Since the Israeli navy confiscated my hasake (boat) I’ve been out of work and can’t support my family. Things in the Gaza Strip are very bad because of the blockade, and there are no other jobs available. I used to make about 20 shekels a day fishing. That enabled me to buy food and drink for my family. Now our lives are very hard.
Tamer Zayed, Beit Lahiya, 27 August 2018
Tamer Zayed’s plight is not unusual. He is one of thousands of fishermen in Gaza suffering from Israel’s gradual destruction of the fishing sector in Gaza. Before it imposed the blockade on Gaza, Israel used to permit fishing up to 12 nautical miles from shore. Since imposing the blockade, Israel has changed the limits of the permitted fishing zone several times a year. As 31 Dec. 2018 it was nine nautical miles in the area south of Gaza City and six nautical miles in the area from Gaza City and northwards, up to the maritime boundary with Israel. Limiting the permitted fishing zone reduces the variety and quantity of available fish, harming the livelihood of Gazan fishermen.
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Beit Lahiya fishing port. Photo by Muhammad Sabah, B'Tselem, 26 Feb. 2018
In addition, the Israeli navy routinely abuses fishermen, on various grounds. One reason alleged is boats sailing beyond the permitted area, even when fishermen use GPS devices and ensure they remain within the permitted boundaries. In the last two years, the navy shot and killed two fishermen, and injured dozens with rubber-coated metal bullets. Sometimes, soldiers even arrest fishermen and confiscate their fishing boats, known as hasakes. Israel also restricts the export and marketing of fish and prohibits the import of goods and gear essential to the maintenance of the fishing sector, for example, for repairing hasakes and engines.
All this has led the sector to collapse. In 2000, there were 10,000 registered fishermen in Gaza; now there are about 3,700. In practice, only about half of the registered fishermen actually fish, as many cannot use their boats due to the lack of supplies to repair them or build new ones, or because the military confiscated the boats. About 95% of fishermen in Gaza live below the poverty line, which is USD 4.6 a day in Gaza.
In 2018, the Israeli navy shot and killed one fisherman, Isma’il Abu Ryalah, and injured six with rubber-coated metal bullets. Also in 2018, the navy arrested 53 fishermen, three of whom had not yet been released in January 2019. It also confiscated dozens of hasakes after sea chases. In addition, navy fire resulted in damage to 32 fishing boat floodlights, three GPS devices and one echo sounding device that helps locate fish. In these pursuits, 121 fishing nets were lost at sea.
Israel’s policy regarding the fishing sector in Gaza perfectly illustrates why its claim that it no longer bears responsibility for the residents and affairs in Gaza is divorced from reality. The fact is that Israel continues to control many aspects of life in Gaza, at times from afar, and sometimes on the ground. Its actions have caused the fishing sector to collapse and left fishermen in Gaza in dire straits.
Ahmad a-Sa’idi, 40, a married father of two from a-Shati Refugee Camp in northern Gaza, has worked as a fisherman since he was 15. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Muhammad Sabah on 16 January 2019, he described the difficulties he has encountered in recent years:
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Ahmad a-Sa’idi. Photo by Muhammad Sabah, B'Tselem, 16 Jan. 2019
Since I was eight, my life has revolved around fishing. I started working full-time as a fisherman when I was fifteen, along with my brothers. Back then, in the 1990s, we would sail up to twelve nautical miles from shore, which is the area where Israel allowed us to fish. There were fish of all kinds. We worked day and night. Work was good and we sold a lot of fish. We made a good living. In 2002, I got married and a built a house in a-Shati Refugee Camp.
In 2000, after the Second Intifada broke out, the Israeli navy started gradually restricting us. They limited the permitted fishing zone to less than twelve nautical miles. After [Israeli solider Gilad] Shalit was abducted in 2006, the navy wouldn’t let us into the sea at all, for at least three months at a time. Then they reduced the permitted fishing zone even more, first down to six nautical miles and then just three. We didn’t know any more when we were allowed to fish and when we weren’t allowed to go out to sea. The Israeli navy kept limiting our access all the time, even though we have nothing to do with political matters. We’re just fishermen who want to make a living.
