Residents without Status

21 July 2013

There are between 40,000 and 50,000 individuals living in the Gaza Strip, who, for various reasons, do not have ID cards that are recognized by Israel no do they have official status in any other country. As explained below, this situation is a product of Israeli policy and it is Israel’s responsibility to change it.

In the Oslo Accords, the power to administer the population registry of the West Bank and Gaza Strip was handed over to the Palestinian Authority (PA). The Oslo Accords stipulated that the PA would maintain and manage the registry and that it would have authority to issue ID cards and visitor permits as well as to register children under 16 born abroad, provided one of their parents was registered as a resident of the Occupied Territories. However, it was also stipulated that the Palestinians must notify Israel of every change they make to the Population Registry and must receive Israeli approval to grant residency to spouses and children of Palestinian residents through the family reunification procedure. Israeli approval was also required for issuing visitor permits for the Occupied Territories.

In 2000, Israel discontinued updating its copy of the Population Registry and no longer recognizes the changes made by the PA ever since. Israel currently allows the PA to register only births and deaths and to replace worn documents. As a result, neither the PA nor the Hamas government can issue ID cards to stateless residents nor approve applications for family reunification.

Reasons for lack of residency status

Absence from the Gaza Strip during the census

In June 1967, Israel seized control of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip and declared them closed zones. In August and September of 1967, the Israeli military conducted a population census in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. The authorities used this census as the basis for the Palestinian Population Registry. According to the 1967 census, the population of the Occupied Territories was 954,898. Palestinians who not present in the Occupied Territories at the time were not recorded in the census. This group included nearly 390,000 Palestinian refugees. Fifty-thousand of the refugees were from the Gaza Strip, some had fled the Occupied Territories during the war, and others were deported by Israel. Other Palestinians absent from the census were Palestinians who were abroad at the time for studies, business or any other purpose. All these individuals lost their status as residents of the Occupied Territories.

Refugees who went from the West Bank and Gaza to Jordan and Egypt, received temporary travel papers from these countries and used them as a substitute for passports. These documents had to be renewed once every few years.

Status revocation after the census

According to figures provided to Israeli NGO HaMoked: Center for the Defence of the Individual on 10 June 2012 by the Office of the Coordinator of Government Activities in the Territories (COGAT), from 1967 until the establishment of the PA in 1994, the military revoked the residency status of 108,878 Palestinians from the Gaza Strip for one (or both) of the reasons enumerated below:

Remaining abroad for seven years or more for any purpose, including studies or work. This group includes thousands of Palestinians who moved to countries in the Gulf of Persia to work. After the First Gulf War, in 1990-1991, about 40,000 Palestinians born in the Occupied Territories fled Kuwait. When they sought to return home, many discovered that they had lost their residency in the Occupied Territories because they had lived abroad for more than seven years.

Failing to appear for one of the population censuses held by the Israeli military in the Gaza Strip in 1981 and 1988. According to the figures provided to HaMoked, 54,603 Palestinians were stricken from the Population Registry for absence from the 1981 census, and 7,249 Palestinians were similarly removed from the registry for absence from 1988 census. Some of these individuals did not report for the census because they were abroad when it was conducted. Others were in Gaza, but did not report for the census for various reasons: concerns arising from having been previously classified as "wanted", the cost of the tariff for renewing ID cards, lack of awareness of the obligation to report for the census and renew their IDs. It is known that some residents of the Gaza Strip who were stricken from the population registry still live in Gaza, but have no official status.

Refusal to register children

Israel registers children born in the West Bank and Gaza Strip in the Palestinian Population Registry. Until the first intifada broke out, children who were not registered at birth could be registered without any special procedures up to age 16. Children born abroad could be registered up to the age of 16, provided one of their parents was a registered resident.

In late 1987, after the first intifada broke out, the Civil Administration determined that children under the age of 16 who were born in the Occupied Territories would be registered only if their mother had residency status. It also determined that children born abroad would be registered only up to age five, regardless of their parents' residency status.

