Israel continues to bar Gazan children from visiting fathers imprisoned in Israel

12 May 2014

In July 2012, Israel partially reinstated authorization for relatives to visit Palestinians from the Gaza Strip being held in Israel as prisoners or detainees (hereafter: “inmates”). Israel’s decision was made in consequence of a hunger strike by almost 2,000 Palestinian inmates.

However, Israel set strict criteria for these visits, allowing only inmates’ parents and wives to visit. All other relatives, including children, siblings and grandparents, were not allowed to visit. Visitation rights were extended to inmates’ children under the age of eight only in May 2013, and to children under the age of ten in September 2013. No official explanation was given, at any stage, for the age limit on children’s visits, which is not applied to children of security or criminal inmates from the West Bank and from Israel.

According to Israel Prisons Service (IPS) data, at the end of April 2014, Israel was holding 460 inmates from Gaza: 373 are defined as “security inmates” and 87 are defined as “criminal inmates”. According to data by Gaza’s Ministry of Prisoners’, there are 424 minors in the Gaza Strip whose fathers are incarcerated in Israel; yet only 164 – those under the age of ten – may visit.

In recent months, B’Tselem gathered testimonies from Gazan children over the age of ten who have not seen their imprisoned fathers since 2007, and from siblings of such prisoners. In their testimonies, the children describe their longing to be reunited with fathers, as well as the difficulties they face because of the separation. “Security inmates” are not allowed to speak on the telephone and their only mode of communication with relatives barred from visiting is written correspondence. Visitors are permitted to bring prisoners no more than three photographs per visit. The basic right of the inmates and of their relatives to family life, including prison visits, is enshrined in both international and Israeli law, which recognizes that people are social creatures who need family and community frameworks. It is the state’s duty to protect the right of every inmate to such visits, regardless of the offense for which he or she was convicted.

B’Tselem yet again calls upon Israeli authorities to act with regard to Gazan inmates as they do with those from Israel and the West, i.e., to allow all first-degree relatives, and especially children under the age of 18, to visit their loved ones being held in Israel,. There is no justification for discriminating between inmates based on their residence, all the more so where children are concerned.

Leen a-Saftawi, 13, does not know her father who has been held in Israel for the last 14 years

I’m in the eighth grade in Dar al-Arkam School. I live with my mother and my brothers and sister in the a-Saftawi region of Gaza City. I have three brothers and a sister: Jihad, 23, Hamza, 24, As’ad, 20, and Sara, 16. My father, ‘Imad As’ad Hashem a-Saftawi, was arrested at Rafah Crossing on 13 December 2000, on his way back from Egypt. The crossing was under Israeli control at the time. He was sentenced to 18 years in prison. My mother says that I visited him once, back in 2004. I went with my grandmother and my brother Jihad to Nafha Prison. I don’t remember anything from that visit, or of my father, because I was only three then. My grandmother told me about the visit later. I’m thirteen now, and I don’t know anything about my father. I don’t remember getting a hug from him like other kids, who feel their parents’ love. I’m very sad. I have no words to describe how I feel. I feel something is missing in my life, especially on holidays or special occasions.

It really hurts when I see my cousins hugging their parents and sharing their problems with them and telling them how their day was. I try to hide my feelings but sometimes I can’t, and then I start crying. I’ve always dreamed of visiting my father and talking with him, sharing what I’m going through, and telling him about my life. I really hope that someday we’ll be allowed to visit him at least once a month. I know my father only from photos. The last time I got a photo was two weeks ago, when my mom visited him. I was so happy. I decorated it and posted it on Facebook and wrote: How is Dad? Does he have any gray hair? Every time I use the computer, I see my father’s photo.

My mother visits my father at Nafha Prison about once every two months. She always calls the Red Cross the day before the visit to make sure it’s still on and to ask if anything has changed with regard to children’s visits. She’s always told that she can only bring children under the age of ten. Every visit, my mother brings my father only three photos, because that’s all she’s allowed to give him. That makes me angry too, because I want to send him more photos. We’re five children and none of us can visit our father. I don’t know how long Israel will keep denying me my right to visit him. I’m afraid I won’t get see him before he gets out of prison.

* Leen a-Saftawi gave her testimony to B’Tselem field researcher Khaled al-'Azayzeh on 11 March 2014.

