Court-sanctioned vengeance: HCJ upholds ban on family visits for Hamas prisoners from Gaza

14 July 2019

ביקור בני משפחות אצל אסירים פלסטינים בכלא גלבוע, 5 במארס 2016. צילום: חגי אהרון/AFP/Getty Images

According to figures updated through April 2019, Israel is holding 303 Palestinians from the Gaza Strip in prison facilities with its sovereign territory. Two of them are minors.

Israel makes it unbearably difficult for residents of Gaza to visit family members imprisoned within its territory. In defiance of international law, Israel completely prohibited such visits from 2007 to 2012. When prison visits were renewed in July 2012, the eligibility criteria were so strict that only parents and spouses were allowed to visit prisoners. Gradually, Israel began allowing children up to age 16 to visit incarcerated parents, as well.

Israel has banned family visits to Hamas prisoners from the Gaza Strip, numbering about 100, since 1 July 2017. The ban was instated following a government resolution to impose restrictions on Gaza residents, including downgrading prison conditions, in an alleged bid to put pressure on Hamas. The movement is illegally and immorally holding two Israeli civilians, Avera Mengistu and Hisham a-Sayed, and the remains of two Israeli soldiers, Hadar Goldin and Oron Shaul, to be used as bargaining chips in negotiations for a prisoner exchange .

Following the prison visit ban, in August 2017, four Hamas-affiliated prisoners from the Gaza Strip filed a petition with Israel’s High Court of Justice (HCJ). Nearly two years later, in June 2019, Justice Neal Hendel rejected the petition, with Justices Anat Baron and Yosef Elron concurring.

This judgment follows in the footsteps of the HCJ’s longstanding jurisprudence in petitions filed by Palestinian residents of the Occupied Territories. The court – which was supposed to provide protection for a population with no representation in the political process that is ruled by a foreign military regime – has consistently provided a legal stamp of approval for the violation of Palestinians’ rights, including home demolitions, detention without trial, expulsion of communities, torture in interrogation, road closures and violations of the rights of suspects and due process rights. With these rulings, the justices not only betray their role, but also play a key part in entrenching and maintaining the regime of occupation.

The judgment in HCJ 6314/17 Namnam v. Government of Israel:

In the very opening of the judgment, Justice Hendel reiterates the governing constitutional-legal principle relevant to the matter: Prisoners do not lose their rights upon entering jail, and “a prison sentence does not, in and of itself, deny the prisoner’s dignity or take away their basic rights”. However, he immediately proceeds to find that this principle does not apply in the case before him, since prison visits, including by first-degree relatives, are not a right but a privilege, a “benefit” that the prison commander may grant or deny:

It may be argued that completely severing prisoners’ interaction with the outside world in general and their family members, in particular, impinges on the constitutional rights to contact with the world outside the prison walls and to family life... However, so long as other means of communication remain available to the prisoners, the constitutional review of the visit ban concludes at the first stage – since the act does not amount to a violation of a constitutional right and need not be put to the tests stipulated in the limitations clause.

It is clear, Justice Hendel stresses, that the fact that this is a benefit extended to prisoners does not “leave them vulnerable to arbitrary action on the part of the administration” and that any decision to withhold the benefit must be made in keeping with the law, fall in line with the rules of administrative law, be “based on pertinent reasons” and “meet the tests of reasonableness and proportionality”.

Justice Hendel analyzes the legal provisions applicable to prison visits and finds that the minister of public security may order the Israel Prison Service (IPS) to withhold visits due to pertinent considerations which “include, alongside maintaining the proper operation of the prison, also general national security considerations”. Justice Hendel then considers that, “protecting national security, in its broad sense, is, therefore, considered part and parcel of the proper operation of prisons – and is one of the considerations that the competent authorities may take into account”.

While Justice Hendel is aware that in this case, prison visits were denied as a way of pressuring Hamas rather than based on “concrete concern over abuse of the visits by any of the prisoners”, he sees no issue with the measure since it was a denial of a privilege rather than a punishment, and therefore, “guilt ” is not a requisite. According to Justice Hendel, once the protection of national security was found to be one of the purposes of the law, “the main question in terms of competency is whether the minister’s decision serves this purpose, whatever the source of the security challenge it is meant to address may be”.

The justice goes on to hold that, “there is no justification for an interpretation that leaves security considerations that are ‘external’ to the prisoners out of the scope of the relevant security purpose”. In support of this finding, he cites a judgment written by Justice Hanan Melcer regarding the blanket ban on security prisoners’ studying at the Open University, stating that such an interpretation would curtail “the ability of the State of Israel to ‘combat terrorism by way of withholding privileges, including the use of necessary and legitimate leverage against hostage terrorism initiated by terrorist groups for the release of security prisoners affiliated with them’, as my colleague, Deputy President H. Melcer, has remarked”.

The government decision to ban family visits with Hamas prisoners also meets the requirements of Israeli administrative law, according to Justice Hendel. Hendel is certain that the decision is reasonable since, “it is apparent that the minister of public security was presented with various professional opinions. However, there is no cause to intervene in his decision to adopt the position of the coordinator for war prisoners and absentees whom the Respondents consider as possessing ‘the most suitable knowledge, understanding and tools to assess the impact of visit cessation on Hamas’. Without cause to intervene in this professional pronouncement, I have not found that the balance struck by the minister of public security exceeds the bounds of reasonableness”.

Justice Hendel notes further that the harm caused to prisoners is, in any event, “limited” and has a “restricted” impact, both in terms of the number of prisoners affected and in terms of the harm caused to them:

It must be recalled that the minister’s decision affects a very small group of prisoners, some 100 individuals, out of more than 6,000 security prisoners and more than 800 Hamas prisoners. The intensity of the impact is also restricted, since even prisoners who do belong to this group have not lost all contact with the outside world. They may correspond with their families, and even meet with religious clerics, representatives of the International Committee of the Red Cross, lawyers and the like.

