This is a letter from a dear, dear friend of mine in occupied Palestine.
Dear friends,
Warm greetings from the West Bank! Please circulate
this to anyone you think would find it of interest.
* * *
Iâm here with the International Womenâs Peace Service,
a small NGO whose mandate is to monitor and document
human rights abuses and peacefully intervene to
prevent them here in the Salfit region of the West
Bank. (The West Bank was invaded by Israel during the
1967 Six-Day War, and has been illegally occupied by
the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) since then.) Being a
rural area, Salfit is under the radar both for media
and for other NGOs who tend to be focused on Hebron
and Ramallah and, of course, Jerusalem. Living and
working here allows IWPS team members to witness the
effects of the Occupation firsthand, and to be able to
document the daily realities of life under the
Occupation for the people of Salfit.
We live in an apartment in the village of Hares, which
is in between Ramallah and Nablus and a little to the
east. On the road that runs by the entrance to the
village stands a concrete watchtower, set up by the
IDF. It looks like a lighthouse, and it dominates the
hillside. On a hilltop two kilometres away is the
settlement of Ariâel, the second-largest colony in the
West Bank. Like all Israeli settlements in the West
Bank it is illegal under international law, under the
Geneva Conventions, under resolution after resolution
at the UN. Ariâel is growing rapidly. It was founded
by 40 settlers in 1978, and now has a population of
over 24,000. It is an important part of the Israeli
Governmentâs âfacts on the groundâ strategy â settle
enough Israelis in the Occupied Territories that it
will be impossible to remove them all if, when, the
land is partitioned into two states. In the 2003
Roadmap, it was again mandated that such illegal
settlement would stop. But it continues.
Settlements often spread by creating outpost
settlements a kilometre or so away, little clusters of
trailers surrounded by barbed wire. Revava, part of
the Ariâel settlement âbloc,â began that way, right on
the edge of Hares. Now, with over 700 settlers, itâs a
lot more permanent. Sometimes the Revava settlers come
onto Hares land, into the fields where the villagers
are working, and shout and threaten them. Sometimes
they bring weapons. This is a story that we hear over
and over again from farmers across the region --
settlers harassing farmers, often preventing them from
tending their land. My first day here, we went out to
the olive groves of the village of Awarta with a small
group of Israeli activists from Rabbis for Human
Rights, one of the many Jewish Israeli groups working
for justice for Palestinians. Awartaâs land, like the
fields of many Palestinian villages, is in a valley.
The settlement of Itamar, like most settlements, is on
a hilltop overlooking the valley. The routine in the
ongoing skirmishes between settlers and villagers is
that the villagers go to tend their trees; the
settlers come and threaten them; the villagers call
the army or the police; the army or police come and
tell them thereâs nothing they can do (sometimes they
add that their job is to protect the settlers). They
tell the villagers to go home and try again tomorrow,
when the whole drama is repeated. The impact this has
on the farmers runs deeper than the daily anguish of
watching your ancestral land slowly being taken away
from you, and the economic repercussions of losing
your livelihood. The Israelis have dusted off an old
Ottoman law that says if land lies fallow for three
years, ownership is lost.
Yesterday we traveled north to Wadi Qana with Rezeq
Abu Nasser, who used to farm there. Wadi Qana means
âValley of the Canals,â and itâs one of the most
fertile places in the West Bank â a long valley
watered by 17 separate springs. It is part of the
extensive land of Deir Istya, a village close to
Hares, and was abundant with fields of wheat and
barley, and of tomatoes, squash, lentils, figs, and
watermelon. I say âwasâ because, since 1978, Deir
Istya villagers have lost between one third and one
half of their farmland in and around the valley. Itâs
not just the land lost to the eight settlements that
have sprung up on the hilltops overlooking the valley,
or to the road that joins them. Much of the land has
been polluted by the open sewage pipes that ended on
the hillsides just below the settlements, spewing
their contents down into Wadi Qana. You can smell the
sewage as you enter the valley, see the algae covering
the pools. Years of documenting and reporting on the
pollution by Rezaq and other Deir Istya residents,
environmental groups, and supportive international
groups such as IWPS, finally bore some fruit when a
couple of months ago most of the open pipes were
closed. But itâs a hollow victory, with the valleyâs
land spoiled, and sewage water still flowing down from
Ginat Sharom into pools banked by dark sludge.