Ramez al-Fara, 13, of Khan Yunis, hasn’t seen his imprisoned father in six years

I’m in the eighth grade in ‘Eid al-Agha School. I live with my mother and two sisters – Muna, 15, and Nada, 16 – in a-Satar al-Gharbi neighborhood in Khan Yunis. I have two other sisters who are already married – Maryam, 20, and Rana, 17.

My father, Ra’ef al-Fara, belongs to Fatah. He was arrested on 11 December 2004 by soldiers at Abu Huli Checkpoint [a former checkpoint between the northern and southern Gaza Strip]. I was four years old then. My mother says he was sentenced to life in prison. He’s now in Nafha Prison in Israel.

Until 2007, I used to visit him with my mother and grandmother twice a month. My sisters visited him, too. There was no age limit for visitors.

The last time I visited my father was sometime in the summer of 2007; I don’t remember the exact date. Dad was in Nafha Prison and I went there with my mom, my grandmother and my sister Muna. I was so happy to see him. We spent 45 minutes with him. I couldn’t hug him because of a glass partition between us, and we spoke through a phone. When the time was up, the wardens hung up the phone and told us to leave.

I remember that one time, the wardens let me go into the room my dad was in and hug him. That’s the only time I’ve hugged him since he was arrested. He was really happy. He picked me up and kissed me and walked around the room with me in his arms. I felt so happy in his embrace, and the other prisoners were so moved, they started crying. After 2007, Israel wouldn’t allow prisoners from Gaza to have visitors for years. I was sad and very worried about my father, because we had practically no contact. Every now and then we sent him regards over the radio, and sometimes we sent him letters through the International Red Cross. I felt his absence particularly on special occasions and hoped I could at least visit him on holidays.

In 2012, Israel allowed visits again and I was thrilled. But they set an age limit for visitors and since I was 11, I wasn’t allowed to visit him. It made me very sad.

My mother goes there with my grandfather and grandmother about once every two months. My sisters and I stay home, sad because we can’t go too.

On the day of the visit, I wake up with my mother at 3:00 A.M. and walk her to the bus station in Khan Yunis, where you get the bus to Erez Crossing. I ask my mother to say hi to my father from me and tell him that I miss him. I sit and wait with my sisters and aunts until she comes back with my grandparents. When they get home, at around 9:00 P.M., relatives pour into the house to hear news from my father. My sisters and I want to hear about every single detail of the visit.

The last photo I saw of my father is from seven months ago. My grandparents visited him them at Nafha Prison and the wardens allowed prisoners to have their photos taken with visitors over the age of 50.

My mother calls the Red Cross every two weeks to find out visiting dates and the age limit for children. Every time, she’s told that Israel doesn’t allow kids over the age of ten to visit.

* Ramez al-Fara gave his testimony to B’Tselem field researcher Khaled al-'Azayzeh on 4 March 2014.

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The Gaza Strip

Not even a phone call: Israel cutting some 230 Gazan security prisoners off from their families