Justice Hendel goes on to find that the decision is also proportionate:

Given the aforesaid position of the coordinator for war prisoners and absentees, it is not difficult to conclude that the minister’s decision does have a rational connection to its purpose – putting pressure on Hamas to advance the return of the civilians and the remains of the IDF soldiers to Israel… In the absence of a vested right to receive visits, and given the alternative means of communication available to the prisoners, which mitigate the intensity of the potential injury to the general rights to contact with the outside world and to family life, this suffices.

Further along, Justice Hendel states: “The security and human benefit potentially achieved through the policy of denying visits, namely, the return of Israeli civilians (let us refer to them by name, Avera Mengistu and Hisham a-Sayed) and the remains of the IDF soldiers held by Hamas, outweighs the certain degree of injury caused to the Petitioners.

Justice Hendel concludes the judgment by stating, “All that is left, therefore, is to express hope that the decision of the minister, which, at this point in time, does, as stated, meet the tests of reasonableness and proportionality, will in fact aid the safe return of the Israeli civilians held by Hamas and the proper burial of IDF fallen soldiers Lieutenant Hadar Goldin and Staff Sergeant Oron Shaul”.

Visit ban severely harms prisoners and families

In his judgment, Justice Hendel accepted nearly all of the arguments put forward by the state, ruling that the decision to deny Hamas prisoners family visits from Gaza was lawful, reasonable and proportionate. However, his findings raise several serious questions.

A. Gaza prisoners have become bargaining chips for achieving a goal that is external to them

Justice Hendel treats the prisoners as “bargaining chips” in negotiations with Hamas, as if they were a tool that can be legitimately used to achieve a goal external to them. The harm is not inflicted on them because of their own conduct or that of their family members. This also means that they are powerless to influence or change the decision.

This particular finding goes beyond what the court has previously ruled. Previous rulings on similar issues focused on concrete concerns relating to the prisoners themselves, even if only as lip service and even if the allegations were unjustified. In a petition filed by security prisoners to revoke the ban on telephone calls, the court accepted the state’s argument that the ban had been motivated by concern that prisoners “would maintain telephone communications with hostile elements, possibly compromising national security”. In a petition filed by prisoners against the IPS ban on taking up studies at the Open University, the court ruled that the ban was justified since the organizations covered tuition costs, “both as compensation for the crimes [the prisoners] committed and as an incentive for continued actions against the state”, which may threaten national security. In another case, several prisoners petitioned the court to receive visits from non-immediate relatives. Here, too, the court said such visits could reasonably be used to “transmit messages” that would pose a risk to national security.

The court has clearly used “national security” in these cases as a convenient way to uphold violations of prisoners’ rights even when there is no evidence that they pose any threat. However, in this most recent case, Justice Hendel removes even this thinnest of veils. The state, with the court following suit, openly admits to using the prisoners and their relatives as a means of pressuring Hamas.

Justice Hendel compares his judgment to a previous judgment in which the Supreme Court ruled that Lebanese citizens could not be kept in administrative detention as “bargaining chips” for negotiating the return of Israeli soldier Ron Arad. Justice Hendel believes the two cases are entirely different since in the previous case, the detention was indefinite, while in the current matter, “no protected constitutional right has been violated, since the prisoners and their families have no vested right to visits. Hence, there is no justification for an interpretation that leaves security considerations that are ‘external’ to the prisoners out of the scope of the relevant security purpose”.

However, the similarities between the two cases outweigh this difference. Both cases focus on using human beings as a means to an end. As Justice Barak noted in the judgment concerning the Lebanese citizens, this is “not a ‘quantitative’ transition but a ‘qualitative’ transition”. An instrumental approach to human beings, in this case as pawns in a greater game, by whatever means, detention or denial of contact with family, strips them of their dignity and agency.

Justice Hendel cautions that if he were to rule visits could not be denied, “the state’s ability to combat terrorism by way of withholding privileges would be compromised”. However, prohibiting “withholding privileges” would, in fact, be a welcome result. Treating persons as a means to achieving an end they have no influence over is inherently wrong, and the state would do well to avoid taking that path.

B. The visit ban violates the prisoners’ rights

Security prisoners are held in conditions that isolate them from the world and from their families. Unlike other prisoners, they are denied telephone calls, prison leave and conjugal visits. All they had left, until the ban was imposed in July 2017, was the chance to see just a few of their relatives, once every few weeks, for a short time, behind a glass wall.

Without offering a compelling explanation, Justice Hendel plays down the injury the visit ban causes prisoners, referring to it as “restricted” given that they “have not lost all contact with the outside world. They may correspond with their families, and even meet with religious clerics, representatives of the International Committee of the Red Cross, lawyers and the likes”. It is difficult to grasp why the honorable justice thinks that exchanging letters with family, or meeting with various individuals in an official capacity, could substitute a face to face meeting with loved ones.

Israel chose to incarcerate these prisoners in its own territory, in defiance of international law. It must, therefore, allow the visits without arbitrary restrictions, in recognition of the fact that contact with family is a fundamental right to which everyone is entitled, including prisoners. Other prisoners held inside Israel receive family visits regularly, including security prisoners from the West Bank. These visits are not a reward for good behavior, but fulfillment of the prisoners’ right to maintain contact with the outside world and to continue to have a minimal level of family life.

Even the justices of the Supreme Court, whose judgments Justice Hendel quotes, have acknowledged how important it is for prisoners to maintain contact with their families – even if they ultimately found it was only a “privilege” that could be withheld and refused to pronounce it was a vested right. In the judgment delivered in the case regarding visits from non-immediate relatives, Justice Danziger held:

The right to maintain the family unit is more powerful than the right to communicate and interact with other parties who are not part of the prisoner’s family unit. The reason for this lies in the power of the right to family life and the ability to exercise, to some extent, the right to freedom of speech through contact with family members... The importance of face to face meetings between the prisoner and visitors cannot be underrated, as they enable communication on a level and of a quality unmatched by a letter or a telephone call.