In 1995, the Interim Oslo Agreement (also known as Oslo 2) stipulated that the Palestinians could register children born abroad, provided that they were under age 16 and that one of their parents was a registered resident. Given these restrictions, there are children and adults living in the Gaza Strip who have no status: Some of them because they were born to parents who have no status. Others, because, although they were born to parents who are registered residents, they were born abroad and were not registered before the age of five. They remained without status despite returning to the Gaza Strip.

Refusal to approve applications for family reunification and for visitor permits Since the 1967 census, which formed the basis for the Palestinian Population Registry, the only way to add individuals to the registry, other than child registration, has been through family reunification. As part of this process, residents of the Occupied Territories filed applications for family reunification with immediate relatives who lived outside the Occupied Territories. Most of the applications were filed by residents of the Occupied Territories for spouses who were born to families in Palestinian refugee communities abroad. Other applications were filed by residents of the Occupied Territories on behalf of relatives who had lived abroad for a time and lost their status in the Occupied Territories, or had never had residency status to begin with. While waiting for approval for their applications, couples and other relatives could meet in the Occupied Territories only by way of time-limited visitor permits.

When the second intifada broke out in 2000, Israel froze all updates to the Palestinian Population Registry, with the exception of registration of children under 16 born to a resident parent and certain exceptional cases. Ever since, there has been no regular process by which relatives and spouses of residents of the Occupied Territories could obtain residency status. Israel has imposed a freeze on issuing visitor permits to the Occupied Territories, barring cases it defines as "humanitarian". Therefore, relatives abroad currently have no legal way of visiting the Occupied Territories.

After the family reunification process was frozen, tens of thousands of Palestinians who had resided in the West Bank and Gaza Strip on visitor permits chose to remain there with their spouses or families despite the fact that their permits had expired, for fear that if they left, they would not be allowed to return. They continue to live in the Occupied Territories without any legal status. One time “goodwill gesture”, granting residency to individuals without status As a "gesture of good will” to the PA, in 2005, Israel agreed to register individuals who had entered the Occupied Territories with an Israeli permit and remained there "unlawfully" without status. Israel also agreed to grant status to the children of residents of the Occupied Territories whose parents had not registered them at a young age and therefore remained without status as adults. In order to implement the measure, Israel transferred to the PA Committee for Civilian Affairs in Ramallah a list containing 51,738 names of individuals without status who had entered the Occupied Territories with visitor permits issued by Israel and did not leave when the permit expired, or who had unsuccessfully applied for family reunification. Of the people on the list, 22,611 lived in the Gaza Strip who entered the Occupied Territories between 1994 and 2000 with a short-term visitor permit, most of whom were spouses of residents. The Civil Committee in the Gaza Strip summoned individuals without status to register, according to the Israeli lists it received from the PA Ministry of the Interior in Ramallah. In October 2007, Israel began issuing ID cards to individuals without status, in accordance with lists provided by the Palestinian Civil Committee after the latter had completed its inquiries. By the end of 2008, 12,326 ID cards were issued to individuals who had entered the Gaza Strip with a visitor permit up to 1998. In late 2008, Israel froze the process of granting status as part of the goodwill gesture.

The situation today

According to the PA’s Ministry of Civil Affairs, 40,000 to 50,000 Palestinians currently reside in the Gaza Strip without status. They can be divided into four major groups:

Palestinians who arrived in the Occupied Territories with a visitor permit, filed for family reunification and remained in the Gaza Strip without status after their visitor permit expired. This group includes some 10,000 people whose application for family reunification was approved as part of the goodwill gesture, but who were not granted status after the process was frozen in 2008.
Residents of the Gaza Strip whose status was revoked because they did not renew their ID cards in the censuses held in the 1980s.
Residents of the Gaza Strip who, for various reasons, were not registered when they were children, and cannot be registered as adults without a special procedure.
Palestinians who entered the Gaza Strip through Rafah Crossing after the Israeli disengagement without a visitor permit. Israel stopped issuing visitor permits when the second intifada broke out. Therefore, Palestinians who live abroad and are not registered as residents of the Occupied Territories cannot get Israeli approval to enter them. A few thousand Palestinians entered Gaza without such approval over a three-month period in 2005, between the implementation of the disengagement plan and the signing of the Agreement on Movement and Access, when Israel had no control over Rafah Crossing. Others have entered over the years through the tunnels, or through Rafah Crossing upon presenting refugee cards issued by the Egyptian authorities or temporary Jordanian passports. These individuals now live in the Gaza Strip without status and Israel does not recognize their eligibility for an ID card, not even as part of possible future goodwill gestures, because it had not approved their entry into the Gaza Strip.