In 2012, the Israeli navy arrested my brother and another three of my relatives who were working with my hasake, and confiscated it. I had to buy another one so we could work. Over the years, we suffered a lot of harassment by the navy: summer and winter, day and night. They chased us and fired at us from time to time. We had to work under very difficult conditions, which meant putting ourselves in danger. We were always afraid they’d chase us, arrest us, or confiscate our boat. Also, whenever there’s a war, Israel forbids us from sailing altogether.
About a year ago, while I was out fishing with my nephew, the navy arrested me and confiscated my boat. That was when my life started going downhill. I was left with no way to earn a living and my family has nothing to live on. Since then, I’ve spent most of my time sitting at home or by the door to my house, watching people walk down the street and thinking about my life and how it came to a halt. This forced unemployment has also caused trouble between me and my wife, because we don’t have money. I can’t meet my family’s needs, such as food, clothes and the expenses of the new school year.
We can afford to buy meat and chicken only once a month, and even that only if I manage to get work with other fishermen, sometimes for a day, sometimes for a few days. If I don’t get lucky and find that kind of work, we have no income at all. Even fish, which our diet was always based on, we now have to buy in the market. We have to buy fish! And even that, only once a month.
We’ve become a burden on society. I get refugee aid from UNRWA, such as food items. I’ve become a beggar. I feel humiliated and wretched when I ask people for money. I used to never need anyone, but now we’re begging for help. Our financial situation is really tough, and there are no jobs in Gaza. Anyway, I have no professional skills other than fishing. The Israeli navy is holding onto my boat and has driven my family and me to poverty.
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Sadiqa a-Sultan. Photo by Olfat al-Kurd, B'Tselem, 31 Jan. 2019
Sadiqa a-Sultan, 65, a mother of nine from Beit Lahiya whose husband and sons are fishermen, related how her family copes day by day, in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 31 January 2019:
Until the Second Intifada began in September 2000, my husband, Ghaleb a-Sultan, who is now seventy years old, worked in Israel. After Israel cancelled the work permits, we used money we’d saved and sold a piece of my jewelry so my husband could buy a hasake and fishing equipment. It cost us more than 2,000 dollars. We thought it was a good idea, especially because we live by the shore. Since then, he and our sons have worked as fishermen. In the first few years, work was good. They would sometimes make 300 to 400 shekels a day. It was enough for the kids and us. That lasted for about six years. At that time, you could bring fishing gear into Gaza and the navy didn’t give fishermen a hard time. They didn’t shoot or arrest fishermen, or confiscate their equipment. The permitted fishing limit was twelve nautical miles.
Things changed in 2007, when Israel began its blockade on Gaza. They started limiting the fishing zone to six nautical miles, and then it went down to three. The Israeli military started chasing fishermen, even if they were within those limits.
My husband and children suffered from the new restrictions and from navy chases at sea. Sometimes they were shot at, and then they fled and left the nets out at sea. The navy would pull in the nets and confiscate everything. Because of things like that and the closure of the crossings, there was a shortage of nets and their price went up in the markets. The price of a net has gone up from 180 shekels in 2007 to 500 shekels now.
Since 2007, the military has confiscated a lot of fishing gear from my husband and our sons. The first time was in 2009, when they fired at my husband and kids at sea. My husband and my son Ramadan, 43, were arrested. They were released that evening, without the boat and nets, which were confiscated. Four years later, they gave us back the boat without the equipment. But the boat was ruined and unusable.
In the meantime, my husband took out loans to buy a new boat and equipment. The boat we could afford was smaller and simpler than the one they confiscated. In 2010, the military seized the new boat, too. In 2012 it took away yet another one we bought. The nets were lost at sea, but in the end they gave us back the boat in working order and my husband went back to work. He didn’t have enough nets, so he could only catch small amounts of fish. In 2016, the military confiscated our fourth boat. They still have our boat and nets. The nets cost us a lot of money. Every time they confiscated a boat, our financial situation got even worse.
