas without interference. Now, to reach most of our land I have to go past the outpost, but the settlers don’t let me past and threaten to shoot me. That has reduced my grazing land from hundreds of dunams to about ten [~2.5 acres].Since 7 October 2023, the situation has got much worse. A week after the war started, I went shopping in town. When I got back at 5:30 A.M., I found part of my house burned down.I thank God that at the beginning of the war, I moved my family to our house in town because I feared the settlers would harm them. Otherwise, a disaster would have happened to us. No one but the settlers has an interest in burning our house. They are the ones trying to pressure us into leaving the area.Two weeks after the war began, the settlers and the army blocked the road leading from town to the pastureland with a dirt mound and dug a trench around it. We tried several times to unblock the road, but security guards from the nearby settlement of Qedar came and told us we were not allowed to open it. They threatened to confiscate our vehicle if we didn’t stop.The settlers continued to chase after the shepherds in the pastureland, armed with rifles. One time, they threatened to shoot me if I didn’t move my sheep away from the area by the outpost.All this has severely undermined our ability to make a living off of shepherding, and we’ve been forced to sell most of our flock. From a flock of 500 sheep, only 60 remain. Not only do the settlers prevent us from reaching our grazing land, but they also let their sheep–I estimate they have about 200–roam freely on our cultivated lands.On the tenth day of the last Ramadan, at 3:00 A.M., soldiers came to my house in six military vehicles and arrested me. They took me to the Russian Compound detention center in Jerusalem and accused me of multiple charges, all of which I denied.I told the interrogator that the only Jews I know are the two settlers who have been attacking me, threatening my life, and releasing their sheep onto my family’s farmland, while barring me from grazing my sheep and going near their outpost.I was held in the detention center for 14 days, in a cell with 15 other people. The cell had a toilet and six concrete bunks, so most of the detainees slept on the floor. There were no blankets. All we got to eat, twice a day, was an egg, four sausages and a slice of bread. That’s what we got even for the pre-fast meal, suhur, and the meal for breaking the fast, iftar. At night, we weren’t allowed to turn off the lights, which made it very hard to sleep.The guards stormed into the cell several times a day and beat all of us for no reason. Usually, the worst beatings occurred at night, after we went to sleep. I suffered many injuries to my head and chest from the beatings, but we didn’t get any medical treatment. People who had been detained in the past told me that before 7 October 2023, prison was different. After two weeks, I was released and went home.We get water from the town through plastic pipes, and we have a 500-liter tank. It takes a week to fill because the water pressure is weak. Three days ago, someone sabotaged our water pipes and cut them. I believe it was settlers from the outpost. This has happened more than once since October. The war has increased the settlers’ appetite for our lands, as well as their efforts to drive us out of the pastureland.Today, 9 May 2024, I hired four workers from the town to repair the water cistern by my house. At 9:30 A.M., while we were cleaning the cistern, a settler arrived with a gun and told me we had an hour to leave the place, or else he would shoot at and blow up the cistern. The workers got scared and refused to continue working after that. M.S. (34), a father of four and resident of the town of a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah, said on 9 May 2024:I’m a farmer and started raising sheep about three years ago. I work on the farmland of my grandfather and father in the pastureland of a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah. My late grandfather had a quarry in the area, which operated with an Israeli license, but stopped functioning about 30 years ago.My grandfather and father used to grow grains and raise sheep, and could access their lands freely back then. You could plant, sow and graze sheep everywhere. We used the crops for personal consumption and sold some of it to buy feed for the sheep some of the year. But since the outpost was established about 500 meters from our home, the lands we use for grazing and farming have shrunk from hundreds of dunams to 12 dunams [~3 acres]. That is because the settlers do not allow my family past the outpost to reach the grazing land.In the past, we leased some of our land to another resident of a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah, who cultivated it. But after the outpost was established, he got too scared and left. The settlers took advantage of the fact that the land was uncultivated, and three years ago, they cut the barbed wire fence, invaded our land and plowed it. My family has roots here going back hundreds of years, and I wasn’t ready to give up. I decided to come back and work