Activism on the Edge

 "Hello, they beat this man and took him away for no reason. We don't know where they took him."

"It is the eighth day of the curfew and I am not allowed out of my house. They don't even allow us to get babies' milk, bread, or diapers."

"No one went to school. This is terrible for the kids."

"The soldiers are here at my house. They are taking my car."

These are just some of the messages we regularly receive from Arej (pronounced Areej) Abdel Karim Al-Jabari, a Palestinian mother of nine and social activist who lives in the Wadi Al-Hussein neighborhood of Hebron - the only Palestinian city with an illegal Israeli settlement in the middle of it. Arej lives on the border between of an Israeli-controlled territory and a Palestinian one. Often confined to her house by the frequent curfews imposed on her Palestinian neighborhood by the Israeli military, Arej has been committed since 2007 to assisting her neighbors through the documentation of the "crimes of the occupation," letting the world know of the horrific conditions under which Palestinians in Hebron are forced to live.

"What makes me photograph is the injustice that the people - the children and the women - are exposed to," she says.

Hebron is a sacred place to both Muslims and Jews, who believe it to be the burial place of Abraham and other important figures from Scripture. Due to its religious significance, Hebron has become a stronghold for the religious extremists within the illegal Israeli settler movement, who believe that the Jewish people have a divine right to control the West Bank, and who believe that a "Jewish return to Hebron is historical justice."

Arej has lived in her house since 1999, just two years after Israel and the PLO signed the Hebron Protocol, dividing her city - the second largest in the West Bank - into three distinct areas. Area H1 comprises 80% of the city and is under Palestinian civil and security control; Area H2, under Israeli military control, comprises 20% of the city and includes the entire Old City of Hebron, once the commercial center for the entire West Bank. 40,000 Palestinians still live in H2, and are subject to its exceptionally complicated fragmentation through the presence of military checkpoints, barbed wire, concrete barriers, surveillance cameras, military zones, and illegal Israeli settlements. Arej lives on the border between H1 and H2.

Still yet a third section of Hebron is referred to as the "restricted area," where 700 Israeli settlers live illegally inside the city. Here, Palestinian residents are forbidden from driving or even walking on certain roads. The presence of the Restricted Area, heavily guarded by numerous checkpoints, military watchtowers, and soldiers, makes movement in the entire city of Hebron extremely arduous for its residents. What was once a 5-minute walk from one side of the restricted area to the other now requires a 30-minute taxi ride around. As a result of such restrictions on movement and commerce, as well as extreme military repression and settler violence, thousands of Palestinian residents have lost their source of income and have either moved away from Hebron or are living in poverty.

Still, 40,000 Palestinians, as an act of nonviolent resistance to their own ethnic cleansing, remain in H2. Through their steadfast refusal to leave, these Palestinians have prevented the 700 Israeli settlers in the Old City illegally from taking over the entire area.

And yet, such a form of resistance takes a toll. Palestinians in the Old City are subject to daily marches of heavily armed soldiers; each week, dozens of soldiers clear the streets of Palestinians in order to make way for Jewish visitors from around the world to tour the city they believe will soon be entirely theirs. For the last two years, Areej has been confined to her house from Thursday night to Sunday morning by an Israeli military-imposed curfew. "This means," she says, "that residents are in their homes and it is forbidden to open the doors and windows."

Last week, due to the Jewish holiday of Sukkot, the Israeli military would not allow Areej or any of her neighbors to leave their houses for eight full days. "This is in addition," she adds, "to the assault on residents in their homes, searching them and beating them." Two weeks ago, they confiscated her car due to "security reasons." Such abuse, she tells us, has dramatically increased since October 2023.

Frequently, Areej photographs the military harassing and detaining Palestinian men outside of her home. "They detain them for no reason and torture them for eight hours," she tells us.

From her window, Areej documents this harassment with her camera and posts the videos on her Facebook and TikTok pages. While most of her followers are Palestinian, she also reaches people in the U.S. and elsewhere.

Arej feels strongly about keeping the hope of her community alive during a time when spirits could be so easily broken. For several years, she has run month-long knitting circles for women out of her house. "To relieve some of the pressure," she says. Especially for "mothers who see their children being tortured." Using yarn donated from various locations, Arej teaches the women to knit baby blankets, sweaters, scarves, and various other necessary items.

Arej also runs a summer camp for children, providing activities and food during a time when there is not much else for children to do. The children send gift packages down to other children in Masafer Yatta - the South Hebron Hills - who are actively being pushed off their land.

When asked what she wishes people in other countries knew about life under occupation, and how people abroad can support her work, she says, "I hope that the international community can stand by me and support the activities I do for women and children. I want friends to know how we suffer, to watch my documentation videos, see my work for children, and help complete my mission."