According to the Palestinian Prisoners’ Club, as of 7 December 2021, Israel is holding some 230 Palestinian residents of the Gaza Strip as security prisoners. About 70 of them are members of Hamas. In early 2020, after the pandemic broke out, Israel canceled family visits for all prisoners. The visits were renewed in mid-June 2020, with the exception of security prisoners ״who are not residents of Israel.” A statement issued by the Israeli Prison Service (IPS) stated that allowing visits to these prisoners will be examined “in the future, subject to opening the border crossings and coordinating with the Red Cross.” Since Palestinians defined as “security prisoners” are barred from talking on the phone with their families, they have no other way to stay in touch with them. In December 2020, HaMoked: Center for the Defence of the Individual filed a petition with Israel’s High Court of Justice (HJC) on behalf of eight human rights organizations, demanding that Palestinian prisoners be allowed to talk on the phone with their families. Consequently, the state allowed every “security” prisoner a single phone call throughout the month of Ramadan. In June 2021, HaMoked contacted the IPS again and demanded that it reinstate visits for prisoners from the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. About a month later, the IPS reinstated family visits for prisoners from the West Bank. The status of prisoners from the Gaza Strip, a few of whom are serving criminal sentences, remains unchanged and their families are still not allowed to visit them. This reality reflects a longstanding Israeli policy. Since 2007, Israel has imposed various restrictions on family visits for prisoners from the Gaza Strip, at times banning them altogether and at others, allowing them only subject to draconian restrictions – including banning children over 16 from visiting their parents in prison. Since 2017, the state has – with HJC approval – barred visits to members of Hamas. The ban on family visits constitutes collective punishment of the prisoners and their families. Israel has attempted to justify the restrictions by citing various security pretexts. However, its claims are baseless and cannot justify the imposition of blanket bans, the isolation of the Gazan prisoners and the great suffering caused to their families, who cannot meet or even talk to their imprisoned loved ones for months or years on end. B’Tselem field researchers Olfat al-Kurd and Khaled al-‘Azayzeh collected testimonies from the relatives of prisoners from the Gaza Strip, who have not been allowed to visit their loved ones for two years: Testimony of Iman Salem (55), wife of prisoner Majdi Salem (48) and mother of their five children: I was born near Ramallah and still have a West Bank ID card. My parents currently live in the area of Bitunya in Ramallah District. In 2014, I visited my parents in Ramallah without my husband and stayed with them for a year, and then Majdi wanted to join us. On 24 August 2015, he tried to leave the Gaza Strip via Erez Crossing. He was detained at the checkpoint and arrested on suspicion of belonging to the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. I was shocked, because I hadn’t expected him to be arrested. He was sentenced to nine years in prison, of which he's served six. I stayed in the West Bank for about a year and then went back to Gaza with the children. I applied several times through the Red Cross for permits to visit Majdi, and was rejected every time. In 2017, I was granted a permit for myself, for my daughter Wisal who was 14 at the time, and for my son Mamduh, who was six. When we got to the prison, we asked one of the guards to allow Mamduh to go behind the glass partition and hug his father, and he agreed. It was a very sad visit. I cried when Mamduh hugged his father. It was a very tough sight. That was the only visit. We haven’t been allowed to visit him since and every time, the Red Cross tells us the Israelis have rejected the request. Then the pandemic broke out, and Israel used it as a pretext to completely ban visits to Gazan prisoners. I sent my husband money and clothes through the families of prisoners from the West Bank. My husband was arrested and locked up when our children were small and really needed him. They really need to see him now, too, especially Mamduh. He keeps asking about his father and saying he misses him. Wisal also asks to see her father a lot. We haven’t been allowed to visit him for four years. I miss my husband, and my children miss their father. Even if Israel renews family visits for Gazan prisoners, of all our children, only Mamduh will be able visit his dad because he’s the only one under 16. My heart aches for him. He sees other children with their fathers and cries that he hasn’t been allowed to grow up with his father. He says, “ I want to see Dad and