the land along with my brothers and cousins, because I feared the settlers would take over my ancestral land. We fixed the barbed wire fence that they destroyed, plowed the land and planted seeds.The first time, after the settlers invaded and plowed our land, more than 50 members of our family came and worked the land. At first, the settlers were afraid to come near us, so we managed to work and plant. But later on, masked settlers started coming to our land and cursing everyone who was working there.On 29 April 2023, the settlers cut the barbed wire fence around our land and uprooted the iron stakes marking its boundaries. We repaired the fence, drove the iron stakes back in and re-marked the boundaries.After 7 October 2023, the settlers started trying even harder to grab our land, especially because the Israeli government gave them a green light to attack Palestinian communities in the West Bank without being held accountable.More than once, settlers have stood in my path and threatened me. They told me that if I stayed in the area, it would soon cost me my life. They said they were losing patience with me and my family, because our land and homes are the closest to their outpost.Once, after the war began, settlers attacked the home of one of my relatives. They broke into his house at night, while he was there with his wife, and threatened to kill him. That same night, another relative’s house was set on fire.About seven months ago, while we were out at a family celebration, the settlers used the opportunity to unleash dogs into a sheep pen we shared with some relatives. The dogs attacked the sheep and killed ten of them.In another incident three months ago, I was working on our land and had a five-year-old boy from our family with me. Two settlers arrived, one of whom I recognized and the other was wearing a mask and army pants and had an M-16 rifle. One of them asked me what we were doing on the land of Eretz Israel. I told him he was trespassing, that this was private land and that he wasn’t allowed to be there. He told me that in war there are no rules. I took out my phone and told the settler that if he didn’t leave, I would call the police. The settler warned me not to walk the sheep near the outpost and said I wasn’t allowed to leave my house at night. He threatened to kill me.Twelve days ago, the settlers cut the barbed wire fence around our land and brought in their flocks of sheep. I called the police, and they came and told the settlers they weren’t allowed to enter any fenced-off land.The settlers repeatedly sabotage the pipes through which the a-Sawahrah municipality supplies us with water. The last time was on Thursday, 16 May 2024. We got up in the morning and found the pipes cut and damaged. Obviously, nothing like this ever happened to us before the outpost was built.The residents of a-Sawahrah a-Sharqiyah used to have hundreds of dunams available for grazing. Now, we all have to share a few dozen dunams because the settlers chase shepherds in the area. Of what’s left, about 12 dunams [~3 acres] belong to my family.With less grazing land, no money to buy feed and fewer crops for the sheep to eat after the settlers cut the fences and brought their sheep into our land, I had to cut my flock down from 150 to 50.
Over the past decade, settlement outposts and “agricultural farms” have become one of Israel’s primary methods for taking over land in the West Bank and driving Palestinian communities out. Unlike the bureaucratic process involved in establishing an official settlement, ‘pirate’ outposts can be set up quickly, with relatively few resources and laborers. Taking control of farmland via setting up outposts also allows the state to evade direct responsibility for land seizure and shrug off the violent, illegal acts by settlers involved in the process, while effectively supporting them in various ways. By using these settlers as proxies, the state frames the establishment of outposts as an issue of law enforcement rather than policy.These outposts are set up quickly in key areas of the West Bank. They establish facts on the ground by invading private Palestinian land with herds of sheep and cattle, goading residents into confrontations and assaulting them. In some cases, the outposts are established without formal approval from the Israeli authorities, and in others, they are set up in cooperation with the authorities, relying on agreements concerning land allocation for agricultural needs, such as grazing and farming. Even in cases where land has been allocated by the state, the settlers often go beyond the allotted territory, expanding the territory under their control.The military often cooperates with these settlers by not demolishing structures built by them and by sending troops to guard them, who then often actively join in efforts to expel the Palestinian residents. Since 7 October 2023, this activity has greatly increased in both scope and frequency, with settlers ramping up violence and the military actively involved. This recent spike has so far driven at least 19 Palestinian communities from their homes and placed many more under serious threat.One of these