"There is an impossible dream for women," she adds, "which is to go and perform Umrah [an Islamic pilgrimage] in Saudia Arabia. They want to go pray, but the financial amount is large. I hope that those who care about them will help them achieve their only dream." She also hopes that another car will come her way so that she can cease being confined to her house and once again be a support to the rest of her neighborhood.

Arej says that she has become a target of soldiers because they know that she "films and exposes their crimes" and that they are "waiting to arrest me at any moment."

"But I am strong and they will not defeat me."

To follow Arej and her work, or to donate:

TikTok handle is @m12345677777777777777 (https://www.tiktok.com/@m12345677777777777777)

Instagram: @areejjabari6 (https://www.instagram.com/areejjabari6)

A Fraught and Beautiful Pilgrimage

 Since we have been on the ground, our team of four has been split in half, serving at two very different sites, experiencing different faces of the same genocide. Two have been in Masafer Yatta, the South Hebron Hills, staying with families who are under daily threat of expulsion, forced removal, and vicious attacks by illegal Israeli settlers. That team sleeps in tents, simple one room houses, or caves at night and keeps watch over the hills by day, looking out for possible attacks or theft of livestock.

The other two have been assigned to Al Khalil, the city of Hebron, where we have been asked to monitor checkpoints and be present during the weekly settler incursions into the city. This team has also been asked to participate in some of the ongoing month-long olive harvest, traveling to various locations around the West Bank where villages are organizing large group harvests in order to support families who are vulnerable to attacks (which is pretty much everybody now).

Wanting to reunite and reconnect with each other and see some of the sites of Palestine, our team recently took a two-day break together to Nazareth and Taybeh. Nazareth, while technically inside the nation-state of Israel (which many Palestinians refer to as '48 - the year that much of Palestine was stolen and taken over by settler colonialists) is still very much a Palestinian town. It's just that the Palestinians here - 20% Christian and 80% Muslim - also have Israeli citizenship. According to the Gospels, Nazareth is the place where the angel Gabriel asked Mary if she would be willing to be the mother of God. It is the place where Mary, herself living under the occupation of an outside colonizing force, said, "yes." 

To get to Nazareth and to visit the Sea of Galilee, our Palestinian friend recommended that we rent a car, which we did. Half of our team picked up the car in Jerusalem and drove to Ramallah to meet the other half - an enormous lesson in the occupation's tactic of restriction of movement. Though Ramallah is only 10 miles away from Jerusalem, it took our team 3 hours and many frustrated attempts at navigating roads closed by military checkpoints and other military roadblocks to get there. Neither google maps or the Israeli app "Waze" would navigate us inside the Palestinian civilian-controlled Areas A or B, and so we had to rely on calling Palestinian friends and getting various pieces of advice before finally driving through the massive and intimidating Qalandia checkpoint. The next morning, thinking we had solved the issue, we attempted to leave Ramallah (area A) and travel to the Israeli controlled territory toward Nazareth. Once again, it took us 2 hours just to leave the Palestinian city, encountering more road closures and checkpoints enforced by the Israeli military.

We were lucky. As internationals in a rental car, we had the yellow "Israeli-only" license plates, basically a free ticket to travel through checkpoints in a special, speedier lane. Palestinians with green and white license plates are under much more scrutiny when traveling into Jerusalem; and most Palestinians are not allowed into Jerusalem at all, though it is their capital and only mere miles away.

Once inside '48, we drove along modern highways lined with both Israeli and U.S. flags - the close relationship of these colonizing forces on display for all to see. We felt relief entering the more Palestinian town of Nazareth, exploring the Church of the Annunciation, and eating a lunch of falafel, hummus, bread, and veggies before putting our bags down at a quaint hostel inside the Old City. After a nap, we headed out to the Mount of Beatitudes where we drank wine and read aloud the Sermon on the Mount before traveling to the Sea of Galilee. There, we reveled in a gorgeous waterfall and sat on the rocks while noticing Palestinian men nearby fished from the same body of water where Jesus called his disciples.

 

The next day, Monday, was a joyous one for so many. With the signing of the peace deal, 20 living Israeli hostages were released from captivity in Gaza, and the bodies of those hostages who had been killed (most by Israeli fire) began to be released as well. In turn, 1700 Gazans who had been kidnapped by the Israeli military were also released and reunited with their families, as well as 250 Palestinian political prisoners. Sadly, 150 of those released were immediately deported to other countries and not allowed to reunite with their loved ones.