The scariest moments of my life are when I hear that fishermen have been shot at sea again. I get anxious and can’t relax until my husband and kids get home. In July 2018, they confiscated the boat we had bought in 2016, right after they took away the previous boat and fishing nets. Soldiers fired at the boat and confiscated it. That day, my son Muhammad, 26, and one of my grandsons, 22, were at sea. The navy arrested them two nautical miles out from the shore and let them go at one o’clock in the morning, but without the boat and nets, which they kept.
Since then, we haven’t had the money to buy another boat and more nets. All these confiscations have hit our pocket hard and we have nothing left. We still owe money for the nets we had bought before. Even if we had money, we’re sick of buying equipment again and again, just for the military to confiscate. My husband is unemployed. Our sons have found work as hired fishermen. Sometimes, my husband says he’d like to buy another boat, but he’s afraid it’ll be confiscated. He sits at home and doesn’t get help from anyone. He’s really in a bad way emotionally.
Things are very tough for us right now. I used to sell fish at the market. Now I have to buy fish there, and I don’t even have enough money to pay for them. Before they confiscated our last boat, we’d make about fifty shekels a day, because we only had a few nets. Now, with the kids working as hired hands, they make even less: twenty to thirty shekels a day. That doesn’t cover our expenses.
The annual olive harvest in the West Bank is a key element of the Palestinian economy and a crucial source of income for tens of thousands of families. The World Bank and the Palestine Trade Center estimate that in good years, it injects almost 200 million dollars into the Palestinian economy. However, every year, Israel extensively restricts Palestinians’ ability to carry out the harvest, using official and unofficial means. In 2023, while the war in the Gaza Strip was underway, these restrictions reached new heights, leaving about 50% of Palestinian farmers unable to harvest their trees, according to estimates of the Palestinian Farmers’ Union.The main official measure Israel uses is the “coordination” system, conceived as the military’s response to settler violence against Palestinian harvesters. Instead of dealing directly with assaults by settlers, the military places the onus on Palestinians, demanding they coordinate access to their land in advance – ostensibly so soldiers can be sent to protect them. In practice, this system limits the harvest or prevents it altogether. Harvesting all the olives takes weeks, but the military enables farmers access to their trees for several days only. This means they are unable to harvest the entire crop or prepare the land for winter crops. At the same time, this system does not stop settler violence. Soldiers often do not show up despite prior “coordination” with the military; when they do, they do not prevent or stop the violence, often even joining in.In recent years, the Civil Administration allocated every community three days a year to harvest olives. This year, immediately after the war in Gaza broke out, even these few days were canceled. Several alternative dates were set, but bowing to pressure from settlers, the military canceled some of these as well, for example near the settlements of Elkana, Sha’arei Tikva and Etz Efrayim.The head of the Burin village council, Ibrahim ‘Umran, told B’Tselem that about 12,000 dunams (1,200 hectares) of village farmland, which covers two-thirds of all the village’s land, lie within Area C. On about 1,000 dunams (100 hectares) of these are olive groves with 16,000 trees. Residents were allocated two days to harvest their olives, on 25 and 26 October 2023, and both were canceled once the war broke out. ‘Umran says about 70% of village residents rely on income from the harvest and lost tens of thousands of shekels meant to support them throughout the year. As the expected income was slated for expenses such as rent, home construction, university tuition and the like, the restrictions this year have impacted them directly.1“Coordination” is also required for farmland that remains cut off on the other side of the Separation Barrier. The head of the ‘Akkabah village regional council, Taysir ‘Amarneh, told B’Tselem that local residents own about 2,500 dunams (250 hectares) of farmland west of the barrier, which they used to access daily through a gate in the fence. When the war broke out, the gate was closed. Residents were allocated three “coordination” days in late November, only after negotiations between the Israeli and Palestinian DCOs. This did not give residents enough time to harvest olives for private use, let alone complete the harvest, severely hurting their livelihoods.2Unofficially, harvesters are obstructed by settlers’ violent assaults. These attacks are permitted and backed by the military, with soldiers often takin part. For years, settler violence against Palestinians has peaked during the harvest season, yet Israeli authorities consistently refrain from taking