In the same judgment, Justice Procaccia held:

Prison leave and family visits in prison can be viewed as part of the human rights that prisoners continue to have even when in prison, rights that are not negated simply as a result of the deprivation of liberty involved in incarceration, which is the outcome of the punitive sanction. Prison leave and family visits are some of the aspects that make up the contact that prisoners-humans have with the world and with their close environment. They are a human need. They are part of the prisoners’ essence as human beings, part of their human dignity. They make an important contribution to their welfare and rehabilitation over the course of their incarceration.

C. The visit ban violates the prisoners’ families’ rights

Justice Hendel completely ignores the severe injury to the family members who are forcibly cut off from loved ones incarcerated inside Israel’s sovereign territory, which the family members cannot enter without Israel’s explicit consent. The visits themselves, when they were still allowed, were short and involved and arduous journey. Family members would leave home before dawn, undergo a humiliating security screening before the visits, and return home in the evening. The visits themselves were brief, and visitors were not allowed any physical contact with their loved ones. Still, these visits were the only contact they had with their family members.

Testimonies collected by B'Tselem from family members in the Gaza Strip shed light on the unbearable hardship caused by the separation.

For example, in a testimony she gave B'Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd, Amneh a-Zawar’ah, 39, a mother of five, described how much she misses her husband, Ibrahim, who was taken into custody in late 2009:

At the beginning of 2013 [after visits were renewed], I began visiting Ibrahim in Nafha Prison. I’d visit once every three months. All the visits were very hard because of the searches, and the prohibition on bringing in clothes, food and water. Even when my little children came with me, I wasn’t allowed to bring food and drink for them. The visit was only 45 minutes long, and it was never enough. They wouldn’t let even my children go in to see their dad and give him a hug. They only talked to him from behind the glass partition. Sometimes, in the last ten minutes of the visit, they would let Muhammad, my son, who was five years old, go in and sit next to his father and hug him.

My only connection with my husband is letters and pictures he sends with the Red Cross. The kids miss him. They want to hear his voice, to see him. They keep asking when they’ll be able to visit their father in prison. My son Firas, who’s 16 now, has forgotten what his father’s face looks like. I feel like he’s not interested in hearing about him.

Laila a-Tanani. She has not been allowed to see her son since 2016. Photo by Olfat al-Kurd, B’Tselem, 25 June 2019

Laila a-Tanani, 53, a mother of seven, described the hardship that the ban on visitation has caused her in a testimony she gave B'Tselem researcher Olfat al-Kurd. Her son Mamduh, 32, has been in Israeli custody since August 2007:

I couldn’t visit Mamduh for about five years. I started visiting him only in 2012. During that time, my contact with him was through letters he sent me. His letters would have melted a heart of stone. When I read them, I missed him so much I cried. I couldn’t talk to him on the phone, and the letters weren’t enough.

In 2012, families of prisoners from Gaza were allowed to visit their sons in jail in Israel. I was over the moon. I was going to see Mamduh for the first time in five years. On the first visit, at Rimon Prison, I couldn’t believe I was going. I went to the prison on my own. When I saw Mamduh, I cried a lot. He asked me not to cry. I told him they were tears of joys at seeing him. The visit lasted only 45 minutes, which didn’t feel like it was enough to sit across from him and see him, but I still went home happy.

I kept visiting Mamduh on my own, once every three months, because the Israeli army wouldn’t let his father and siblings visit. At the end of 2014, they finally let my husband visit him, too. We kept visiting until they banned the visits to Hamas prisoners.

In September 2016, my husband and I were going to visit my son. When we got to Erez Crossing, the Israeli military took us in for interrogation and wouldn’t let us get on the bus with the other family members. They kept us at the checkpoint all day. We didn’t get home until evening, without visiting Mamduh. When the bus took off from Erez Crossing to prison with the rest of the families but without us, I felt like my heart went with them. I wanted to be on that bus so badly. I haven’t been able to visit my son since then.

This is a difficult time. I spend my days heartbroken and crying over Mamduh and his life that’s being wasted in jail. I feel like my heart is literally burning. Sometimes, I hold back the tears, so my husband and children don’t see me crying.

During one of the visits, the prison management let me take a photo with Mamduh. I screamed with joy. I went in and hugged him and started crying with happiness. Those were unforgettable moments that I yearn to experience again.

As’ad Abu Saleh with Mustafa and Muna, two of his grandchildren who cannot visit their father. Photo by Olfat al-Kurd, B’Tselem, 26 June 2019

As’ad Abu Saleh, 56, has 12 children, two of whom are incarcerated in Israel. He himself was a prisoner in Israel and was released in the Shalit deal in October 2011. Because he is a former prisoner, Israel did not allow him to visit his sons even when family visits to Hamas prisoners were allowed. In a testimony he gave to B'Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd, he said:

I keep in touch with my sons through letters. They write and ask how I’m doing and how the family is doing. The letters aren’t enough, though. I miss my sons. I want to hear their voices, see them, understand what they’re going through. I long to see them. I’ve almost forgotten what their faces look like and what their voices sound like. I hope I’ll see them released soon.

D. The visit ban is not motivated by “security considerations” but by vengeance, pure and simple

To justify the visit ban, Justice Hendel turns to “general security considerations”, including the “security need” to bring back the remains of the Israeli soldiers and the Israeli civilians held in Gaza. However, these considerations were never part of the public debate surrounding security prisoners’ conditions as it played out outside the courtroom. This debate focused largely on the desire to get back at Hamas for denying its Israeli hostages visits, and to subject Hamas prisoners held in Israel to the same conditions Hamas forces on its Israeli captives.

A government-backed private member bill proposed by former MK Oren Hazan, which did pass a preliminary reading, sought to ban family visits to Hamas prisoners. The bill expressly referred to the need for “balanced” treatment – if Hamas does not allow visits, neither will we:

Wherein a terrorist organization or a declared organization holds an Israeli who has been kidnapped or taken captive and deprives said person of visits by a representative of the Government of Israel, a humanitarian organization by consent, or a family member, a security prisoner who is a member or sympathizer of said organization shall not receive visits other than visits from a lawyer or a representative of the International Committee of the Red Cross.