We traveled back into the West Bank to the Christian village of Taybeh (an Arabic word meaning good or delicious), to visit the only craft brewery in the Middle East. It was easier to get back into the West Bank this time, as we were driving through Area C. (Fully controlled by the Israeli military, Area C constitutes 60% of the West Bank and is likely to be annexed by Israel soon). Still, the Israeli app "Waze" would only direct us to the outskirts of the village, where we encountered a huge red sign warning us that entering a Palestinians village would be "Dangerous" to our lives (example pic here).

We got to spend a few hours at the brewery, sipping different types of delicious beer and enjoying the stunning view. We got a tour by the owner, Madees, and listened to the story about her Palestinian father who moved back from Boston to Taybeh after the Oslo Accords of 1994 to start a family business, believing peace was on its way. We learned that each year since 2005, Taybeh Brewery has hosted an Octoberfest Weekend with live music, food, beer, and fellowship.

For almost twenty years, Octoberfest in Taybeh was a huge event, attended by people from all around the West Bank and a boost to the local economy. Unfortunately, since the start of the war in Gaza two years ago, Octoberfest has been cancelled. "People don't feel like celebrating right now," said Madees. "Also, with security so tight, people have lost their jobs and don't have the money."

Though we had been planning to move on to Ramallah that night in order to be closer to the car rental return, we learned that there were extra road closures and settler attacks on the roads due to the prisoner release. And so after wandering around Taybeh, we decided to stay the night at a guesthouse and go to Monday evening mass, having missed it the morning before due to our delays.

Unfortunately, the road closures still had a huge impact on our evening. The owner of our guest house - unbeknownst to us - had been working in Ramallah that day and was stuck for 2 hours at a checkpoint, unable to return to Taybeh until 8 pm to get our rooms ready. Unsure of what to do after Mass, we were so grateful to be invited by two Palestinian women (neighbors, one of them a relative of our guest house owner) to their home for tea while we waited.

One of the women had lived in Australia for 35 years with her husband, but had recently moved home to Taybeh to retire. "See how they treat us here?" she asked. "Nobody in the whole world would stand to be treated this way." When I asked her whether she ever considered returning to Australia or to another country where one of her three children lived she immediately replied, "Never. This is my home."

We met Abu Jaber (name changed for safety), the husband of the other woman and the owner of the house where we had tea. Abu Jaber is originally from Gaza, and was watching on his TV news of the ceasefire and the joyous reunion of political prisoners with their families in Ramallah. Noting this, I asked him if he still had family in Gaza. "Yes," he replied. "Is your family OK?" I asked. "Nobody in Gaza is OK," he replied.

When the owner of our guesthouse finally arrived, he joined us for tea before taking us to his newly completed guest house where he brought us to our rooms for the night. We were the first guests! Since the start of the war, Abed's (name changed for safety) employment had decreased from full to part time. And so he spent his free time fixing up his grandfather's old house in the beautiful village of Taybeh. It was stunning and welcoming. He and his wife cooked us an incredible, traditional Palestinian meal of maqluba, using herbs from their garden. We awoke to a gorgeous spread of bread, hummus, yogurt, beans, cucumbers, olive oil, za'tar, coffee, and eggs from their hens - a delightful meal to send us on our way back to our placements for our remaining two weeks.

Nowhere on earth have I experienced such amazing hospitality or stayed in such beautiful hostels as in Palestine. And yet, their economy is struggling because nobody is visiting. Israelis tell the world that it is dangerous to enter a Palestinian town or village, though it is only dangerous because they make Israelis make it so.

If you ever feel so inclined, I highly recommend you to visit. My prayer is that Christians from around the world travel here in such droves that it becomes impossible for Israel to continue to lie about the reality of this oppressive occupation. My prayer is that Christians from around the world travel here so often that it becomes normal for us to together marvel at the beauty and the deep Christian history of this Palestinian place. My prayer is that Christians from around the world stand in solidarity with their Palestinian sisters and brothers and demand an immediate end to Israel's brutal ethnic cleansing of Palestine.

 

Sumud: A Steadfast Resistance

 The Palestinian people say the most important word to them is "sumud." It means steadfastness, perseverance, resilience, or "we are going to stay, this is our land." It can mean actions, demonstrations, protests, legal battles, or other confrontations. Entire books have been written about "sumud."

There is, though, another word I hear quite often here that could be spelled "kool yom," or "everyday." On a handful of occasions someone will show you a video of settlers, in Arabic "mustawtan", harassing, attacking, and terrorizing their family home and after three or four videos simply say "everyday." They'll proudly point out their mother, their brothers, their cousin, their father, and how they resist these harassments from settlers and military (mostly by insisting on living their life and caring for their family). They'll slightly grin as they show you a video of their mother cooking bread while a settler stares down at them. "How often does this happen?" we ask. The response: "Everyday." A settler will herd sheep trespassing on Palestinian land past a burnt car through gates the settlers probably cut. The owner of the house will show you a video of settlers setting a car on fire and say "everyday." They continue, "The settlers, the military, they don't want peace they want Palestine. Why should we leave? My family has been here for 3,000 years." Those last two words come out with such a strident, yet gentle, staccato that you have no trouble believing they could recall ever single day and what happened over the past 3,000 years. Everyday.