Suggested items

משפחת אבו סאע בימים יפים יותר. התמונה באדיבות המשפחה

The Gaza Strip

Married but apart: Women from Gaza with spouses from the West Bank forced to raise children alone

Israel’s apartheid regime prevents thousands of Palestinian families, in which one spouse is from the West Bank and the other is from the Gaza Strip, from living together as a family in the West Bank. These families are forced to make an impossible choice between living together in Gaza – at the cost of separating from family in the West Bank and enduring the harsh living conditions and financial hardships in Gaza – or living apart, with one spouse raising the children on their own. The ban is part of Israel’s separation policy, designed to isolate the Gaza Strip and implemented since the 1990s. Israeli-imposed restrictions were tightened when the second intifada began in September 2000, peaking in 2007, when Israel put the Gaza Strip under a blockade, imprisoning residents inside it. Since then, Israel has allowed residents to leave Gaza only in rare, exceptional cases it defines as “humanitarian,” treating these permits as a gesture of goodwill towards the recipients rather than their right. Israel has made it clear that, as a rule, marriage does not justify passage between the Gaza Strip and the West Bank, and the Israeli Supreme Court upheld this position, giving it a legal seal of approval. This state of affairs belies Israel’s claim that it has no responsibilities towards Gaza’s residents after having implemented the disengagement plan in 2005. Using its near complete control over all crossings – in both the West Bank and the Gaza Strip – and over the Palestinian population registry, Israel dictates Palestinian subjects’ daily lives and meddles in their most basic relationships: with spouses, parents and other relatives. The main victims of this Israeli policy are women from the Gaza Strip who married residents of the West Bank. They are left to raise their children alone in the harsh conditions of the Gaza Strip, with no hope or certainty regarding their future. B’Tselem collected testimonies from some women forced to live in this way. Yasmin ‘Abd al-Basset (35), a resident of Gaza City, lives with her four children in the Gaza Strip. Her husband lives in the West Bank. On 6 September 2022, she told B’Tselem field researcher Khaled al-’Azayzeh how Israel has repeatedly refused her applications for a permit to travel to the West Bank, so the family can live together: I came with my family from Saudi Arabia to the Gaza Strip in 1994. In 2009, I married my husband, Muhammad ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Basset ( 37), who is originally from ‘Azzun’ Atmah in Qalqiliyah District and has a West Bank ID card. Before the wedding he entered Gaza through Rafah Crossing, alone, without his relatives from the West Bank. We lived in Gaza until 2016, and during that time had three sons; ‘Abd al-Karim, who is now 12 years old, ‘Ali, now 10, and ‘Amru, now 8. At the time, my husband worked in bookstores and at a glass workshop. In March 2016, his father fell ill, so he applied for a permit to cross over to the West Bank for me and for our three sons. The applications were approved, but when we got to Erez Crossing with the children that month, we waited for four hours and were then informed that I was denied passage and wouldn’t be able to cross. They gave no explanation. In the end, my husband crossed the checkpoint with ‘Abd al-Karim and ‘Ali. I wouldn’t let him take ‘Amru, who was still nursing and stayed with me. It was awful being separated from my two sons. I collapsed. I was afraid I’d never see them again. I had hoped to leave Gaza with my husband and the boys, but then everything went black. ‘Amru and I went back to my family’s house. I couldn’t stop crying and didn’t eat for several days. I felt that we were a burden for the family. It was terribly crowded in the house. Three weeks after my husband left, ‘Ali got sick. He had a throat infection and was admitted to hospital in Qalqiliyah for ten days. I asked my husband to send me his medical reports and applied for a permit to travel to the West Bank so I could be near ‘Ali, but my application received no response. My husband filed several applications for me to go to the West Bank, but they were all rejected by Israel. After about two months, in May 2016, my husband returned to Gaza with ‘Abd al-Karim and ‘Ali. They came in through Erez Crossing, and we all lived together in an apartment we rented. We also