hug him.” We don’t have any joy without my husband, even on holidays and special events. The children feel his absence. They really need him by their side. Testimony of Iman ‘Azzam (17), the daughter of prisoner Jum’ah ‘Azzam (53): My dad was arrested on 4 December 2006 and sentenced to 20 years in prison. I was only two years old and don’t remember anything. I was a baby. My little sister Aya, who’s 16 now, was only five months old. Since my dad was arrested, he’s been transferred from one prison to another and is currently in Negev Prison (Ktziot). My mother, Sabah ‘Azzam (48), says that Aya and I went with her to visit him several times. The last visit I remember was when I was 10, and what I remember of it mostly is being frisked by soldiers. I don’t remember what my dad looked like, only the brown uniform he wore. I also remember crying when I saw him. The guards wouldn’t let me go in to hug him, but they did let younger children in. I have three brothers and four sisters who are all older and married. My sister Aya and I also got engaged a few months ago. We haven’t been allowed to visit my dad for more than a decade. When I was little, I went with my mother to a rally outside the Red Cross in Gaza. Nowadays, my brother Fadi (20) regularly attends those rallies. We demand that they allow us to visit my father. My siblings and I have grown up without a father. They took him away from us when we were little. We went through very tough times without him. I need him at every moment. He didn’t attend the weddings of my brothers and sisters: Fadi, Shadi, Yunes, Asmaa and Nidaa. It’s very sad. Even when I got my high school diploma in August, I couldn’t really be happy because I missed Dad. Even at my engagement ceremony a few months ago, I couldn’t really rejoice; I wanted him to be with me. No one can take his place. It’s hardest during the holidays. I see the children in the neighborhood with their fathers, and my dad isn’t here. I only know him from old photographs. Today, I wouldn’t recognize him. He has six years left on his sentence. I hope they pass quickly, and then I can meet him and we can be happy together. My mom has been through these years all alone. It's very hard for her. I see her sitting alone and crying over Dad. She says she's tired and can’t carry on. This is a crime against the prisoners' families. Why are they preventing visits? Testimony of Su’ad al-‘Amur (62), the mother of late prisoner Sami al-‘Amur (39), who died during surgery after not having a family visit for two years: On 1 April 2008, the military raided our home and arrested my martyr son, Sami. He was 26 and was sentenced to 19 years and 11 months in prison. That year my other son, Hamadah (35), was arrested. He was sentenced to 12 and a half years and released a year ago. In the first few years, we were forbidden to visit them after the soldier Gilad Shalit was abducted. All we could do was correspond with them via the Red Cross. After a few years, Israel renewed the visits and in 2013, we visited them for the first time. His father and I went alone because Israel wouldn’t allow their brothers and sisters to visit. At first, my two sons were held in different prisons: Sami in Nafha Prison and Hamadah in Ramon Prison. We’d meet them both at Ramon Prison on the day of the visit. On one visit, I was taken into a room alone and then they brought Hamadah in with his hands and legs tied. I saw him for one minute, shackled. I burst into tears when I saw him like that. A year later my husband ‘Abed, who’s 72 already, stopped visiting because of the long journey and the grueling security check. Since then, I've traveled alone to visit Sami. We waited for hours at Erez Crossing every time, until everyone was inspected. Once, I wasn’t let through the checkpoint. All the other visitors reached the prisons that day, and only I had to go back to Gaza. To this day, I don’t know why. When the pandemic broke out in early 2020 they stopped the visits, supposedly because of the coronavirus. Israel didn’t let us visit for two years. I joined the weekly rallies of the prisoners’ families by the Red Cross offices, demanding the visits be allowed. For two years, I was in contact with families of prisoners from the West Bank. I wired them money every time and asked them to bring Sami clothes and canteen money. In early November 2021, Sami started vomiting and ran a high fever, and was treated in prison. Then he was transferred to Ashkelon Prison. I don’t know why. It never occurred to me that he was seriously ill. On 17 November 2021, Sami passed away while he was undergoing surgery at Soroka Hospital. I learned of my son’s death through the media! It was a terrible shock. We started screaming our heads off, my husband, our children and I. Sami died far away from me after I hadn’t seen him for two years, not to mention his siblings – they