But, of course, not every single day is the same. Some days are cliffs. Some days the settler encroachment reaches a water line or settlers bulldoze the power lines. Some days they burn cars. They trespass and cut an olive tree (or the military comes and cuts 150). With the wave of a hand the occupational forces turn your land into a closed military zone. Another hand the occupation can demolish homes. The occupation murders people with the guns they get from the United States. Everyday the same project is being brought forth, the project of enclosure and land theft. The project of settler colonialism. The everyday terror is part of the centrality of violence to capitalism (or/and the US-Israel Zionist project). Ali Kadri, building off of Rosa Luxembourg, calls this "accumulation by waste." In order to get land, resources, and political control at is most profitable (not always cheapest) rate you must "beat up" the community living there, and make beating them up a market to profit off of. You must make the everyday filled with enough terror people feel no choice but to leave.

But everyday will also be filled acts of resistance and "sumud." They will record the settler violence and harassment. They'll call their neighbors to warn them. they'll insist on having strong family ties. They'll resist. They'll be human. Everyday.

Despite Ceasefire, Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine Rages On

Many of my friends at home are asking me how folks here in the West Bank are taking the news of the Gaza peace plan. Based on what we are observing here, our assessment is that those talks have absolutely no meaningful impact on the ongoing ethnic cleansing of the West Bank except, perhaps, supporting an acceleration of the violence. Illegal Israeli settlers and the military seem to be desperate to grab the land now, while they still have a chance. Every morning, we wake to learn of a new kidnapping or killing of Palestinian youth or home demolition that happened in the night, as well as regular invasions by the Israeli military not only of refugee camps and small villages, but also of cities under full Palestinian control. While the world's eyes are on Gaza, Israel is working rapidly to complete its annexation of the West Bank. It seems they will not stop until all of Palestine is theirs.

Yesterday, our team joined a large Palestinian family in a village north of Ramallah to help them harvest their olives. It had been several years since they had been able to harvest from some of these trees - the location is so close to the road that they are very vulnerable to attacks by illegal Israeli settlers. Such attacks have become increasingly vicious in the last several years. Gangs of young men in their teens and twenties armed with automatic rifles and metal pipes feel emboldened to beat up Palestinians and international observers alike, at times using live fire, knowing that they will not be prosecuted. Despite these risks, this Palestinian family felt that our team of five internationals could be enough of a protective presence to allow them to go out to their fields. Thankfully, there were no incidents, and we harvested from dozens of trees.

Tomorrow and the next day, we join more harvest events. Given the area and the day, we expect to be met with violence from the military and perhaps illegal settlers as well. Pray for us.

Due to the rain today, there were no active harvests for which protective presence was requested. Instead, we have been staying put in the city, doing laundry, writing, and catching up with an old Palestinian friend! We have been receiving regular updates and photos from Al Khalil, our first placement here and a place to which we hope to return.

In Al Khalil, both yesterday and today, the Israeli military forced Palestinians and internationals off the streets of the Old City, using concussion grenades and the threat of live fire to do so. They did this in part because it is currently a Jewish holiday - Sukkot, a week-long harvest festival. On Jewish holidays in Al Khalil, illegal Israeli settlers and other Jewish visitors take over the streets, and it is not safe for Palestinians to be in their own city. This year, the Palestinian Ministry of Education shut down school for the entire week - already open only three days due to financial constraints - in order to keep the children safe from soldiers and settler violence. Like snow days. But much, much worse.

Illegal Israeli settlers decided to celebrate the holy festival this year by taking over a Palestinian building in the old city and establishing it as a new illegal Israeli settlement. Above the shop of our Palestinian friend fly several Israeli flags. We are not allowed to take pictures of this new outpost because it is in front of a military base. If we are caught photographing military bases or one of the many, many checkpoints that encircle the city like prison walls, we will be immediately deported. It would seem that the Israeli military does not want the reality of what they are doing to be known to the world.

If the United States government refused to fund Israel's military occupation of Palestine, this ethnic cleansing would end tomorrow. This conflict is not a religious one or even a complicated one. It is settler colonialism - a nation-state choosing to destroy and replace the Indigenous culture of the land that already exists in order to extract resources for a capitalist, and in this case Zionist, society. For those of us with U.S. citizenship, we have the choice to refuse to fund this project. We can refuse to pay federal taxes that fund the ethnic cleansing of Palestine.