bought furniture and appliances, and my husband went back to work at the glass workshop. Our son ‘Iz a-Din was born on 20 February 2021. In October 2021, my husband’s father took a turn for the worse and became fully paralyzed. This time, my husband applied for a permit for himself only, in order to visit him. He received the permit and went to the West Bank. After about a month, in November 2021, he renewed his ID card and applied for a change of address for me and for the children, but we’re still waiting for the request to be approved. Now my husband is in the West Bank, taking care of his father together with his brother, and I live in Gaza with our four sons. I’m suffering terribly from our family being torn apart. My son ‘Abd al-Karim is going through puberty, and it’s hard for me to deal with him alone. He feels like he’s a grown-up, doesn’t listen to me and complains that his father is not around. He has a problem with his left eardrum and needs regular check-ups, so I take him once a month for a check-up. I noticed he has facial tics and when I ask him why, he says it’s because he’s tired and also because he misses his dad. When ‘Amru talks to his father on the phone, he’s angry, and sometimes tells him that he hates him for leaving and abandoning us, but keeps asking when he’ll take us to the West Bank to be with him. When my husband returned to the West Bank at the time, ‘Iz a-Din was only eight months old. He basically doesn’t know his father. I’m supposed to take him to a-Shifaa Hospital next week for surgery on his testicles. It’s hard for me to take responsibility for everything on my own, while their father is supposed to be by my side and helping me raise our children. I do everything I can to provide for my children, even though their demands are increasing day by day. Our financial situation is tough. I work as a librarian and my husband sends us money from the West Bank every month, but it’s not enough. My father, who lives off aid from the Welfare Ministry, can’t help. I signed the boys up for a soccer club in the summer, but because I don’t have enough money, they’ll have to stop going. In July 2022, I heard that Israel approved applications for permits to visit family in the West Bank, so I submitted an application with the Civilian Affairs department in Gaza, but I haven’t received an answer yet. I stay on top of the news to see if I can apply for a change of address. I’m still hopeful it can happen. Muna al-Astal, a 36-year-old mother of four from Khan Yunis, spoke about the difficulty of raising children alone, as her husband is in the West Bank and Israel refuses to allow the family to join him, in a testimony she gave B’Tselem field researcher Khaled al-‘Azayzeh on 6 June 2022. My husband Riyad (47) and I got married in 2004 in Gaza. Riyad has a West Bank ID card and shortly after we got married, he went back to the West Bank and started working in Israel, and I stayed in the Gaza Strip. He managed to visit us in Gaza a handful of times, sometimes via Erez Crossing and sometimes via Rafah Crossing. There were two years in a row when he didn’t visit at all. The last time I saw him was a year ago. About 12 years ago, my husband submitted an application for me and for our four children, who were all born in Gaza, to register our address in Qalqiliyah. About 10 months ago, in October 2020, the request was approved. I cried for joy and prayed and thanked Allah. I sent my old ID card to my husband, so he could go to the Ministry of the Interior in Qalqiliyah and change the address, but they only changed the address of two of our four children, ‘Abd al-Jawad (15) and Dima (12). For Muhammad, who was three years old, and Maram, who turned 16 just months earlier, they did not change the address. All my joy was gone in an instant. After about eight months, they registered Muhammad on my ID card, but to this day they haven’t added Maram, even though her father and I and all her siblings are registered in Qalqiliyah. About seven months ago, I had to get Maram a new ID card with a Gaza address. Right after that, her father submitted another application for her to change her address to Qalqiliyah. Until her change of address is approved, the children and I will remain in Gaza, away from my husband. I can’t leave Maram alone in Gaza. Our youngest, Muhammad, is already four years old. He doesn’t know his father and calls my husband’s brother “Dad.” Maram has become very sensitive and cries every time she sees her friends spending time with their