The explanatory notes for the bill state:

An untenable situation has developed whereby terrorist organizations have adopted a strategy of kidnapping and holding Israeli citizens without regard for the conditions in which they are held and without allowing visits, which severely harms the morale and national fortitude of the State of Israel. On the other hand, the State of Israel does allow security prisoners who are members of terrorist organizations to receive visits. This bill is designed to address the incongruency between the prison conditions the State of Israel provides for the terrorists who harm it and those provided by terrorist organizations to kidnapped Israelis: Avera Mengistu, Hadar Goldin and Oron Shaul.

In a Knesset debate regarding the bill held in October 2018, Public Security Minister Gilad Erdan made an attempt to argue that the goal behind denying visits is to “dial up the pressure” and “make them want our captives to return home, too”. However, the minister soon clarified the true intention of the bill, saying it would allow ending “the absurd asymmetry between the conditions in which Israelis are held captive without trial by Hamas and the conditions terrorists receive here in Israel”. Minister Erdan was quick to laud Justice Hendel’s recent ruling, noting, “it’s illogical and immoral to allow despicable terrorists to receive family visits while Hamas is holding the remains of our soldiers and Israeli civilians”.

This is the entire story in a nutshell: not “general security conditions”, not “proportionality tests”, not a balance between “privileges” and weighty considerations underlying the decision to withhold family visits to Hamas prisoners from the Gaza Strip. At the end of the day, what led to this decision was the “absurd asymmetry”, or, more simply, sheer vengeance.

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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

נסרין ג'אבר עם תמונת אחיה מוחמד, אותו לא ראתה מאז שנת 2016. צילום: אולפת אל-כורד, בצלם, 2.5.19

The Gaza Strip

“I’m starting to forget what my brother looks like”: Israel still imposing harsh restrictions on Gazans wishing to visit relatives imprisoned in Israel