Daily Indignities, Daily Injustices

 Sadly, it is just another day. Just another day of monitoring Checkpoint 56 to see whether Palestinian children and teachers are allowed by Israeli soldiers to get to school in the morning and home in the afternoon. Just another day of watching boys and girls in their own hometown, laughing and carrying backpacks full of books, suffer the regular indignity of passing in and out of a heavily militarized, barricaded, monstrous gate, at times being stopped and questioned by heavily armed soldiers who hold their fate in their hands. Somebody shared with me their old photos of checkpoints in Hebron since taking a picture of this scene would get me immediately deported, so while the words are mine, the photos are not my own.

 

School in Hebron - or Al Khalil, as Palestinians call it - is currently only in session three days a week due to lack of funding to pay teachers. Last week, because of anticipated violence by illegal Israeli settlers and the soldiers who protect them, Palestinian schools in Al Khalil were cancelled. Next week, school may be cancelled again due to a teachers' strike. The checkpoints are frequently closed by Israeli military for random reasons. Going to school is definitely not a daily or even regular occurrence for children in Al Khalil.

As we watch the checkpoint, we notice we are being watched by at least five cameras and two soldiers with their fingers on the triggers of their automatic weapons on the rooves above us. Children - sometimes a dozen at a time - are excited to see foreigners in a place where many assume they have been abandoned by the outside world. Seemingly unfazed by the backdrop of violence, they surround us and chat with us excitedly, using the little English they remember from school: "Where are you from?" they ask over and over again. "What is your name?"

We answer back in the little broken Arabic we know. "How old are you?" "What is your name?" we respond. For the most part, the children - ranging in age from 2 to 12 - are delighted by our banter. They ask whether we love Israel or Palestine. "We love Palestine!" we say, and the children are visibly relieved, assured now that we will not attack them. One of them announces with all seriousness, "We don't love Israel because Israel kills children."

Thinking we are done for the day, grateful that there were no major incidents at either the morning or afternoon checkpoint watch, we go and have tea and sage - chai wa maramiya - at a local, mostly empty, coffee shop. Discussing which produce we'll purchase at the local market, we begin the 40-minute walk home.

Suddenly, six Israeli soldiers all armed with live ammunition - one carrying what appears to be a rocket-propelled grenade launcher on his back and another a machine gun - march out of the military base gate and begin parading menacingly down the Palestinian streets of the Old City. They stop at least three Palestinian cars at random, checking IDs and searching trunks. We follow them and film as the soldiers make a loop around the entire market, making their presence known through intimidation and rude remarks.

While we are horrified at this display of violence and abuse, we notice that the local Palestinians do not seem phased. Children continue riding their bikes near the soldiers. Couples continue to shop together for produce. Drivers shut the trunks of their cars after they are searched and drive away.

After about 20 minutes, the soldiers return to the Israeli military base located across the street from the shops of some of our friends. We go to check on them, to see if they are OK. It seems we are more shaken than they are. While they have gathered in our friend's shop to wait out the incident, they are not shocked or even surprised. Ready to move on with their day, they hastily offer us their business card and offer for us to come visit. "This is what we go through every day," they seem to say. Just another day.

Olive Harvest: A Dangerous Resistance

"Why do you think the Israelis continue to destroy this beautiful land by building up so many monstrous checkpoints and dropping so many bombs?" I asked our Palestinian driver, a long-time nonviolent activist leading our caravan of over 60 internationals, Israelis, and Palestinians heading to the olive harvest. Despite a life-time of activism, this man has been more careful lately with his resistance after having recently spent an unimaginable six months in Israeli prisons, suffering untold abuse.

"They want to make us all leave," he responded. "They want to make it so unbearable for us here that we choose to leave, so they can take all the land for themselves."

 

We were on our way to Beita, a Palestinian village north of Ramallah, (read about Beita's amazing history of organized resistance here) to assist families in harvesting their olives. A joyful family event that takes place for about a month each fall, olive harvesting has become a major symbol of Palestinian resistance to the Israeli occupation. Every year, Palestinians risk arrest, injury, and even death by harvesting olives on their own land. Soldiers prevent Palestinians from harvesting by randomly declaring large tracts of land "closed military zones," arresting and disappearing anybody who enters their own fields. Illegal Israeli settlers viciously attack Palestinians and international observers, beating them with metal pipes and shooting at them with live fire.