hadn’t seen him since his arrest. I’m full of pain over Sami’s death, far away from his father and me, and I cry day and night. My son was a prisoner and died in prison, and now Israel is refusing to give us his body. They won’t let us say goodbye and hold a funeral for him in the Gaza Strip. I complained to the Red Cross and demanded that they help us get Sami’s body. Israel wouldn’t let me see Sami alive, and now they won’t let me see him dead. Testimony of Muhammad Abu ‘Aram (38), a married father of five and the brother of prisoner Ibrahim Abu ‘Aram (47), a father of two: The Israeli military arrested my brother at the Abu Huli Checkpoint, north of Khan Yunis, on 13 March 2003 and sentenced him to 24 years in prison. He was transferred between prisons and is currently at Ramon Prison. At first, my mother and father and his wife (Sanaa, 37) visited him every other week. But after Gilad Shalit was abducted, Israel barred all Gazans from visiting for five years. It was a very tough time for our family. We were worried and hardly knew anything about what was going on with Ibrahim. Every two weeks, one of his brothers or I went to the Red Cross offices in Khan Yunis or in Gaza to ask how Ibrahim was doing and find out if there was any news about the prison visits. In 2013, Israel allowed us to visit Ibrahim. My mother was suffering from several illnesses at the time, but she went with my father to visit him despite her condition. At the end of the visit, my mother got confused on the way to the bus, and the security forces fired next to her. If the prisoners’ families hadn’t intervened and taken her back to the bus, something terrible would probably have happened. It later turned out that my mother has memory loss (Alzheimer's). Since that incident, the occupation authorities have banned her from visiting Ibrahim. My father suffered a stroke and also had to stop visiting. He now uses a wheelchair. It’s been eight years since anyone from the family has visited Ibrahim. I go to the Red Cross offices in Khan Yunis almost every month to apply for a permit for my brothers and me to visit him. Every time, I’m told that Israel refuses to allow the prisoners’ brothers to visit them. We have no choice but to wire money to Ibrahim through the families of West Bank prisoners, and it’s a complicated and exhausting process. Because we haven’t visited him or brought him clothes for eight years, he’s now forced to buy clothes in the prison canteen, and sometimes he gets hand-me-downs from the families of West Bank prisoners. Now, in the winter, we’re especially worried about him. We’re afraid he’ll be cold and know that clothes are very expensive in prison. Because I can’t see Ibrahim or transfer him clothes and money, I always feel I’m a prisoner just like him. Ibrahim’s children, Bilal (20) and Dunia (21), last visited him when they were little and haven’t seen their dad in nine years. Father asks me every day about Ibrahim and his medical condition, and to make it easier on him I have to lie. I always tell him that Ibrahim’s okay, even though I haven’t heard anything about him. Testimony of Khadrah a-Sa’idi (69), the mother of prisoner ‘Awwad a-Sa’idi (43): When my son ‘Awwad was arrested, he was engaged. The Israeli military arrested him on 2 December 2004 at the Abu Huli Checkpoint in the central Gaza Strip, and he was sentenced to 15 years in prison. In 2012, he got into an argument with a prison guard and got four years added to his sentence. In his first years in prison, ‘Awwad’s fiancée and I visited him every other week or so in Nafha Prison. Since then, he’s been transferred between prisons several times and is now back in Nafha. Israel has banned his brothers and sisters from visiting him all along. Since 2017 I haven’t seen ‘Awwad either, because Israel has banned visits to Hamas prisoners from the Gaza Strip. Since the pandemic broke out, Israel has banned visits for all Gazan prisoners. I live with constant worry over my son. I think about him all the time. Israel is using the pandemic to prevent visits from Gaza, but it does allow families from the West Bank to visit. It’s irrational discrimination that is meant only to collectively punish Gazans. It has nothing to do with the coronavirus. When I was still allowed to visit, it was always a very difficult experience. The night before the visit, I couldn’t fall asleep for fear of missing the bus. I’d leave the house at 4:00 A.M. to wait for the bus on the main street. I stood there in the dark, sometimes in stormy weather, in the freezing cold and rain. When we reached Erez Crossing, the torture of the security check would begin. They’d put me through a scanning device again and again, and then again when we arrived at Nafha Prison. Another search, and then another long wait until the guards finished inspecting all the families who had come to visit.