At the end of April 2019, Israel had in custody 5,152 prisoners and detainees (hereafter: prisoners) who are being held on what it terms “security” grounds. Most are incarcerated in prison facilities within Israel’s sovereign territory. The state exploits this fact to severely restrict family visits to Palestinian prisoners. In addition to limiting the number of visitors and the frequency of visits, since July 2017 Israel has also banned all visits to 1,329 Hamas-affiliated, most of whom are from the West Bank and some from Gaza. The declared purpose of this ban is to pressure Hamas into returning the Israeli civilians Avera Mengistu and Hisham a-Sayed it is holding captive and the bodies of soldiers Oron Shaul and Hadar Goldin. As “security” prisoners are not allowed to use phones, this restriction makes it impossible for them to maintain any form of contact with their families. Even when families are permitted to make prison visits, the journey – organized by the Red Cross – is exhausting and long, leaving home before dawn and returning late in the evening. During the visits, which last only 45-60 minutes, the prisoners are kept apart from their visitors by a glass partition and communicate with them via a prison phone line. Among the Palestinians incarcerated in Israel are 303 residents of Gaza, who are subjected to even harsher restrictions on visits. Some were arrested before the Israeli withdrawal from Gaza in 2005, under the Disengagement Plan, and some after. Three are minors between the ages of 16 and 18. In addition, 15 Palestinians from Gaza who are being held for illegally entering Israel are defined “criminal” prisoners. In 2007, Israel issued a complete ban on family visits to prisoners from Gaza. As of 2012, it has been allowing visits, but subject to draconian limitations. Among other things, only the parents, spouses and children - under 16 - of prisoners are allowed to visit. They are allowed to make visits only once every two months, as opposed to once a month for prisoners from the West Bank. Siblings are permitted to visit only if their parents are deceased or gravely ill and if the prisoner is unmarried. Even then, visits are allowed only once every six months, subject to special coordination and submitting medical records, and only if the visitors are not defined as “barred entry into Israel for security reasons” - an arbitrary definition that cannot be appealed. In testimonies given to B’Tselem field researchers, men and women from Gaza who have relatives imprisoned in Israel described the pain of being kept from meeting their loves ones: Nisrin Jaber, 43, is a preschool teacher. She is unmarried and lives in Gaza City. Her brother, Muhammad Jaber, 38, was arrested in 2003 and sentenced to 18 years in prison, which he is serving in Eshel Prison in Beersheba, Israel. Since family visits were reinstated in 2012, Jaber has seen her brother only twice. Their father passed away about ten years ago, and their mother has been unable to visit her son since 2016 due to failing health. Nisrin and her sister Nur, 26, have submitted more than 10 requests to visit their brother since 2016. Only two were approved. In a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 2 May 2019, Nisrin stated: Muhammad was arrested in 2003 and, at that time, Israel allowed us to visit him in prison. I first visited him with my parents in 2004, and again in 2005. Because the number of visitors is restricted, I didn’t go again. On the other visits, my parents took along Nur and Ahmad, my younger siblings. In 2007, Israel banned visits altogether. No one has been to visit Muhammad in almost five years. Our father passed away in 2009. Muhammad wasn’t allowed any visits at the time, and my father died without seeing him. The fact that Muhammad is in prison made it even harder for us to deal with my father’s death. It was a difficult period. In 2012, Israel started allowing prisoners to have family visits again, but without siblings. I had a really hard time accepting that and was in a bad way emotionally. That year, my mother made the trip to visit Muhammad alone. She’s elderly and unwell yet they still wouldn’t let us go with her. For a whole week after the visit, my mother was exhausted and ill. There are a lot of stairs in the prison and you have to walk a long way. That was very difficult for her. Nonetheless, she kept up the visits. In early 2016, my mother submitted her medical records to the prison management via the Red Cross, so that they’d allow Nur and me to visit. She chose us over my brothers because she knew that as women, it would be easier for us to get permits. The Israeli authorities informed us that she couldn’t visit Muhammad as long as Nur and I were his visitors, and she agreed. Since the beginning of 2016, Nur and I have submitted seven requests via the Red Cross to visit Muhammad. Every time, Israel refused our requests “on security grounds.” Then, suddenly, in July 2017, I got a call from the Red Cross saying our request had been approved. I can’t tell you how happy I was. That night I couldn’t sleep. I was so happy and excited that I’d finally get to see Muhammad, for the first time in 11 years. The visit was tough, for me and for all the other relatives visiting prisoners. The prison management searches the visitors in a very unpleasant way. They frisk you very thoroughly, even your underwear. The day of the visit is long and exhausting. You go through all that for about 45 minutes together. I went through it all because I was willing to do whatever it took to see Muhammad. When I saw him come in, escorted by an Israeli prison guard, I told him I wanted to hold his hand. The guard refused and Nur and I cried and shouted. I was thrilled to see him. Muhammad had a stroke after he heard our father had died. When we met, he told me he’s had trouble with his eyesight ever since, especially with his left eye. He told us he doesn’t get any medical care in prison and that if he’s in pain, they just give him paracetamol [OTC pain reliever]. The visit was over so soon. I didn’t notice how the time flew by because I was so happy - even though I really wanted to hug him, take his hands in mine and kiss him. I got home overjoyed but exhausted. Six months later, Nur and I submitted another request, to visit Muhammad on 10 March 2018. Our request was approved and we were thrilled. But when we visited him, Muhammad told us he almost couldn’t see out of his left eye any more. He asked us not to tell our mother. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her, anyway. After that visit, I submitted several more requests, but they were all denied. I feel Muhammad’s absence whenever we have family events and get-togethers – holidays celebrations, weddings, and especially now, with Ramadan approaching. But I missed him most on the day my father died, and when our brothers Rami and Fadi got married. We weren’t happy at their weddings, because Muhammad wasn’t with us. I hope the time passes quickly until his release. It’s been a year and two months since Nur and I last saw him. Every time, the Red Cross says our request has been denied and they don’t know why. I very much want them to let me visit Muhammad, because I’m very worried about his health. I miss him all the time. I want to hug him and touch him. He’s always on my mind. Muhammad al-Agha, 38, a single and unemployed resident of Gaza City, served a 12-year sentence in Israeli prisons. During the final portion of his sentence, for a period of over two years, he was imprisoned together with his brother Diaa’, 45. Muhammad has not seen his brother since he was released from prison in 2015, due to the ban on sibling visits. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Muhammad Sabah on 25 April 2019, he described the current situation: I got out of prison after years of missing my siblings, because they weren’t allowed to visit me even before 2007. The whole time I was in prison, my mother was the only one who was allowed to visit me. From 2007 to 2012, even she couldn’t come, because they banned all visits. In 2013, I was transferred to Nafha Prison, where I met my brother Diaa’, who has been in prison since 1992. We spent more than two years together, and our mother visited us several times there. Since I got out in 2015 I haven’t seen him, because Israel doesn’t allow prisoners to receive visits from siblings. My other siblings haven’t seen Diaa’ for 27 years, ever since he was arrested. He doesn’t know any of them, because they’re not allowed to visit him. At least I got to see him in prison and got to sit and talk to him. For some time, we were even in the same cell. I miss him so much. I miss seeing him. I miss sitting and talking with him about everything that’s happening in our society and in our family. I want to see him so much, even just for a few hours, to see how he’s doing and not worry about him so much. Amal Abu ‘Eida, 47, a homemaker and married mother of six from Jabalya Refugee Camp, last saw her brother Muhammad Abu ‘Eida, 40, almost 12 years ago. Muhammad was arrested in 2005 and his relatives were able to visit him until 2007, when the authorities banned family visits from Gaza. Amal and Muhammad’s mother passed away several months before visits were reinstated in 2012; their father died years ago. Muhammad’s wife lives in the UAE. In a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 23 April 2019, Amal Abu ‘Eida spoke about how badly she misses her brother: When Muhammad was arrested, it came as a complete shock to me. He was living in the UAE at the time. He was working there and had gotten married there. At that point had been living in the UAE for five years. Muhammad was arrested at Rafah Crossing on his way to Gaza for a visit. The Red Cross informed us that he was in Ashkelon Prison, Israel, and we were issued a permit to visit him once every two weeks. Visits were much less restricted then. In 2007, they banned our visits. We didn’t see Muhammad at all for almost five years. It was a brutal time. We were very worried. In 2007, my brother Jihad passed away. Several months before visits were allowed again, in 2012, my mother passed away. The whole family was in deep mourning. Things were very bad. Since family visits have been reinstated they’ve only allowed Muhammad’s wife, Walaa, to visit him. But she lives in the UAE, with her parents. When she comes to Gaza, she files for a permit to enter Israel so she can visit him in prison. Two years ago, she gave birth to a son conceived with my brother’s sperm, which was smuggled out of prison. Since 2005, she’s visited him about five or six times. In 2018, my sisters Nawal and Maha and I filed requests to visit Muhammad, because his wife doesn’t live here. They only gave permission to Maha, and she visited him in June. We were very glad and her visit made us feel a bit calmer. Since then we’ve filed more requests to visit him but they were all denied, even Maha was denied even though she had gotten permission before. I haven’t seen him in nearly 12 years. I’m starting to forget what he looks like. We send him money with the relatives of other prisoners from Gaza. I’ve also tried to send clothes with them, but they weren’t allowed to bring them in. I think about him all the time, and especially when something happens in the family. My mother hadn’t seen him for five years before she passed away. On her deathbed she called out, “Muhammad, Muhammad, my soul is leaving my body, I want to see you so badly!” We cried for her and for him. Her death was an especially heavy blow because she passed on full of longing for Muhammad. We also feel his absence strongly when we have happy celebrations. My brother Mahmoud got married in 2010. I so much wanted Muhammad to be with us and celebrate with us. Five years ago, my daughter Fatimah got married. Then too, I really wished he could be with us for the celebration. Muhammad was everyone’s favorite, including my own. He would always come over, play with my kids and spoil them. He was a loving, beloved uncle. I want to see him so much. I hope he’s doing well and in good health. God willing, he will get out of prison and come back home to me and the rest of our family. Mazen al-‘Elah, 46, a married father of six, is unemployed and lives in Gaza City. He has not seen his brother Rami, 40, since he was arrested 11 years ago. Rami is being held in Nafha Prison, where is mother and wife visit him once every two months. His son Muhammad visited him until he recently turned 16. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Muhammad Sabah on 24 April 2019, Mazen al-‘Elah related: Since Rami was arrested in 2008, my brother, my four sisters and I haven’t seen him. My mother and his wife visit him about once every two months. Until recently his son Muhammad would go with them, but he can’t now that he’s turned 16. Every time we file a request to visit via the Red Cross, the Israeli side replies that siblings are not allowed to visit. I’ve been waiting and hoping to visit Rami ever since he was arrested. I haven’t seen him in 11 years. We used to be very close and I miss him a lot. He wasn’t just my brother. We were also close friends. I miss sitting and talking with him, hanging out together. I miss him all the time. After my mother comes back from visiting Rami in prison, she always says he keeps asking about me. He tells her that he really wants his brothers and sisters to visit him in prison, and for us to see each other again like siblings do all over the world.