The area's Popular Committee (the name given to the multiple Palestinian grassroots networks organizing the nonviolent resistance to the ethnic cleansing) had coordinated the international support for day. The hillside where we would be harvesting was full of hundreds of trees, and close by were several new illegal settler "outposts" - groups of trailer homes used by ideological Israelis to stake claim to land. Though the more than 225 settler outposts are illegal even by Israeli law (all Israeli settlements, even the 134 Israeli sanctioned ones, are illegal according to international law), continue to be defended and protected by the Israeli military.

Upon our arrival, we learned that three Palestinian villagers had already been beaten by illegal Israeli settlers and taken to the hospital. About seven soldiers brandishing automatic weapons - their fingers on the triggers - met us at the top of the mountain. Aggressively, they barked out their declaration that Palestinians were now "forbidden" to access certain tracts of land where they could harvest their own olives. Though we stayed where they told us to, the soldiers soon unleashed sound grenades and tear gas upon our group anyways as a form of intimidation, and stood watch as a menacing group of seven illegal settlers harassed our group. One journalist with our group was shot in the foot with a tear gas cannister, and needed medical attention.

Throughout the morning, as we warily harvested olives, several military and settler security vehicles continued to drive around us, demonstrating how the Israeli military is in collaboration with the movements of illegal Israeli settlers. More soldiers arrived to let us know of new areas of land that were now also "forbidden" to harvest from.

After a few hours, chaos broke out. On a hill across the way, illegal settlers firebombed a Palestinian vehicle - a new land rover - that was being used to cart olives down the mountain.

Large flames and plumes of smoke consumed the car as a group of about 30 masked illegal Israeli settlers carrying clubs and pistols began attacking Palestinian harvesters with stones. About half of our group moved toward the harvesters and the burning car to offer protective presence while the other half stayed back to stay with other harvesters, to film, and to take cover. As we watched more illegal Israeli settlers move along the ridge, we heard live fire and shouts of "Get down! Take cover!"

"Yalla! Let's go!" shouted our Palestinian organizers with urgency, as they ushered us down the steep, rocky hillside. We ran from the live ammunition for about 15 minutes, helping one another slide down breaks in the rock terraces, until Palestinian vans picked us up and brought us to our vehicles parked safely at the bottom.

Members of the Palestinian Popular Committee who had been interacting the most closely with the settlers brought us hot sandwiches that they had prepared for us in advance. We counted our numbers to make sure all were safe.

A total of twenty were injured, eleven Palestinians taken to the hospital. A Palestinian suffered a gunshot wound by an Israeli settler; and one solidarity activist was evacuated to a hospital after having been beaten with batons by Israeli settlers, breaking her arm. A total of eight cars were set on fire, and one ambulance was flipped over.

"This is what they have to experience every day," remarked one stunned international volunteer. Most of us were at a loss for words. Later that evening, we read the news dispatches of similarly violent olive harvest events around the West Bank. (See full list of injuries at Beita, as well as attacks from around the West Bank on that SAME DAY here.)

As we were driving to the next site where we would harvest the next day, I asked our driver if the day had gone as he had expected. "Yes," he replied soberly. "We expected the violence. But it was good to have so many of us. It gives the villagers courage to continue."

And continue they have. The very next day, the villagers of Beita returned to the hillside to harvest and show that they would not be intimidated.

Unfortunately, as it has happened in almost every harvesting location around the West Bank in the last couple of days, the military prevented the harvest from continuing.

Given such a violent start to the olive harvest season, it is looking like this year harvesting olives will be a dangerous form of resistance for Palestinians. Those who choose not to harvest because of fear of violence will lose their groves due to Israel's absentee property law.

Many people here believe that the ceasefire Israel was forced to sign in Gaza, while a relief for so many, will now cause the Israeli military and illegal settlers to focus their attacks on the West Bank, and speed up their plan of ethnic cleansing. It has already begun.

Reflection

 We are all relieved that Oct 7th passed relatively uneventfully. Compared to when I was last here, over 25 years ago, Palestinians are less likely to greet each other with the traditional greetings, expressions of peace and the goodness of the day. The truth is the last two years have been especially difficult, often lacking in peace and goodness. Everyone here in the West Bank has friends and relatives in Gaza, where a classroom full of children have been exterminated by Israel, with US weapons, every single day for the last two years. For the anniversary, I started reading some of the names of the 18.5k children killed. I got through 5%, just over 900 names. I invite you to read 50 of them. Spain has recently found the courage to stop arming Israel, but as everyone says here, the US is the mother of Israel, so I don't expect our own government to follow suit.

I write from the Southern Hebron Hills, where I am taking "a night in" at the international volunteer flat after staying with five different Palestinian families (sleeping in their main room -- a living room/dining room/bedroom/den/study all rolled into one -- on thin foam mats on the floor with several family members) over the last six nights. The families are all scared of the ever increasing, and increasingly violent, settler attacks from illegal Israeli outposts, and have requested international protective presence. These attacks can range from trespassing to property damage to lynching, as the illegal settlers aim to make clear that they want these last holdouts of tiny villages to be wiped out, depopulated, like so many others before them, so they can take the land. This article from a few years ago summarizes the situation well.