27 December 2021

No Accountability

Human Rights in the Occupied Territories

The report surveys the broad spectrum of issues regarding the Israeli authorities' human rights record in the West Bank and Gaza Strip over the past year, the 44th year of the Israeli occupation. An interactive version of the report is available online and distributed through social media. The report documents a sharp increase in the number of uninvolved Palestinians killed by the Israeli security forces in the Gaza Strip in 2011. There was also an increase in the number of Israeli civilians killed by Palestinians, compared to 2010.

21 March 2012

תמונת אילוסטרציה: חיילים מכניסים עצירים פלסטינים למחנה הצבאי מצדות יהודה בדרום הר חברון, 5.8.22. למצולמים אין קשר לאירוע המדווח. צילום: איתי פייטלסון, 5.8.22

A Routine Founded on Violence

Israeli soldiers detain Palestinians, including a 16-year-old boy, at a checkpoint, mistreat them, and steal their money

On Friday, 18 August 2023, at around 11:30 P.M., cousins Mahmoud (18) and Yihya (16) a-Nawaj’ah arrived at the Meitar checkpoint. They were traveling in a car belonging to a Palestinian citizen of Israel. The two were on their way back from Israel to their home in the community of al-Jawaya, which lies southeast of the town of Yatta in the South Hebron Hills. When they reached the checkpoint, Israeli soldiers had the driver and two passengers get out of the car and conducted body searches on them. The soldiers took their bags, cellphones, and a bracelet and ring Yihya was wearing. They also took 8,000 NIS (~2,100 USD) in cash, money the cousins had earned working and were carrying in their pockets. Next, the soldiers tied the hands of the three individuals behind their backs using plastic bags, covered their eyes with plastic bags, and placed them in a military jeep. When they asked where they were being taken, the soldiers told them they were going to the Beit Yatir checkpoint (a checkpoint near the Mezadot Yehuda military base). Once they arrived at the military base, the three were taken out of the jeep and seated on the ground. Throughout the night and until the following afternoon, the three remained on the ground, handcuffed and blindfolded. Even in the intense heat of the day, the soldiers denied them water, food and access to the bathroom. When they requested to sit in a more shaded area, the soldiers refused. They were also forbidden from contacting their families or a lawyer to inform them of their whereabouts. Later, the three were taken to a room in the military base where the plastic bags around their hands were replaced with zip ties – this time, in front of them – and the bags covering their eyes were replaced with cloth blindfolds. They were interrogated in Arabic and asked for their names, ages, how they entered Israel and what they were doing there. From there, they were taken to another military facility, where fingerprints were taken from all three while they remained handcuffed and blindfolded. The soldiers then separated the driver from Mahmoud and Yihya and later released him. Mahmoud and Yihya were put in a car and sat there for about half an hour. Then, after a short drive to the Beit ‘Einun roundabout on Route 60, which sits north of Hebron, the soldiers took them out of the car and told them that they were being released. Only after the two pleaded did the soldiers remove the handcuffs and blindfolds. They returned their cellphones and Yihya’s jewelry that had been taken during the arrest. When the cousins asked the soldiers about the money that was taken from them, the soldiers claimed it had been transferred to the police and then left. Mahmoud called his father, who came to pick them up and took them home after more than twenty hours without food or drink. The next day, Mahmoud and Yihya went to the Kiryat Arba police station to demand their money back, but the police officers referred them to the Border Police camp in the settlement of Telem. Upon arriving there, they were told to come back the next day. On 31 August 2023, the two contacted HaMoked: Center for the Defence of the Individual to file a complaint on their behalf with the police demanding their money be returned. B’Tselem field researcher Basel al-‘Adrah collected testimonies from the two cousins. Mahmoud a-Nawaj’ah (18), a resident of a-Jawaya testified: Ever since I finished school, I’ve helped support my family. In June 2023, I started working in the town of ‘Araba, inside the Green Line. I didn’t have a work permit, so I crossed in illegally. After about a month, my 16-year-old cousin Yihya a-Nawaj’ah joined me. On 18 August 2023, we decided to go home and paid a Palestinian citizen of Israel to drive us. At around 11:30 P.M., we reached the Meitar checkpoint. The guard there stopped the car and asked to see IDs. The driver showed them his ID, and I told them I didn’t have mine with me. Yihya said he didn’t have one because he’s sixteen and hasn’t gotten one yet. The guard instructed us to get out of the car and asked the driver to park it in the lot next to the checkpoint. A few soldiers made us move away from the car, and another soldier searched the vehicle with an electronic device. Meanwhile, the soldiers told me to call my parents and ask them to send my ID number or a photo. I tried calling, but no one answered. Yihya, the driver and I got taken into a room at the checkpoint, where our photos were taken, and then our faces were identified. Afterward, we were taken to a small cell, got physically searched, and everything that was on us was taken: our cellphones, our bags with all our clothes, the 5,000 NIS (~1,300 USD) I made in all the months I’d worked, and 3,000 NIS (~780 USD) Yihya had made that was on him. Then our hands were tied behind our backs with plastic bags, and we were blindfolded with plastic bags too. All three of us were put in a black military jeep. I asked where they were taking us, and one of the soldiers said: “Mezadot Yehuda.” After about a ten-minute drive, at around 12:30 A.M., we were taken out of the vehicle and sat on the ground inside a military base. I could feel cars zooming by very close to us. It was really scary, and I was very worried about what would happen, especially since no one in our family knew we’d been detained. I asked the soldiers if I could try calling someone from my family again, but they refused. When we asked for water and food, they refused that too, didn’t give us anything, and ordered us to shut up and not talk to each other, either. We asked how much longer