preventive action as a matter of policy. This year, with the war in Gaza underway, the military has enlisted many settlers for regional operations in the West Bank. The settlers have used this power to block roads leading to Palestinian land and to set up roadblocks on agricultural roads, denying Palestinians access to olive groves near settlements.Settler attacks on harvesters have increased in both intensity and frequency since the war began. According to the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs of the United Nations (OCHA), from the beginning of the war to mid-January, more than 440 incidents of settler violence took place – with scores of these assaults directed at olive harvesters. These incidents included settlers physically assaulting harvesters, uprooting large olive groves, vandalizing groves by breaking branches, sawing off trunks and torching trees, and stealing olives. Many of the attacks were carried out in the presence of Israeli forces. Settlers also threatened to harm harvesters on social media.The head of the ‘Awarta village council, Sa’ed ‘Awwad, told B’Tselem the village has about 2,000 dunams (200 hectares) of land, located near the settlement of Itamar, that the military does not allow residents to access without prior “coordination”. This year, residents were allocated only one day for harvesting, starting at 8:00 A.M. On the scheduled day, ‘Awwad was informed the start time had been pushed back two hours. When the residents arrived at their land, they found about 20 settlers harvesting their olive trees with several soldiers standing guard. They tried unsuccessfully to put an end to the theft and eventually left at around 4:00 P.M., while the settlers were still picking their olives and vandalizing the trees.3This year, as in previous years, the police have not investigated these violent incidents. In the most severe incident in the 2023 harvest, on 27 October, a soldier from the settlement of Rehelim on military leave killed Belal Salah, 40, a resident of a-Sawiyah, while he was harvesting his family’s olive trees. The soldier, who was suspected of reckless homicide and illegal use of a firearm, was released after a short time in detention and returned to his unit.This Israeli policy has caused immediate financial harm to tens of thousands of Palestinian families. For instance, the olive press in the village of al-Mughayir, which also serves the villages of Kafr Malik, Turmusaya, Abu Falah and Duma, produced only 20% of the average annual output this year – 60 tons of olive oil instead of 300 tons. The olive press at al-Mazra’ah al-Qibliyah produced only 500 kilograms of olive oil this year, instead of 150 tons.The 2023 harvest was especially important this year as the Palestinian economy is already struggling due to the war in Gaza – particularly because of the prohibition on laborers entering Israel and the Palestinian Authority’s suspension of public sector salaries.The systemic obstruction of the olive harvest this year, augmented by organized settler violence against harvesters and their property, is not unique to this time of war. It is part of Israel’s longstanding violent policy, which aims to cement the apartheid regime in the West Bank and allow continued expansion of settlements. Bezalel Smotrich, who serves as Minister of Finance and Minister in the Ministry of Defense, and MK Tzvi Sukkot, Chair of the Knesset Subcommittee on Judea and Samaria Affairs, have already said “sterile security spaces” should be created near settlements, where Palestinians would be denied entry altogether. This would clear the way for the state to take over this land and use it for its own purposes.Testimonies:‘Abdallah Na’asan from the village of al-Mughayir told B’Tselem field researcher Iyad Hadad:My family has more than 900 dunams of land with more than 8,000 olive trees on both sides of the Allon Route, which was always freely accessible all year round, and some near the outpost of Adei Ad, which you had to get “coordination” to access. We’d get between five and seven days of “coordination” each year. This year, after the war in Gaza started, Israel canceled everything. The army closed off all the entrances and agricultural roads, eight roads in total, with rocks and piles of dirt.We managed to sneak into our land a few times, but didn’t always evade the settlers’ aggression. They usually have a drone in the air and see anyone who tries to get close to the land. When they see us, they chase us or call the army, and then our equipment or vehicles are confiscated. So far, the army has confiscated two of our tractors.We put up a real fight through a village resident who works at the Palestinian DCO, and managed to get three days of “coordination” in early December to harvest the olives off the Allon Route. When we got there, we found all our fruit on the ground, which meant we couldn’t use it to produce edible oil or anything else because of the high acidity. Even if we wanted to make soap out of it, it would be very expensive and not profitable. That’s how we lost this season.In previous seasons, we produced about 40,000 