We have played frisbee and soccer with kids, had grandmas correct our Arabic, eaten lots of good bread and olive oil, and kept close watch on the hills for any settlers looking to attack. We record and photograph these (thankfully so far just trespassing on private Palestinian owned land during our assignments), to keep track of these incursions.

The 2025 Oscar winning film No Other Land is about this area, and though it's hard to find in the US, I strongly recommend seeing it. It makes the same point as Sunday's first reading from Habbakuk -- patience and steadfastness to the vision (samud in Arabic): "For the vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; if it delays, wait for it, it will surely come, it will not be late." This and the reading from Amos our first Sunday here have been especially poignant.

The olive harvest is just beginning, which is a time people go back home, like we would for Thanksgiving, in order to help their families and be together. We may get to participate in that, which again has become increasingly fraught as a time of potential violence. The night before last 150 trees were uprooted by the army to make way for an outpost in Umm al-Kheir, where one of the producers of the aforementioned film was murdered by a settler three months ago, just meters from where the trees were just uprooted.

The Palestinian people are strong but this relentless push to drive them off their land is exhausting and stressful. The news of the ceasefire talks are welcome but also make people nervous, as it could also come with more localized violence. Still, sitting on a mat on a concrete floor, watching the news with a simple shepherding family, I am amazed how knowledgeable and informed they are. "This village is old and beautiful," I said in my hesitant Arabic. Ali, the shepherd grandfather, simply nodded.

Habakkuk 1:2-3; 2:2-4

How long, O LORD?  I cry for help
 but you do not listen!
 I cry out to you, "Violence!"
 but you do not intervene.
 Why do you let me see ruin;
 why must I look at misery?
 Destruction and violence are before me;
 there is strife, and clamorous discord.
 Then the LORD answered me and said:
 Write down the vision clearly upon the tablets,
 so that one can read it readily.
 For the vision still has its time,
 presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint;
 if it delays, wait for it,
 it will surely come, it will not be late.
 The rash one has no integrity;
 but the just one, because of his faith, shall live.

Rooted in History, Al-Khalil Under Attack

 Standing in the center of the shop in the Old City of Hebron, known as Al-Khalil to Palestinians, stands a 300-year old sesame press. Hisham, the shop owner, lights up when we ask him to talk about its history. Hisham shows us a photo from when the press was in use and operated by camels, and points out the various parts of the building that were used to process the sesame seed into various products - from oil to tahini to something like halwa, the sweet dessert so well-loved in the area. Before the sesame press was in the building, however, possibly even as long as 800 years ago under the Ottoman Empire, olive oil was made there. Standing there in the presence of such history, I feel the immensity of what it means to try and keep this history - these stories in place - alive.

After studying in England and working as a dental engineer, Hisham came home in 2014, when the Hebron Rehabilitation Committee offered to restore the old stone building to once again be a destination for tourism and culture. "If the HRC was going to restore this shop, my father wanted to make sure one of his sons was here to run it. I was the obvious choice."

Hisham shows us a display of gorgeous blown and painted glass for sale.

Back in the 1980s, he tells us, they would take the glass blown in Hebron and drive it to their friends, relatives, and colleagues in Gaza to be painted. "It would take just under an hour," he says. Since the increasing enclosures of the West Bank and Gaza Strip, however, that routine changed drastically in the last 25 years. "We had to take the blown glass to the border of the West Bank in one car, then go through a checkpoint with all of our materials and transfer them into another car in order to drive through Israel. Then we'd do the same when we got to Gaza." Since October 2023, however, all of that movement and exchange of craftsmanship has stopped. The blown and painted glass for sale in the shop is all old, and people in the West Bank and Gaza Strip remain trapped in place by the cruel Zionist project of colonization and military occupation.

Although Hisham continues to open his shop every morning and greet people all day with an "Ahlan wa Sahlan - Welcome!" he struggles to make a living. Like most of the stores in the once bustling Old City, there are more and more days that Hisham's shop remains completely empty, and isn't even visited by one single customer. Hisham, as well as all of those who stay to run their shops do so not only as an act of resistance to their own ethnic cleansing but also out of a deep love for their homeland.

Hisham is just one of the shop keepers we have been asked to visit on Saturday evenings, during the weekly invasion of illegal Israeli settlers and international Jewish visitors - many from the U.S. - who have come to tour the old city. For the last fifteen or so years, starting at around 4 or 5 pm, dozens of heavily armed Israeli soldiers and their APCs (armored personnel carriers) clear the streets of Palestinians and international journalists. Between one and three soldiers armed with live ammunition for every Jewish tourist force Palestinians to close their shops or wait out the scenes of violence.