outposts is Meged Ha’aretz, which was founded in 2018 in the Tulkarm district, west of the settlement of Avnei Hefetz, northwest of the village of Shufah—which, with the establishment of Avnei Hefetz, had already lost a significant portion of its land —and east of the village of Kafa. About ten residential buildings, agricultural structures, greenhouses, and a pen for around 200 sheep have been built, and plots have been prepared for growing organic agricultural produce sold at the outpost. Various workshops are also held there. Since the establishment of the outpost, there has been a significant increase in the harassment of farmers whose agricultural plots are located a few hundred meters from the outpost and the settlement fence. Settlers have harassed farmers working on their lands, provoked them, and deliberately created friction. Hundreds of olive trees have been vandalized, and agricultural structures, water tanks, and property were damaged. Equipment and livestock have been stolen, graffiti sprayed and greenhouses set on fire. Another tactic settlers from the outpost used to intimidate and take control of the land has been firing shots into the air to frighten Palestinian shepherds and prevent them from grazing their sheep and cattle in the area. As a result of settler violence and restricted access to grazing areas, some farmers were forced to sell their herds, as the cost of feeding livestock with purchased fodder was unaffordable.Since 7 October 2023, army-supported settler harassment has intensified, and farmers from the villages of Shufah and Kafa have been practically barred from working their lands and grazing their livestock. They were unable to pick their olives during the 2023 harvest. During the plowing season in March and April 2024, Palestinian landowners contacted the Israeli DCO to coordinate their entry into the area. Nevertheless, when they arrived at their plots, settlers and soldiers prevented them from working their land. The soldiers fired in the air, detained the farmers, took them to a military base in the settlement of Avnei Hefetz, and held them there for several hours before releasing them without any charges or allegations.It is important to emphasize that while Palestinians’ access to their own lands has been restricted, the military allows settlers to move free and do as they please in the area. The settlers destroyed an agricultural structure after vandalizing it several times, among other harm they have caused.The deliberate creation of such friction clearly demonstrates the motivation behind establishing outpost farms as settlers expand their control over these lands. The targeted harassment of Palestinian farmers by settlers from outposts creates a false show of symmetry between the settlers and the farmers, which the military then uses to justify removing Palestinians from their lands, often using force, under the pretext of security constraints. When such incidents recur, farmers’ access to their own lands is barred, preventing them from cultivating their fields and making a living from them. With the military’s backing, settlers exploit the situation they have created to take final control over Palestinian-owned lands.It is important to emphasize that while Palestinians’ access to their own lands has been restricted, the military allows settlers to move free and do as they please in the area. The settlers destroyed an agricultural structure after vandalizing it several times, among other harm they have caused.The deliberate creation of such friction clearly demonstrates the motivation behind establishing outpost farms as settlers expand their control over these lands. The targeted harassment of Palestinian farmers by settlers from outposts creates a false show of symmetry between the settlers and the farmers, which the military then uses to justify removing Palestinians from their lands, often using force, under the pretext of security constraints. When such incidents recur, farmers’ access to their own lands is barred, preventing them from cultivating their fields and making a living from them. With the military’s backing, settlers exploit the situation they have created to take final control over Palestinian-owned lands.Testimonies collected by B’Tselem from several residents of the villages of Shufah and Kafa illustrate the detrimental impact the outpost has on farmers’ access to their lands, as well as the mistreatment they face from settlers and soldiers.B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi collected the following testimonies.Tahsin Hamed (72), a father of six and resident of Shufah, gave his testimony to B’Tselem on 12 May 2024:My brothers—Jamal, Mu’in, Ahmad and Ibrahim—and I inherited 500 dunams of land about 400-500 meters from the security fence of the settlement of Avnei Hefetz, which was built on land that belongs to people from our village. We personally own an olive grove and grow seasonal crops as well.In 2018, a settler took over a hill in the area of Manzalet Bir-Salem, located about 700-800 meters northwest of the settlement of Avnei Hefetz. He moved there with his family and set up tents and sheep pens. I