parents. Her daughter Maram (16) described the rift in her family in her testimony: Only my mother and my brothers received permission to change their address to Qalqiliyah, where my father has lived for a long time. The Israeli occupation refused to let me move there with them, and I’m the only one still registered in Gaza. My father lives a few kilometers from Gaza, and I can’t get to him just because there’s a checkpoint. I’m not a terrorist. I just want to live with all my family together. It’s my right to travel through all Palestinian cities without obstacles and reach him. I can’t remember the last time I woke up and hugged my father like other children. I also can’t remember the last month of Ramadan when Dad sat with around the table with us during the breakfast meal. I only see him on the phone screen, which is very hard for me because it’s not real. I wish I get the permit and we can all move in together. Hanan Abu Sa’ (34), a resident of Gaza, lived in the United Arab Emirates with her husband and three children for seven years. After her husband was laid off during the coronavirus pandemic, they had to return to the Occupeid Territories – he to Tulkarm and she to Gaza with the children. On 5 June 2022, she spoke with B’Tselem field researcher Khaled al-‘Azayzeh about the difficulty of raising the children without their father and Israel’s refusal to approve their applications for family reunification. I met my husband, Ayman (34), in the United Arab Emirates and we got married there. We lived there until 2019 with our three children, who were born there: Jud (9), Ahmad (7) and Ward (5). When the coronavirus pandemic broke out, problems started at my husband’s workplace. He was working as an electrical engineer and was eventually laid off. The children and I went back to live in the Gaza Strip, and my husband returned to Tulkarm, where he was born and where his family lives. That’s how our family was torn apart. He found a job there, and he in a rental with roommates to save money. He sends about half of his salary to us. The last time we met was in October 2019, when I went with the children to meet their father in Turkey. Ward, who was two years old at the time, squealed with joy when she saw her dad at the airport. We spent three months there together, and then I went back with the children to Gaza and my husband returned to Tulkarm. Traveling with the children was very difficult, especially through Rafah Crossing. Ahmad keeps recalling the experiences he had with his father and says the only thing he wants is his dad. One night, Ward fell and hit her head and I had to take her to hospital, so I left Jud and Ahmad, who were very small, alone at home. It’s very hard to cope with the kids without my husband, especially now that Jud has a thyroid infection. She has to get surgery to remove a tumor on her neck. I’m afraid of the responsibility of consenting to the surgery alone, without my husband, because the doctors say it’s an operation that can put her at risk. Our family is in pieces. The children suffer from their father’s absence, so I try to call him whenever there’s s a good internet connection. Sometimes my husband gets within a few kilometers of Gaza and calls to say he’s close by. It makes me cry, knowing he’s so close to us but we can’t see him. I know his family in Tulkarm is also giving him a hard time because we’re torn apart. I’m scared that in the end, we’ll have to get divorced and there will be no solution. Because I live alone, people are constantly checking on me. Because of the mentality in Gaza, it’s hard for me to be independent and sometimes I have to come home before it gets dark, even if I haven’t finished my errands. It’s been almost two years since my husband last filed for a change of address for me and the children, and we haven’t received an answer yet. Update: Hanan Abu Sa’ traveled with her children to Egypt hoping to reach Jordan and from there enter the West Bank. However, she reported that after an exhausting journey and difficulties at the crossing, the Jordanian authorities denied them entry and they had to turn back. Marwah Abu Hamadah is a 37-year-old mother of three. In 2019, she and her second husband, a resident of Bethlehem, got married in Cairo. She lived with him in the West Bank for about two years, without an official status and in constant fear of being deported along with the baby she had meanwhile. When her father fell ill, she returned to Gaza, but Israel rejected all her applications to return to the West