During one such terrifying invasion, our own team witnessed a soldier harassing an old man and his 2-year-old grandson. The soldier forced the 2-year-old from his tricycle and then drop-kicked the bike across the street. The grandfather asked us to send him the video we took of the abuse, hoping a complaint could be made somewhere. Sadly, the complaint will almost definitely go nowhere - another shopkeeper we have befriended showed us the damage done to his son's car from one of the APCs, but when he has complained in the past, he was told by the illegal settlers, "If you complain, next time I will do the same damage to your face."

Every morning here, we wake to learn of the many nightly bombings and invasions that have taken place by the Israeli military in Palestinian neighborhoods, towns, refugee camps, and villages across the West Bank, some of them nearby. Such violence and destruction continues to force people into poverty. Children continue to beg us for money, and shopkeepers are desperate to have us into their empty shops to purchase their wears.

It is clear that the Israeli military, led by its government, is determined to continue their practices of utter brutality until they gain complete control over all of the land here, and that they are willing to use consistent violence and dehumanizing tactics to get what they want. It is hard to sustain hope that a just peace will ever be possible.

Reflections on Arriving to Falastin

 On landing to Ben-Gurion on the evening of Rosh Hashanah in the year 5786, it was unmistakable to me that I was arriving to a nation at war, the pictures of hostages lining the walls of the arrival hall.

While in line for entry, a male U.S. traveler remarked to another U.S. traveler that he "hoped to see the Iron Dome in action" while simultaneously stating he was there "to walk in the steps of his Lord and Savior."

This twisted violent contradiction left me speechless in its cruelty as I resolved and reminded myself why it is necessary to do solidarity work so necessary for the Palestinian people in a world complicit in genocide and unspeakable violence combined with an infuriating combination of ineffectual words.

Masub Abu-Toha writes in Things You Find Hidden In My Ear, "Borders are invented lines drawn with ash on maps and sewn into the ground by bullets."

Nowhere was this more evident than in the city of Al-Khalil (Hebron), declared by UNESCO a World Heritage Site in 2017 while wracked by violence over decades and now at the epicenter of the militarization of the Occupation. I had prepared for the trip, both physically and mentally, but nothing can fully prepare you for the depth of the apartheid in the military checkpoints in a city which finds itself abandoned by tourists and entrapped by settlements and military.

My comrades remarked, "Oh wow, this is worse even than last year." The shops shuttered, garbage collecting on the sidewalks, with only a few humans in eyesight as we walk into what the tourist brochure dubs "the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world" and one of the holiest places in both the Judaic and Islamic worlds.

Alone on a once busy souk, we were quickly identified as internationals and approached by two former shopkeepers who told us the story of their livelihoods vaporized by the force of a nation at war. They told us that since October 7, 2023 five hundred and fifty more shops have closed in the Old City due to the strain on the economy and lack of tourist traffic as well as increased military presence and settler violence.

Part of a much larger exodus since 2000, they reported that a full 1800 shop owners have gone out of business. They also told of us of the 2000 soldiers in the military presence protecting 400 settlers in the four settlements within the city. Of this reality one said, "they treat us worse than the animals but we do our best to resist."

Later that morning as we monitored the checkpoint leading to Al-Ibrahim Mosque, we saw their words in action. As 300+ worshippers answered the call to Friday prayer, we bore witness to the indignity of checkpoint 10. Barely able to see into the turnstile, we had difficulty ascertaining what constituted the multiple delays we observed, we saw one man turned away from prayer at the Tomb of the Patriarchs, one of the holiest places in both Judaism and Islam.

The man walked away visibly angered as my colleagues debate the effectiveness of us tallying the numbers in a conflict the United Nations is obligated to monitor. Just five days earlier, the U.N. complains about the two boys aged 6 and 8 who are detained for playing soccer in the very alleyways we were standing in.

I reminded my colleagues that solidarity meant showing up, bearing witness, and doing as the people ask. The people of Palestine had not only asked us to be here and welcomed us by offering us chairs as we counted and gave us tiny cups of the delicious Arabic coffee. We sat and watched the checkpoint and reflected on how the will to resist stays alive.

Resistance stays alive in dignity and courage but most of all in kindness in the face of injustice. "Salaam alaikum", some called out to us, perfect strangers only recently arrived. Do not forget, these passersby reminded us, God is still good.

Al-Khalil does not forget what it means to be a friend to God in its sumud (steadfastness). Falastin has so much to teach the world-- I am honored to be here to listen.