kg a year from our land. Each kg sold in the market for NIS 30 (~ USD 8). We would sell in the village or on the Palestinian market, and would also export some to the United States. All that gave us a nice income. But this year, we made nothing. We didn’t even manage to pick olives for our own use, which means we’ll have to buy some to make up for the shortfall. On the other hand, we racked up a lot of costs cultivating the olives, buying fertilizers and pesticides and plowing – a total of about 300,000 NIS (~ USD 81,750). On top of that, we have labor costs. Every year, more than 30 laborers work for us during the harvest season. They also lost their income this year and were hurt. They support at least 150 people. We have 10 other laborers who work for us year round, and they were also hurt.After October 7, settlers destroyed our trees and lands. We saw the settlers from the shepherding farms spread out in the eastern part of the village setting their flocks to graze in our groves. The sheep ate the leaves and branches and destroyed them. That make the trees dry up and die, and it can two to three years for the trees to recover. We found out that bulldozers belonging to the settlers were used to rake our land near the Adei Ad outpost, where we have about 400 trees. When we went to file a complaint with the Binyamin police, a Jewish interrogator asked my uncle how we managed to take photos of the settlers, as if we were guilty.We also have an olive press which we started in the village in 2010. We work with farmers from al-Mughayir and the surrounding villages, such as Kafr Malik, Turmusaya, Abu Falah and Duma. The olive press’ operating cycle was always synced with the harvest season for 50 days, averaging 10 hours of work a day. It produced six tons of oil a day. We produced about 300 tons of oil in a season. This year, the olive press barely worked. We only managed to produce 60 tons of oil, which is about 20% of the normal annual output. Wasim Ladadwah from al-Mazra’ah al-Qibliyah told B’Tselem field researcher Iyad Hadad:There are about 100 people in my extended family and we own about 450 dunams of land, half of them olive groves. Unfortunately, our groves are close to the settlements of Nahaliel, Kerem Re’im, Talmon and Haresha. During the current harvest season, we couldn’t harvest the trees because soldiers and settlers – some in army uniforms – wouldn’t let us get to them.On 11 October 2023, residents of the town, including my family, tried to access the olive groves close to the town. These lands are hundreds of meters away from the settlements, and no coordination was ever required to access them. But when we got closer, soldiers and settlers attacked us. There were about 30 of us, with women and children, and they threatened us with weapons and scared everyone. They destroyed some of the ladders and work tools we brought with us. Some of the farmers tried again to sneak into their groves, but those attempts failed too, because the army and the settlers are spread out day and night on the hilltops. The soldiers watch around the clock to follow farmers who try to get closer to their groves, including with drones. They shoot to scare them.Our loss is enormous. Each harvest season, we would produce about 250 cans of olive oil, each weighing 15 kg. In total, we would produce 3,750 kg of olive oil. Each kg costs NIS 40 (~ USD 10) on average. We lost it all, and that’s just our family. Everyone in the village lost a lot of money. I know this because I am a member of several committees in the village and an agricultural activist.The town has 14,200 dunams of land, 7,500 of them on the western side of town, which is surrounded by the settlements I mentioned earlier. That’s where our olive groves are. You could say that this year, more than 90% of the town’s olive oil production was stolen from us. The olive press in town usually produces about 10,000 cans of oil each harvest season, which is 150,000 kg of olive oil. This year, it produced only 500 kg of oil because the olives could not be harvested. We didn’t even produce enough for our own use this year, so we’ll have to buy that too, if we can even find oil on the market. After all, what happened to our town happened to all the towns and villages in the West Bank.Take me, for example. My family would produce 20 cans of oil each harvest. We’d consume four cans, which is 60 kilograms, and I would sell the rest. It was a significant income for us. This season, I was left with only three bottles, which are five kilograms. Some farmers were banking on the harvest season to finance the wedding of a son, or the construction of a house, or university studies. Other farmers, who are poor, waited for the harvest season because the income from it is their only source of livelihood, and they barely survive on that.The consequences of this crime also affect the olive trees themselves. Fruit left hanging on the trees rots and draws insects that damage the tree. This causes diseases that can dry out the tree, killing it. Leaving the fruit also greatly reduces the yield the following season, sometimes by half.