Bank. For over a year, she and her infant daughter were separated from her husband. On 26 July 2022, before her application to return to the West Bank was approved, Abu Hamadah told B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd about the hardship and uncertainty in her life: My husband, Muhammad a-Sha’er (52), a resident of Bethlehem, and I met at Cairo University in 2017, where we completed our Ph.D.s that same year. After two years, we got married in Egypt. We wanted to return to the West Bank, but it was difficult to get an entry permit because I’m registered as a resident of Gaza. Ultimately, we managed to get the permit, and I crossed Allenby Bridge on 28 August 2019. We arrived in Bethlehem, and on 9 October 2019 filed an application to change my address from Gaza to Bethlehem. The application still hasn’t been approved. We lived in Bethlehem for two years. I worked as a lecturer at Palestine Ahlia University. On 15 December 2020, I gave birth to our daughter, Misk, in Bethlehem. Because the address on my ID card is in Gaza, every time we drove to the university was hell. We took detours to avoid checkpoints, and were constantly afraid soldiers would arrest me or deport me back to Gaza without the baby. We were afraid the army would raid our house, as they sometimes do in our neighborhood. In May 2021, my father, Khalil Abu Hamadah (74), fell ill and I was afraid he would pass away before I could say goodbye to him. I decided to go to Gaza to visit him and took Misk with me. We entered Gaza without prior coordination, and got in easily because I’m registered as a resident there. I only found out later that Misk’s address is also listed in Jabalya, Gaza, and not in Bethlehem. My sons from my previous marriage, Muhammad (16) and Majd (13), live in Gaza. It had been nine years since I left Gaza to study in Cairo, and they stayed with their father, my ex-husband. When I lived in Bethlehem, I tried calling them almost every day, but he wouldn’t let me talk to them. I sometimes managed to communicate with them through my sister Najwa. Since I returned to Gaza, I’ve been seeing them twice a week. The condition Majd has had in his left ear from a young age has grown worse. His ossicles are eroding, and he has trouble hearing from his right ear. He needs surgery to remove part of the ossicle. Almost a year ago, on 31 August 2021, I heard on the news that Israel was going to approve changes of address. I applied to the Ministry of Civil Affairs in Gaza, and my husband applied at the same time to the DCO in Bethlehem. I also submitted a request to return to work at the university in Bethlehem, after the management contacted the DCO on 10 September 2021. On 7 October 2021, the DCO informed me that my request was denied as it did not meet the criteria. I filed another application on 10 October 2021 and got a security refusal on 24 October 2021. My name wasn’t on the list of 4,000 applications for changes of address by Gaza residents that Israel approved. I didn’t receive any response to my last application, from 28 October 2021. Later, on 21 June 2022, I filed to change Muhammad’s address from Gaza to Bethlehem, so he can move in with me as soon as my application to return is granted. Majd doesn’t have an ID card yet, so there’s no need to submit an application for him. I lost my job at the university and can’t find work in Gaza. My husband sends us money so I can provide for Misk, but our relationship is suffering and I feel that everything is falling apart, that my life is torn between Gaza and the West Bank. I live under terrible pressure and don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. People in Gaza look down on me because I’m far from my husband, and everyone keeps asking me why I live like this. It’s been over a year since Misk and I returned. She was five months old at the time,and since then, she’s only seen her father on the phone screen. Sometimes she grabs the phone from my hand and calls out to him: “Baba! Baba!”. My top priority now is to get Majd the best medical care and go back with Misk to my husband and to my work in Bethlehem. I ask all relevant parties to pressure Israel to help the women who are stuck in Gaza. I know of hundreds of similar cases. In what country does a woman live with her children in one place while her husband lives in another? Update: Marwah Abu Hamadah managed to book her son Majd an appointment to be treated in Bethlehem on 17 August 2022 and receive entry permits for him, her daughter Misk and herself.