think he has around 200 sheep.That’s when our problems began. The settler started grazing his sheep in our olive grove, and they ate the branches of the olive trees and the seasonal crops we used to plant every year. Together with other settlers, he also damaged young olive trees we planted and the branches of mature trees. Since he set up his outpost, hundreds of our olive trees and olive seedlings have been destroyed. We planted new seedlings several times, but the settlers destroyed them again and again.Also, whenever my family and I go to our land to work, the settler calls the soldiers in the area, who come and order us to leave under false pretexts, claiming we are trespassing on the land the settler stole, even though we don’t leave our own plot. Instead of protecting us, the soldiers drive us out. They help the settler take over our land, too.We used to have a small agricultural structure made of stone and cinder blocks with a tin roof on our plot. It was built decades ago and was a place to rest and store tools. There was also a small chicken coop nearby, where I kept six hens whose eggs I ate on days I was working.The settlers have damaged the structure several times. They vandalized the water container we use for drinking, cooking and watering the plants around the structure, and broke the wooden door. The last time this happened was about a month ago, during Ramadan. Since the war in Gaza began, the Israeli army has banned me and my brothers from entering our land under security pretexts. Each time we’ve tried to go, soldiers have told us we’re forbidden from being there and expelled us. The settlers have taken advantage of this and have completely destroyed the structure and damaged everything inside it. Even during the last olive harvest, in October and November 2023, the army stopped us all from picking our olives. They drove us away every time we tried to reach our groves. As a result, the entire crop—which would make about 300 jars of olive oil—went to waste. In previous years, we sold most of the crop and kept a small portion for personal use.Last Ramadan, which started at the end of March and ended in April, the Palestinian DCO informed us that the Israeli DCO had designated three days for us to access our land to plow and treat the weeds. My brothers, our sons and I—13 people from our family altogether—arrived early in the morning on the first designated day with donkeys, pesticide and other agricultural equipment. Just 10 minutes later, Israeli soldiers stationed in the Avnei Hefetz settlement arrived and fired live shots in the air. Then guards from the settlement, other settlers and more soldiers arrived. They handcuffed us all and covered our eyes with black garbage bags.A military vehicle arrived. They loaded us onto it and took us to a military camp within Avnei Hefetz. They confiscated our ID cards and phones and held us there without any interrogation or questioning. They only swore at us. I tried to explain to the soldiers that we went to our land after coordinating with the Israeli DCO, and that we were authorized to work there for three days, but no one would listen.They kept us there with our hands tied and eyes covered for eight hours—from 7:30 A.M. to 3:30 P.M.—and then took us to the Einav checkpoint, where they released us. We took the plastic bags off our eyes and took of the remaining zip ties, and found all the belongings they took from us lying on a concrete block at the checkpoint.We got home exhausted and felt we’d been wronged. The settlers and soldiers want to drive us off our land and take control of it.On 8 December 2019, Hamed told B’Tselem how settlers harassed him and his brother on their land:This afternoon I was on the 12 plot of land that belongs to me and my brothers, west of the outpost near the Avnei Hefetz settlement. My brother Ibrahim was plowing his plot, which is next to mine. I was about to join him when suddenly, I heard shouting in Hebrew coming from his plot. I realized settlers were harassing my brother and quickly went there. It’s about 200 meters away. When I got there, I saw a settler holding the donkey’s bridle to prevent my brother from plowing. The settler was shouting and demanding that my brother leave the area. I took the bridle from the settler and yelled at him. I asked why he was doing this. The settler said the land belongs to Jews. I replied that this land has belonged to our family for hundreds of years. I managed to get the settler away from the donkey.He called for another settler to come, and we got into a fight over ownership of the land. The settler kept provoking me and telling me to hit him, but I held back so he wouldn’t have an excuse to call more settlers and soldiers, who could force us to leave. This went on for about two hours. In the end, the two settlers left after they didn’t manage to provoke us into reacting. My brother Ibrahim then continued to plow his land.This is our land, which we inherited from our grandparents, and we will continue to work it. We will plow the land, take care of it and protect it from the settlers’ herds. It’s clear to me that the settlers’ acts of provocation and