21 May 2019

בני משפחות של אסירים באוטובוס הביקורים של הצלב האדום. צילום: מוחמד סבאח, בצלם, 22.1.18

The Gaza Strip

Distant relatives: Severe restrictions imposed on prison visits by immediate family to Gazans held in Israel

In its prison facilities, Israel also holds Palestinians from the Gaza Strip. Some of the detainees and prisoners (hereafter: inmates) have been in custody since before Israel’s 2005 withdrawal from Gaza, known as the “disengagement”. According to figures provided by the Israel Prison Service (IPS), in November 2017 Israel was holding 358 prisoners and detainees from the Gaza Strip within its sovereign territory. Of these, 320 were incarcerated “on security grounds” and the other 38 “for criminal offenses”, including 12 who allegedly entered Israel without a permit – one of them a boy under the age of 18. Keeping residents of the Occupied Territories incarcerated within Israel forces their relatives to obtain permits in order to visit them. Over the years, Israel has imposed overwhelming obstacles on the families of inmates from Gaza. For example, after Hamas took control of the Gaza Strip in 2007, Israel banned all visits (with the backing of the High Court of Justice), reinstating them only five years later, in July 2012, and even then only partially: At first, only visits by parents and spouses were reinstated. According to the Red Cross, these visits take place once every two months. In May 2013, Israel also began allowing children under the age of eight to visit incarcerated fathers, and has since gradually raised the age cutoff. According to the Red Cross, Israel now allows visits by children up to the age of 16. There is a blanket ban on visits from other relatives, including grandparents and siblings. The only exception is inmates whose parents have passed away and are unmarried, in which case siblings are allowed to visit, but only twice a year. Palestinian inmates from the West Bank – regardless of whether they are being held on “security” or “criminal” charges – are subject to different terms. They are allowed to receive visits every two weeks, and may receive visits from any relative, including grandparents, siblings and children of any age. Gazan inmates receive visits on Mondays, based on a rotation system between the prisons. Most of them are held in one of three prisons: Nafha, Eshel (Dekel) and Ramon, and inmates held in other prisons are brought to one of the three for visits. The visitors from Gaza have to set out before dawn, and they get home after sunset. Every inmate is allowed up to three visitors at a time. They are allowed to give the inmate certain articles of clothing, subject to applying for and receiving approval from the prison authorities, and three photographs. They are also allowed to deposit money in the inmate’s canteen account, used for purchasing goods there. The visits are short, lasting 45 to 60 minutes. A glass partition separates the inmate from his visitors, and they communicate by phone. Children under the age of ten are allowed to hug their father. Since July 2017, pursuant to the last inmates’ strike, Israel has permitted relatives to file a request to have their photograph taken with the prisoner. The bulk of Gazans incarcerated in Israel are labeled as “security prisoners,” a designation which means they are not allowed communicate with their families by phone. Given the stringent restrictions on visits, this makes life very difficult for their children, who grow up without their fathers; on their wives, who are left to raise the children alone; on their parents, whose children are far away; and on the siblings, who are not even allowed to visit. In July 2017, Israel instituted another measure, denying 100 inmates who belong to Hamas any visits at all. This is a declared attempt to pressure the organization into freeing Israeli citizens Avera Mengistu and Hisham a-Sayed, and to give back the bodies of the soldiers Oron Shaul and Hadar Goldin. Maintaining family ties is a fundamental human right, and prison inmates are no exception. Family visits are a right of detainees and prisoners, and visiting their relatives is a family’s right. As Israel chose to incarcerate residents of Gaza in its sovereign territory, in breach of international law, it must allow their relatives to visit them without imposing arbitrary restrictions. In the following testimonies, given to B’Tselem field researchers in Gaza, relatives of Gazans held in custody in Israel describe how the harsh restrictions on visiting their loved ones affect their lives. Najah Shmali, 60, a homemaker and widowed mother of seven from Gaza City, described in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 5 December 2017 how difficult it is to visit her son: My son, Ahmad Shmali, was arrested in 2008. I learned of his arrest from the Red Cross. It’s hard to describe how I felt when I got the news. I was very sad and so heartsick it hurt. After he was arrested, I got diabetes and started suffering from high blood pressure. The court proceedings in Ahmad’s case lasted two years. In 2010, the Israeli court sentenced him to 18 years in prison. It pained me so. I cried day and night. I felt worst for his little children – ‘Obaydah, who is now 12, and ‘Ali, who is now 9. He was sentenced to such a long time in prison. In the first two years, until 2012, I couldn’t see Ahmad at all because of Israel’s policy after Hamas came to power in Gaza. I kept in touch with him via letters I would send through the Red Cross. Sometimes, we would send the prisoners messages on the TV program “Falastin”, and also through several local radio stations that would come to cover the solidarity vigils we held in front of the Red Cross headquarters. In 2012, after the 42-day strike by the prisoners in the Israeli prisons, Israel agreed to their demand for family visits. We also declared a hunger strike, in solidarity with our incarcerated sons. When the Red Cross informed me that Israel had given us permission to visit my son for the first time, I couldn’t sleep a wink all night, I was so excited and looked forward so much to seeing him. I couldn’t believe I was about to see my son for the first time in four years. At the first visit, the IPS did not permit Ahmad’s wife and kids come along and didn’t allow us to bring him anything – not even food or clothes. The journey to the prison begins at around 5:00 A.M. We all gather by the Red Cross headquarters and get on buses that take us to Erez Crossing. That’s where the ordeal begins. At the checkpoint, they frisk us, sometimes including a full-body search in the nude. It’s so embarrassing and unpleasant. Then we travel for two hours from Erez Crossing to Nafha Prison. The whole way, I can’t wait to get there and see my son. During the visit, I so much want to touch Ahmad and hold him, but I can’t because there’s a glass partition between us. Only once, when the prison warden allowed us to have our photo taken together inside the prison, I managed to give him a hug. When I hugged Ahmad, I just went to pieces. I couldn’t control myself and I just cried and cried. It had been four years since I had hugged him. I can’t describe how that felt – a mixture of sadness and joy. Ahmad couldn’t hold back, either. He was so happy and cried a lot. I so much wanted that moment to go on and on, but it lasted only five minutes. I was happy that I got the chance to take a photo with my son and that I got to kiss and hug him. I also suffer because we’re allowed to visit him only once every two or three months. That’s a very long time. I’d like to visit him once every two weeks, or once a month, and to be able to stay with him for more than an hour, so we have a bit more time together. I’d also like to be able to talk to him face to face without a sheet of glass between us. After the first visit, Israel began allowing Ahmad’s wife and kids to come along. My grandchildren are always asking about their father. They don’t really know him. His little boy ‘Ali was four months old when he was arrested, and the elder, ‘Obaydah, was two. At first, ‘Ali wouldn’t go near Ahmad. He said, “That’s not my father.” I burst out crying, because my heart ached for my son and his children. On some visits in the past, the prison authorities allowed my grandchildren to hug and kiss their father. Now they only allow them to talk to him via the speaker. Only three visitors are allowed at a time, so we can only take one of Ahmad’s children with us on every visit. Still, I’ve been very glad lately because I can get to see my son. That is worth the horrible things I have to undergo at Erez Crossing, in the prison and during the visit, and even the long time between visits. Now I can’t wait for the next visit and I miss Ahmad terribly. It could happen in January. Every time I visit Ahmad, I deposit 3,000 shekels (approximately USD 875) in his canteen account. It’s a huge expense for me, especially since I’m the sole provider for his wife and kids. Winter is coming and it’s very cold in the prison, but the authorities there don’t allow us to bring Ahmad warm clothes and blankets. Update: On 9 January 2018, Najah Shmali informed B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd that she did not receive permission to join the visit that took place a day earlier, so her daughter-in-law and grandson went without her. According to Shamli, she was not told why her request had been denied. Badi’a ‘Anbar, 57, a widow and mother of eight from Deir al-Balah, described in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Khaled al-‘Azayzeh on 21 December 2017 how hard it is to keep in touch with her son: On 31 May 2002 the Israeli army arrested my son Rami, who is now 38, at the Abu Huli checkpoint between the towns of Khan Yunis and Deir al-Balah. He was sentenced to 18 years in prison. Rami is married to Fidaa, who is now 36. She was pregnant when he was arrested and their daughter, Rim, was born