13 November 2022

סאברין קדייח. צילום: אולפת אל-כורד, בצלם, 23.3.22

The Gaza Strip

Testimony of Sabrin al-Qdeih, from the Gaza Strip, who did not get a chance to say goodbye to her father before he passed away, as Israel refused to let exit

These are Sabrin Qdeih (40) and her father ‘Abd a-Rahman; photographed separately, as Israel forced them to live for many years – separately. Even after ‘Abd a-Rahman fell ill last February, Israel continued to deny Sabrin the possibility of seeing him and saying goodbye. Even after he passed away, last March, at the age of 70, Israel still denies Sabrin the possibility of visiting his grave. Sabrin lives in the Gaza Strip and her father lived and died in the West Bank, less than 100 kilometers away. According to Israel’s official policy, which has been repeatedly upheld by the justices of its Supreme Court, that fact alone justifies not allowing the two to see each other. In a testimony she gave B'Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 23 March 2022, Sabrin said: My mother and father are originally from the Gaza Strip, but about 40 years ago, they moved to Qalqiliyah in the West Bank, because of my father’s work. In 2000, I went to Gaza to visit family. I traveled with my brother, who was four years old at the time, and my sister, who was 15, to accompany my mother, who was ill and had to have an oxygen tank. My father, and ten other siblings, stayed in Qalqiliyah. While we were in Gaza, the intifada broke out, and the Israelis closed Erez Crossing, so we couldn’t go back to the West Bank. My mother’s medical condition took a turn for the worse, and she was admitted to hospital. She didn’t get better, and she died in 2001, while we were still in Gaza. My two siblings and I stayed with our uncles from our mother’s and father’s sides. I started studying computer engineering at university and raised my brother and sister, Bahaa and Sunya . I submitted applications for an exit permit to go back to the West Bank and visit our father and siblings over and over again, but we didn’t get it. We lived on welfare benefits and support from our relatives. When I finished university, I started working in various charities and organizations. Life without a mother and father and with the responsibility for my brother and sister was very hard. I suffered a lot. In 2006, I got married and moved to a rental apartment near my brother and sister. I’ve had kids over the years. I kept filing applications for a permit to visit my father and all my family in the West Bank, but they were all rejected. In the meantime, most of my brothers and sisters got married, and I couldn’t attend their weddings. Suddenly, in 2016, I got a permit for a three-day visit. I went by myself and spent three days and three nights with my family. I hardly slept. I didn’t want to miss a single minute. A year later, on the holidays in 2017, I made another application, but this time, I didn’t get the permit. In 2018, my brother Bahaa was killed in the Great March of Return protests. He was 22. It was a terrible shock. This terrible loss destroyed me. My father managed to come for two days and stay for some of the mourning period, but he didn’t make it to the funeral, to see Bahaa and say goodbye to him. The distance from my family made the grief worse. I went through a hard emotional crisis, and my family couldn’t help me. They were far away. After he was killed, I made more applications for a permit, but got no answer. About six months ago, one of my brothers in the West Bank got married. He gave the invitation to the DCO in the West Bank, and I sent photocopies of my ID card and my kids’ birth certificates, hoping we’d get a permit, but the application was rejected again. Last February, my father fell ill and had to be hospitalized. On 23 February 2022, I filed an application for a permit, but I didn’t get an answer for two weeks. I filed an application for expedited processing. I did everything, and in the end, on 13 March 2022, I got a notification that the application had been denied for security reasons. My father’s condition was bad. I prayed to God I’d be able to see him and visit him. Those days were nerve-racking. I kept talking with my brothers and sisters in the West Bank, following my father’s condition from afar. On 24 March 2022, I got the call that my father had passed. The news hit me like a bolt of lightning. I contacted the Maslak (Gisha) human rights organization right away, and filed another application, attaching the death certificate. I’m still waiting for an answer. I asked Al-Mezan as well to file an application for me, but I haven’t received an answer yet. I feel very lonely. My children don’t know my family. My sister Sunya is in bad shape mentally, and I’m responsible for her. I just want to see my brothers and sisters and mourn our father’s death with them. Why are the occupation authorities denying me something so basic? They’re my family, my siblings, and I want to be by their side. I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to my father and see him for the last time. I’m no threat to Israel in any way. Why won’t they give me a permit?