we’d stay on the floor like that, and one of the soldiers said we had a lot more time. We were there all night. The next morning, about an hour and a half after we heard the call to dawn prayer, it got very hot. We couldn’t take the heat of the sun anymore and asked the soldiers to move us somewhere with more shade, but they refused. Around noon, it had become completely unbearable, and we asked them again and again if we could move, but they said no each time. At some point, I managed to take the plastic bag off my eyes, but within seconds, soldiers came over to put it back on and yelled at me that I wasn’t allowed to take it off. We sat on the ground handcuffed and blindfolded for 15 hours straight. Then, the soldiers brought us into a room in the base. They took the plastic off our eyes and covered them again with cloth. They also tied our hands tightly with zip ties – this time in front. They sat us down on chairs. Suddenly, someone I hadn’t seen began talking to us. He said his name was Khaled, and he asked each of us questions in mediocre Arabic. He asked for my name, my age, where I worked and how I entered Israel. He asked Yihya and the driver the same questions. After that, the soldiers put us back in the jeep, drove for about forty minutes, took us out again, and brought us into a room again, where they took our fingerprints while we were still handcuffed and blindfolded. After that, they put me and Yihya in a civilian car. I don’t know where the soldiers took the driver. We waited in the car for about half an hour before it started moving. A while later, we got dropped off and told we could go. They hadn’t taken off our blindfolds or untied our hands. They only did it after we begged them, and then we realized we were at the Beit ‘Einun roundabout. One of the soldiers gave us back our cellphones. We asked about our money, and the soldier said it was with the police, and then the soldiers left. I managed to take a photo of their license plate. That was at about 5:30 or 6:00 P.M. I called my father, and he came to pick us up. We were exhausted. Later, I called the driver, and he told me he had been released and that his friends came to pick him up, but that the soldiers confiscated his car. The next day, Yihya and I went to the police station in Kiryat Arba to get our money back, but they said our case was being dealt with in the Telem base. We went there, and they told us to come back the next day. The following morning, the Kiryat Arba police called me, and the interpreter asked me to tell him what happened, and how much money it was. I told him and said I was planning on going to Telem the next day to pick up my money. He told me they’d be in touch, but that never happened. Yihya a-Nawaj’ah (16), from Yatta, said: I was looking for work over the summer in order to have some pocket money for my last year of high school. My cousin, Mahmoud a-Nawaj’ah, got me a job where he works near ‘Araba in Israel, and I started working there on 15 July 2023. The first day of school was 20 August 2023, and I wanted some time to prepare, so we both left work on 18 August 2023. We left at around 9:30 P.M. with a Palestinian citizen of Israel who drove us for a fee, and at around 11:30 P.M., when we arrived at the Meitar checkpoint, the guard there detained us when he saw Mahmoud and I didn’t have IDs on us. The guy who was driving us showed the guard his ID, and the guard told Mahmoud and me to get out and the driver to park in the lot next to the checkpoint. The two of us got out of the car, and two soldiers led us through the lot. Then three more soldiers came, and one of them searched the car with an electronic device. The soldiers demanded to see IDs again, but we said we didn’t have them. They took the three of us to a room at the checkpoint, took our pictures in there, and then did a body search inside a small booth. They took our cellphones, and from me, they also took a bracelet and ring I was wearing, and the 3,000 NIS (~780 USD) I had made at work. They took Mahmoud’s 5,000 NIS (~1,300 USD), too. Then, the soldiers tied our hands behind our backs and blindfolded us with plastic bags. After that, the soldiers put us in a jeep and after a 10-minute ride, we were taken out and sat on the ground inside a military base. It was scary because I couldn’t see anything, and I didn’t know what the soldiers were planning. I felt cars zooming right next to me. I asked the soldiers to go to the bathroom a few times, but they didn’t let me. They also didn’t give us water or food, and they forbade us from talking to each other. Mahmoud and I asked to call our family or a lawyer, but one of the soldiers kept saying the same word every time: “forbidden.” About an hour and a half after we heard the call to dawn prayer, when the sun was already up, we asked them to move us to the shade, but they refused. Around noon, we couldn’t stand the scorching heat anymore – we had been there for 15 hours straight – but they continued to refuse our request to move to a shadier spot. At some point, they moved all three of us to a room in the base and replaced the plastic blindfold with a cloth one and the plastic bags tying our hands with zip ties; they put them in front this time. One of the soldiers tied my hands really tight, and it hurt. Then, someone who said his name was Khaled asked the three of us some questions in mediocre Arabic. He asked how old we were, where we worked, and how we entered Israel. After that, they took the three of us out of the room and put us back in the jeep. After a forty-minute ride, we were brought into another room where they took our fingerprints – even though our hands were still tied and we still had blindfolds on. They then put just Mahmoud and me in a car, and we waited for about half an hour inside it. After a short ride, the soldiers dropped us off and told us we could go, but they didn’t take off the handcuffs and blindfolds. We asked them to take them off, but one of them said they weren’t allowed. We didn’t understand why he wanted to leave us like that in the middle of the road, so we persisted until, finally, one of them untied our hands and took off our blindfolds. I felt relieved. They also gave us back our phones, and they gave me my bracelet and ring. They didn’t return the money they took from us, and when we asked for it, the soldier told us that the police had it. After that, they drove off, and Mahmoud called his father, who came to pick us up. We were so hungry and tired, and we just wanted to sleep.

5 October 2023