Providing the population of the Gaza Strip with a 24/7 power supply requires about 600 megawatts of electricity. Yet the Gaza Strip receives only 180 megawatts — 120 directly from Israel via 10 power lines, and 60 generated by Gaza’s power plant with Qatari-funded fuel provided by Israel. As a result, residents usually receive power in eight-hour rotations: eight hours on and eight hours off. In summer, the power can go off for up to 12 hours. Israel still controls life in Gaza and cannot shirk its responsibility for this reality. Bombing the power plant 14 years ago and preventing its rehabilitation since has limited its capacity to generate electricity. In addition, Israel hampers vital repairs and upgrades to the power system and forces the authorities to buy fuel from Israel alone. To make matters worse, Israel withholds fuel from the power plant at will, as a form of collective punishment. On 10 August 2020, at the height of a blistering summer, after militants in Gaza continued to launch incendiary and explosive balloons into Israeli territory, Israel decided to close the crossings with Gaza and stop the fuel supply. Within about a week, on 18 August, the power plant shut down due to lack of fuel. This reduced the power supply to residents to a mere four hours a day. Three weeks later, on 1 September, Israel reopened the crossings and the power supply went back to eight-hour rotations. It is hard to imagine families living several dozen miles from Tel Aviv without regular electricity. With erratic, brief supplies of power, residents cannot lead a reasonable daily routine in a world that relies on electricity for everything from transporting and storing food to work, education, health and communication. Basic appliances such as refrigerators, fans, washing machines and ovens cannot function. The power cuts make life even harder for people with disabilities or medical problems, who rely on a steady supply for treatment. The outages also damage infrastructure – primarily Gaza’s water and sewage systems and the operation of hospitals. B’Tselem's field researchers collected the following testimonies from residents describing how hard and profoundly frustrating it is to try and maintain a routine in such conditions. These circumstances were not preordained or caused by natural disaster – they are the outcome of a callous, fully intentional Israeli policy. In a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 19 August 2020, Basma Khalil (61), a married mother of 12 from the neighborhood of a-Shuja'iyeh in Gaza City, related: I live with my husband, Khairi ‘Abd a-Rahman (60), in a two-story building. We live with our four sons, two of whom are married with children. There are 16 of us altogether. My husband’s been unemployed for 20 years. Ever since Israeli planes bombed the power plant, we’ve had power cuts on top of the water shortage and the suffering Israel’s blockade causes us. Sometimes there’s no power for the whole day, and it only comes on for three or four hours in the evening. Whenever there’s a war, we barely get any. The water supply is also irregular and if it comes on when the power is off, we can’t pump water to the containers on the roof. I feel like the water and the electricity are two parallel lines that never meet! The situation in Gaza is simply unbearable. The blockade has made things very tough for us financially, and we can’t buy generators to use during the power cuts. The blockade has sent us back to ancient times – we have to use very primitive alternatives, such as kerosene lamps and candles. It’s dangerous and we’ve had more than one fire. Once, I put a candle on the TV and it caught fire. Most of the household chores require electricity. Also, because of all the power cuts, our appliances often break down. It happens because I turn them all on at once when the power’s on, to get everything done before it goes off again. I clean, bake, cook, iron, turn on the water pump, turn on the sun boiler and charge all of our cellphones – at the same time. Our system can’t handle it, and sometimes it burns appliances. When the power isn’t on long enough, I have to wash our clothes by hand and bake bread in a traditional oven (taboon). It’s exhausting at my age. Sometimes I stay up late, waiting for the electricity to come on, so I can finish my chores and use the electric pita bread maker. I can barely stay awake. I bake about 30 to 40 pitas at a time. If the power goes out in the middle, I have to throw the dough out or light a fire to keep baking on the taboon. It’s tiring and stressful. I’ve often had to throw out fruit and vegetables that went bad after a long power cut. I only buy meat on the day I cook it, because I can’t keep it refrigerated. It spoils quickly. The power cuts take a huge toll on me, physically and mentally. It’s really hard to heat the house in winter and I have to use coal, even though it’s risky. In the summer, it’s boiling hot but we can’t use fans. I have trouble falling asleep and often wake up and splash water on my body. Last night, because there was no power and it was so hot, I slept on the floor. I woke up with back pain. My nephews also can’t sleep in the heat, and sometimes we go out to the street in the middle of the night to get some air. It’s also hard dealing with the dark. I bought a chargeable LED lamp for the house, but it’s very weak. In the last two days it's been especially difficult because the power only came on for three or four hours. That’s because the power plant shut down after Israel closed the Kerem Shalom crossing and banned the import of fuel for it. The school year is starting. My son Ahmad is in the 10th grade and needs light do his homework. When he comes home from school and sees the power is off, he says, “I went to school early in the morning and came back at midday, and the electricity still off! What kind of life is this?!”