24 April 2022

Residency & Family Separation

Under the guise of the permit system: Israel separates women living in Gaza from their families in the West Bank. The story of Ahlam and Ziad Salem

Ahlam Salem (41), a mother of five, was born and raised in the Gaza Strip. In 1997, she married Ziad, a resident of Ramallah, and lived in the West Bank with him. In 2006, while she was visiting her family in Gaza, Hamas took over the Gaza Strip, and Israel closed the crossings. The couple’s repeated attempts to have Ahlam move back to Ramallah have failed, and she has remained in ‘Izbat Beit Hanun in the Gaza Strip with her five children, away from her husband and their father. In her testimony, she recounted: I live in an apartment in the al-‘Awadah towers in ‘Izbat Beit Hanun with my five children: Ahmad (23), Muhammad (20), Maria (18), Mahmoud (14), and ‘Ata (2). I submitted many requests to return to Ramallah, so I could live with my husband in our home, but I never got the permit. Ziad doesn’t want to come back to the Gaza Strip because he would lose his job in the West Bank, and it’s very hard to find a job in the Gaza Strip. Besides, his family is in Ramallah, and according to tradition, the wife follows the husband. We submitted many requests, but Israel refused even to receive them. In the end, we stopped submitting. My children haven’t seen their father in years, and it’s a terrible situation. In 2010, Ziad managed to enter Gaza through Rafah Crossing and live with his family for a year, but he was not able to find work due to the severe economic situation created by Israel’s blockade. He was forced to return to the West Bank: My wife and children were ecstatic, and we felt like we’d received a gift from heaven. It’s hard to describe the feeling and explain what it was like to be together again with your loved ones after so long, and finally give them love. But the joy was incomplete because I didn’t have a job, and we had no way to make a living. After about two months, I decided to go back to the West Bank, but the crossings between Gaza and Egypt were closed. I felt like we were becoming a burden on my wife’s family, who were providing for us. I became bitter and regretted the day I returned to Gaza. It’s a terrible feeling when you can’t provide for your family, and you feel like you’re getting charity. In those days, my self-respect was the only thing I had left. After a year, when the crossings opened, I managed to return to Ramallah. I couldn't find work there, either and worked irregularly. My mother helped me financially as much as she could. We needed to support two families in Gaza, mine and my brother’s. In the end, I found a job in the air conditioning field. I recently became a department manager and earn a good salary. Although our financial situation has improved, our family has remained split. Our only contact is by phone and social media. We’re always looking for ways to live together again, or at least for my wife and kids to get permits to visit me. In 2018, Ahlam’s mother had to undergo surgery in Ramallah. Ahlam received a permit to accompany her and was able to see her husband for the first time in eight years. Ahlam described the reunion: After the treatment, my mother went back to Gaza, and I stayed in Ramallah for about a year. After eight years of being apart, we were finally together again. I was overjoyed and felt how much I had missed family life. I could imagine a stable, secure life with a lot of joy, with my husband and the kids. But the kids stayed in Gaza, and I missed them terribly. After a year, I returned to Gaza, and then the suffering and the longing for my husband in Ramallah started again. I made more applications for permits, but they were either unanswered or rejected. We only stay in touch by phone. The separation is hard for me, and even more so for the kids, who don't know what family life is like anymore. I have to take care of all their needs alone, help them deal with learning difficulties at school, and be both their mother and their father. It’s exhausting. I’m sick of living like this. I hope this situation will get solved, and we can return to Ramallah and live like a normal family. Our family has been torn apart for many years. We just want to live like any other family. Ziad described living together as a couple during this period and the unbearable difficulty of being separated again: We walked around, traveled, and visited family and friends. I tried to make it up to her as much as possible. We were constantly in touch with our sons and daughters. They were fine most of the time, but they missed us, and it was very hard on them. After a year in Ramallah, Ahlam went back to them. She had also become pregnant and wanted to be with her family after the birth. We went back to the previous situation: longing, separation, and talking on the phone. I’ve never met or held my youngest son, ‘Ata, who was born in Gaza after my wife returned. It’s hard to describe this life. It’s harder than a prisoner's life because he knows how many years he has left to live like that, while I have no idea how long this injustice will last. I don’t know how long I’ll be torn from my wife and kids. It torments me all day long. It’s especially hard for me to see the neighbors’ sons living with their parents, who spend time with them and play with them. Every time I see that, I think about my kids and being away from them and miss them so much. I also want to spend the holidays with them, take them to the market, buy them presents, spend time with them. The distance between us is only a 40 minute drive, but I haven’t been able to see them for many years. It’s a terrible injustice.

8 March 2021