aggression are just the beginning. They want to drive us off the land so they can take control of it.A.I. (21), a resident of Kafa, gave his testimony to B’Tselem on 20 July 2024:My family and I make our living from farming. We own farland and greenhouses east of Kafa, in an area called al-Maruj a-Sharqiya [1] (“the eastern fields”. There, we have greenhouses that cover 3 dunams, where we grow cucumbers, tomatoes and other vegetables.A few years ago, a settler set up a farm on a hill called al-Masyad and took over the land I mentioned, which belongs to my grandfather, and covers almost 9 dunams. Since then, accessing our land has become risky, because the settler and his friends provoke and threaten us.For example, one night in the spring of 2018, a group of settlers set fire to our greenhouses. That same year, they attacked me and my brother Haitham with sticks and branches while we were inside our greenhouse. There were more than 15 of them, most under the age of 18, but they were accompanied by the settler who built the farm. My brother and I managed to escape, but they uprooted tomato seedlings we planted.In 2021, they tried to set the greenhouses on fire several times, always at night. Thanks to our vigilance, we put out the fire each time before it spread to all the greenhouses.In March 2024, while I was installing wooden boards on the roofs of the greenhouses, a group of about 12 settlers arrived, some of them carrying sticks and others guns. They forced me to come down from the roof, threatened me and then drove me out of the land. I had to leave to avoid being attacked.I’m currently preparing the land for planting. Most days, on our way to the greenhouses, there are shots in the air above us coming from the direction of the farm. They try to scare us off coming to our land, growing things on it and benefiting from it.The soldiers guarding the outpost help the settlers. They detain us, check our ID cards and phones, and look to see whether we’ve photographed the outpost or the settlers, trying to deter us from coming. Their goal is to drive us owners away so the settlers can take over the land.U.I. (25), a resident of Kafa, gave his testimony to B’Tselem on 20 July 2024:I’ve been working in agriculture since 2017. I have greenhouses on 3 dunams and another 2 dunams of field crops and vegetables. These plots are east of Kafa, in an area called al-Maruj a-Sharqiya, about 700-800 meters from the outpost. Ever since a settler built an outpost west of the Avnei Hefetz settlement, we’ve been facing problems, and accessing my land has become dangerous. After 7 October 2023, the harassment increased, especially from late December 2023 to late February 2024. Whenever we tried to reach the land, the soldiers guarding the outpost would block us. We had to sneak in to work the land. One morning, I arrived at the greenhouses to plant tomato seedlings. I saw about 20 settlers on my land, and soldiers who were with them wouldn’t let me pass. I waited until noon, and when I finally reached the greenhouses, I found they’d slashed the plastic coverings with knives and stones. They also damaged the tomato seedlings—4,600 seedlings I bought from a nursery the day before. Besides that, the settlers from the outpost shoot over our heads when we’re on the land and in the greenhouses to scare us. The last time was just a few days ago, on 16 July 2024—the bullet came within a few centimeters of my head, and I was lucky not to be hit. They do all of this to force us to abandon our land so they can take control of it more easily. W.A. (36), a father of three and resident of Kafa, gave his testimony to B’Tselem on 20 July 2024:I’m a farmer. My family and I have farmland east of Kafa, in an area called al-Aqayib a-Sharqiya. In June 2017, across from our land, in the area of al-Akran, an outpost was built. It lies west of the Avnei Hefetz settlement. Until 2018, we also raised cattle and sheep. We had 50 cows and 70 sheep, and would graze them on 100 dunams of pastureland that served the village for decades. But then a settler built that outpost, which is basically a farm; he set up trailers, built sheep pens, and barred my family from grazing our cattle there. On several occasions, he fired shots into the air above our heads and our herds to scare us. We were afraid he might kill the livestock or even us, and we realized there was no one to protect us or hold him accountable. We had to stop grazing and, since we can’t afford feed, we had no choice but to sell our herd at the end of 2018, a year after the settler arrived.In 2021, while we were planting black-eyed pea seedlings in our field, a group of settlers showed up. That original settler drew an imaginary line with his hand and said we and other farmers were not allowed to cross it, threatening that anyone who did would be risking their life. The line he drew was more than 700 meters from his outpost. He also often flies a drone over us when we work our land.We live in constant tension and fear because of his violent behavior—the shots in the air, the drone and the threats. We’re very worried he might harm us and are concerned about our livelihood and future.