. He gets really upset, because he’s so frustrated. There’s no life in Gaza any more. My children always say to me, “We’re sick of this life. How long will we stay like this?”. We live in extreme poverty, and it’s a huge problem. On top of the electricity issue, I feel suffocated. I can’t take this life any more. I have no hope left. I feel like I’m dying a slow death. All we want is basic things and a normal life: a regular power supply, for my husband and kids to find a job, and of course, for Israel to stop the blockade. A little bit of empathy! We want to enjoy life, see happy days, live with dignity and have the simplest thing – electricity! In this day and age, everything depends on it runs. Electricity is the engine of life. Without it, life comes to a standstill. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 20 August 2020, ‘Abd a-Rahim al-‘Ar’ir (61), an unemployed father of eight from the neighborhood of a-Shuja'iyeh in Gaza City, said: I live with my wife Shifa (64), our two married sons and their families in a two-story building. We’re 22 people altogether. In 2012, I was on my way to work when the Israeli military fired a tank shell at an area east of our neighborhood. I was hit, along with other passersby. The doctors had to amputate my right leg and I haven’t worked since. I’ve tried to use a prosthesis, but it doesn’t really work. I've undergone heart surgery and have diabetes. To get around daily, I bought an electric mobility scooter for 2,000 dollars. It has to charge about five hours a day. The scooter means everything to me. It helps me forget that I don’t have a leg. I use it for all my errands, and when I can’t use it because the power's off, I’m paralyzed. I depend on the power supply. Every day, I wait for it to come on so I can charge the scooter. One problem is that the supply hours are irregular. Sometimes, I stay up all night or get up very early to charge the scooter. I can’t stay home all the time. I drive the scooter to the market to buy our groceries and to pray at the nearest mosque, which is about 500 meters away, five times a day. Sometimes, to save electricity, I stay there from noon prayers to evening prayers. At the moment, because the power plant is closed, we only get electricity for three or four hours a day, and that’s not enough to fully charge my scooter. If I leave home to go far, I can get stuck with a dead battery. Then I have to call someone with a large car to drive me home with the scooter. It’s exhausting. Sometimes, when I need something urgent and the scooter’s not charged, I use crutches. When I’m stuck at home because the power’s down, I feel terrible. I can’t afford to buy a generator. Sometimes, when I see the battery’s about to die, I charge the scooter at a friend’s house. He lives nearby and has a carpentry workshop with a large generator. Electricity is vital and every kind of work depends on it. We’re suffering, just like everyone else in Gaza. We have to use primitive sources of light, such as candles, kerosene lamps or smaller lamps. My wife and I do all the chores, and sometimes she has to wash the clothes by hand. I’m in charge of the electric water pump. When I’m out, I keep calling home to check if the power’s come on so I can get back and turn on the pump. The electricity crisis lasts all year round, rain or shine. In winter, when the power’s off all day, we sometimes have to heat the house with coal stoves. In summer it’s even worse, because it’s so hot. We usually have electricity for six hours, and then there’s a 12-hour break. The fruit, vegetables and meat in the fridge go off quickly. You can’t turn on fans and it’s hard to sleep at night. My little grandchildren cry because of the heat. We’ve been living this way, under the blockade, for 14 years and it’s really bad. I pray to heaven for help. Our lives are full of anguish and despair, and we want a change. We’re denied the most basic rights. The electricity problems are our biggest difficulty. I hope this nightmare ends. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Khaled al-‘Azayzeh on 23 August 2020, Yihya Sultan (62) a pensioner and married father of seven from a-Nuseirat Refugee Camp, related: I live on the seventh floor of an apartment building with my wife and four of our children, who are unmarried. Two of them are university students. We’ve been suffering power cuts for many years. We used to get eight hours of electricity, followed by eight hours off and then eight hours on again. Now, in summer and winter, the cuts are longer, and sometimes last up to 12 hours. My apartment building has two elevators. When the power goes off, I’m stuck at home. I have a lot of health problems – diabetes, a heart condition and high blood pressure – and can’t take the stairs. Sometimes, if the power comes on in the middle of the night, I’m stuck at home for more than two days, even if there are things I have to do outside. I cancel or postpone them until the power comes back on and I can use the elevator. I pay for electricity twice: to the electric company and to a man who owns a generator. I owe the electric company about 27,000 shekels (~ 8,000 USD). I currently pay for regular use and another 100 shekels (~30 USD) for accumulated debt. I also pay a neighbor who owns a generator at least 100 shekels a month for electricity. That’s enough for lights and two fans, but not for the refrigerator or the computer. When the generator goes off, we use a chargeable LED lamp that barely lasts for two hours, and then we use the flashlights on our phones to get around the house. My kids who are at university are currently at home and can’t attend classes, because I can’t afford their tuition. My daughter Salsabil (23) is studying mathematics. A few months ago, she was in the middle of an online exam when the power went off. She became hysterical and started crying, but then she changed clothes quickly, ran to my brother’s house in the opposite building and continued the exam there. Because Israel closed the crossings through which fuel is brought into Gaza, the power cuts now last up to 20 hours and we only get electricity for four hours a day. Sometimes, those four hours are late at night when we’re asleep, and we can’t make any use of them. The water containers on our roof are only enough for two days. There are large containers by our building and when the power’s on, we have to pump enough water to the roof, otherwise we’ll be stuck without running water. Yesterday, the power came on in the afternoon and I was afraid to go to prayers at the mosque, right next door, and get stuck without the elevator to get back. The power cuts have also hurt our social life. We’re virtually isolated. Whenever our children and relatives want to visit, they call first to ask if the electricity is on. Now, with only four hours a day, they don’t visit at all. I spend most of my time at home and use the internet whenever possible. Our normal life has been taken from away us along with the electricity. In a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 21 August 2020, In’am a-Sultan (48), a divorced mother of five from Jabalya, related: I have five children. I’ve been living with them on the seventh floor of an eight-story apartment building for about 14 years. There are 28 apartments, and all the tenants have suffered from the electricity crisis since Israel started its blockade on Gaza. We can’t afford a generator and the elevator only works when the power is on. I’m in very poor health. I have high blood pressure, a slipped disc in the fifth and seventh vertebrae, a heart condition and a cartilage problem in my right knee. I can’t go down the stairs so when the power’s out, I can’t leave the house. When there’s a steady supply, eight hours on and eight hours off, it’s better because at least I can plan. If the power comes on early in the morning, I go out to visit my mother, buy her groceries, help her and buy our own groceries. Many friends and relatives can’t visit us because the elevator doesn’t work and it’s hard to climb the stairs. Once, my mother was visiting and got stuck at our place until the next day because there was no electricity. Now the electricity crisis is even worse, because the power plant stopped working about a week ago. Since then, we’ve only had power three or four hours a day, with about 18 hours off. It’s a real disaster for me. I don’t leave the house at all unless I have to do something very urgent. It takes me more than 15 minutes to climb the stairs and a long time to go down. I stop to rest a few times because it’s so tiring. Sometimes, the power comes on at night, say 11:00 P.M., when I’m asleep. By the time I wake up in the morning, it’s off and I’ve missed it. If I have no choice, I stay awake to do household chores that depend on electricity, such as laundry, baking bread, ironing, and charging flashlights and cellphones. Our whole routine revolves around the supply hours. It’s exhausting. I make about 100 dinars (~140 USD) a month, so I can’t buy a small generator for the house or set up a solar system to generate electricity. When the power’s off and I can't turn the fan on at night, the heat keeps me awake. Sometimes, my daughter Ahlam and I sleep on the floor. When the power only comes on briefly, I don’t have time to fully charge the LED flashlight batteries and they only last for two or three hours. Last night, we were left in the dark. Things are so bad that I’m considering using candles, even though it’s dangerous.