in 2003. She’s now 14 years old. After Rami was arrested, I used to visit him in Ashkelon Prison. At first I went alone, because his wife was not listed on his ID card. Sometimes I took his daughter along. At the time, we were allowed to visit him once every two weeks. On the day of the visit I would wait for the Red Cross bus to drive us to Erez Crossing. At the checkpoint we’d be thoroughly searched and then driven to Ashkelon Prison, where we were searched again. Then they would take us into a large room to meet the prisoners. I was separated from my son by wire netting, and the visit would last about 45 minutes. They let us bring him a bit of food, like mulukhiyah, lemon, za’atar, garlic and mint, and also allowed us to bring him clothes in any color. Later on, they also allowed his wife to visit him. Sometimes I’d take along one of my other sons, Tareq and Haytham, who were still young, because siblings were allowed in back then. Things continued like that until 2007, and then Israel banned all visits to prisoners. For almost six years, they didn’t let us see him. It was a very rough time. I had no idea how Rami was doing. We weren’t even allowed to send him things, such as clothes, canteen money or food. Throughout that period, I took part in every possible activity for the prisoners, such as the Monday rallies outside the Red Cross headquarters in Gaza. I also applied to human rights organizations, to the Office of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) in Gaza and to all the organizations that promote prisoner affairs and asked them to do something, to pressure Israel into reinstating visits to the prisoners. In 2012 Israel reinstated the visits, but with new rules. Visits were allowed only once every two months, and the only ones allowed in were the prisoner’s parents, his wife, and children under the age of eight. The prisoner’s siblings and children over the age of eight were not allowed. The first time I was allowed to visit Rami after all those years the ban was in place, I went alone to Nafha Prison, where he was being held at the time. Rim was already more than eight years old, so she couldn’t come. When I got there, I discovered that there was now a sheet of glass separating me from Rami – instead of the wire netting – and we had to talk through the phone. It was a very difficult reunion, because I saw that Rami had changed a lot in the years we hadn’t been able to visit him. When I saw him, I burst out crying. They wouldn’t let us bring him anything. The visits continued that way, once every two months. In late 2016 I was barred from visiting Rami. I checked with the Red Cross and was told that I wasn’t allowed to visit him for security reasons. I cried and felt that it was a huge injustice, because I hadn’t done anything to justify the refusal. Since then, I’ve filed request after request at the Red Cross headquarters in Gaza to visit him, but every time they tell me I’ve been refused on security grounds. Rami’s wife and daughter visit him, because now older children are allowed to visit, while I stay home, waiting for them to come back. The minute they step through the door, I pepper them with questions about Rami. I haven’t turned to any human rights organizations because during the long period in which we weren’t allowed to visit, I went to them many times and they didn’t help at all. We’re now allowed to send Rami thin clothes in muted colors, such as brown, black and white. But we’re not allowed to send him heavier or colorful clothes. A month ago, Rami was transferred from Nafha Prison to Ramon Prison. It’s winter now, and it’s cold there. No food is allowed in there, either. We’re only allowed to send him money for the canteen – sometimes 1,200 shekels (approx. 350 USD), and sometimes more. They also let us buy him cigarettes inside the prison – about 60 packs. The cigarettes and clothes cost much more in the prison than they do in Gaza. I think they forbid us to send clothes and cigarettes to force the prisoners to buy these items at a higher price in the canteen. Sometimes we send Rami family photos, because he always asks after his brothers and sisters. We can only get him several photos at a time, which his wife brings on her visits. Rami rarely sends us photos of himself, because he needs permission from the prison authorities. Randa al-Masri, 22, from Gaza City, described her 13-year separation from her brother in a testimony she gave to B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 14 December 2017: My brother, Nabil al-Masri, who is now 35, was arrested at Abu Huli checkpoint in the Gaza Strip in 2004 and sentenced to 14 years in prison. The Red Cross notified us at the time that my brother had been arrested and was being held at Ketziot Prison in Israel. When my brother was arrested, I was about nine years old and he was 22. When we heard the news, we cried a lot. My parents took it very hard. Nabil was everything to me. He always played with me, took me shopping and spoiled me. Since he was arrested, I’ve only visited him twice – in 2005, when I was 10 years old. Since then, for 13 years, I haven’t seen him. My parents are the only ones allowed to visit him in prison. I get updates about how he’s doing only through their visits. From 2007 to 2012, the Israeli authorities banned all family visits and we had no idea how Nabil was doing. Those were five years of crying, heartache and longing. I’ve forgotten what he looks like. I see him only in photos. I’ve never stopped thinking about him and missing him. I’m jealous that my mom and dad do get to see him. My parents say that the visits are too short to talk about everything and give Nabil all the regards we send and tell him how much we miss him. The prison guards don’t let them take photos with him or hug him. I hope the Israeli authorities start allowing brothers and sisters to visit the prisoners held in Israel. It’s very painful for me that I can’t visit Nabil, and I cry over it often. I so much want to see him and very much hope I can come along on the next visit, in January. . Madlen al-Haluli, 27, from Gaza City, described in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 12 December 2017 how her brother’s arrest and being cut off from him has affected her family: My brother, Muaiad al-Haluli, who is now 30, was arrested on 9 September 2013 and sentenced to five years and eight months in prison for trying to enter Israel without a permit. He is currently being held in solitary confinement at Megiddo Prison. Muaiad has suffered from mental health issues since he was severely injured by a rocket in 2003. He underwent four operations in his abdomen and head and since then has been behaving oddly and saying things that are out of touch with reality. Our parents took him to psychologists, who examined him and said that he has mental and behavioral problems. In 2013, Muaiad disappeared. We searched for him for two weeks, and then the Red Cross informed us that he’d been arrested and interrogated at Ashkelon Prison (Shikma). My parents and I were shocked when we learned that he’d been arrested, especially because of the mental state he’s been in since the injury. We hired a Palestinian-Israeli lawyer and also consulted with a lawyer from the Al-Mezan Center for Human Rights, in the hope that they Muaiad would be released on the ground that he isn’t responsible for his actions due to post-traumatic stress disorder. We were asked for the medical reports on his mental health and for his medication prescriptions. The Israeli court decided that he would be examined by a medical committee at Rimon Prison. The committee decided that Muaiad is responsible for his actions and words and is mentally competent. It was a terrible blow. After the arrest, our parents couldn’t visit Muaiad. My father was refused because he’d been imprisoned in Israel in the past, and my mother suffered a stroke after the arrest and remained paralyzed down the left side of her body. Our only contact with Muaiad was through the lawyer, who updated us about his condition. We understood that he’d undergone intestinal surgery in prison due to a complication of the 2003 injury, which made us worry even more. Three months after Muaiad’s arrest, my mother’s condition deteriorated and she passed away. That year was terrible for us. In January 2015, the Red Cross notified us that my father was allowed to visit Muaiad, almost a year and a half after the arrest. We were thrilled, we’d missed him so much. I was on pins and needles, waiting for my father to come home, so I could hear how my brother was doing and stop worrying so much. In his first visit, my father told Muaiad that mom had died. My father said that the meeting was sad and that they cried a lot over her death. The Israeli authorities don’t allow brothers and sisters to visit prisoners, so I can’t see Muaiad. That’s very hard. I haven’t seen him for more than four years. On some of the times my father went to visit Muaiad, the prison management wouldn’t let him see him. We have no idea why. About two and a half years ago, Muaiad assaulted some prison guards. Since then he’s been held in isolation. That makes me very sad. We applied to the prison authorities via our lawyer to have him removed from solitary confinement, but they denied our request. I’m especially sad these days, because my father says that when he goes to visit, Muaiad’s hands and legs are in chains and it’s difficult for him to even hold the phone to talk to my father. My father says that it’s very hard to see Muaiad tied up like that, for the 75 minutes of the visit, and that he can’t hug him or even touch him. I hope I get to at least visit my brother Muaiad. I hope even more that they release him due to his mental condition. I hope the Israeli authorities allow my brother to have his photo taken together with my father on a visit, so I can see his face, which I’m starting to forget.

22 January 2018