A major highway, the Trans-Samaria Highway, crosses
the West Bank, giving settlers speedy access to Tel
Aviv. In the Palestinian Territories, only vehicles
with yellow Israeli number-plates can use roads like
this. Palestinians use the smaller local roads. They
always bring their ID cards with them, to show to the
soldiers at the checkpoints, and allow many hours over
the driving time. People can pass through a checkpoint
in half an hour, or in four hours, or in eight â there
is no way of telling in advance. Iâve heard stories of
Palestinians being late for meetings in nearby cities
even though they began their journey the day before.
There are major permanent checkpoints, such as Zatara
on the road south to Ramallah, where drivers queue for
hours and the soldiers take their time, and there are
flying checkpoints â you round a corner and cars are
slowing, two or three soldiers in the roadway flagging
them down. Road blocks are another factor to consider
â roads blocked by slabs of concrete, or because the
tarmac road surface has been smashed. A roadblock in a
rural area like Salfit can mean that a 5-minute trip
to the next village can suddenly take 45 minutes.
There are no checkpoints or roadblocks on the
Trans-Samaria Highway, and it is never subject to
arbitrary closures.
Time to close, and to cook supper. I will write again
before long.
Blessings,
Dear friends,
Warm greetings from the West Bank! Please circulate
this to anyone you think would find it of interest.
* * *
Iâm here with the International Womenâs Peace Service,
a small NGO whose mandate is to monitor and document
human rights abuses and peacefully intervene to
prevent them here in the Salfit region of the West
Bank. (The West Bank was invaded by Israel during the
1967 Six-Day War, and has been illegally occupied by
the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) since then.) Being a
rural area, Salfit is under the radar both for media
and for other NGOs who tend to be focused on Hebron
and Ramallah and, of course, Jerusalem. Living and
working here allows IWPS team members to witness the
effects of the Occupation firsthand, and to be able to
document the daily realities of life under the
Occupation for the people of Salfit.
We live in an apartment in the village of Hares, which
is in between Ramallah and Nablus and a little to the
east. On the road that runs by the entrance to the
village stands a concrete watchtower, set up by the
IDF. It looks like a lighthouse, and it dominates the
hillside. On a hilltop two kilometres away is the
settlement of Ariâel, the second-largest colony in the
West Bank. Like all Israeli settlements in the West
Bank it is illegal under international law, under the
Geneva Conventions, under resolution after resolution
at the UN. Ariâel is growing rapidly. It was founded
by 40 settlers in 1978, and now has a population of
over 24,000. It is an important part of the Israeli
Governmentâs âfacts on the groundâ strategy â settle
enough Israelis in the Occupied Territories that it
will be impossible to remove them all if, when, the
land is partitioned into two states. In the 2003
Roadmap, it was again mandated that such illegal
settlement would stop. But it continues.
Settlements often spread by creating outpost
settlements a kilometre or so away, little clusters of
trailers surrounded by barbed wire. Revava, part of
the Ariâel settlement âbloc,â began that way, right on
the edge of Hares. Now, with over 700 settlers, itâs a
lot more permanent. Sometimes the Revava settlers come
onto Hares land, into the fields where the villagers
are working, and shout and threaten them. Sometimes
they bring weapons. This is a story that we hear over
and over again from farmers across the region --
settlers harassing farmers, often preventing them from
tending their land. My first day here, we went out to
the olive groves of the village of Awarta with a small
group of Israeli activists from Rabbis for Human
Rights, one of the many Jewish Israeli groups working
for justice for Palestinians. Awartaâs land, like the
fields of many Palestinian villages, is in a valley.
The settlement of Itamar, like most settlements, is on
a hilltop overlooking the valley. The routine in the
ongoing skirmishes between settlers and villagers is
that the villagers go to tend their trees; the
settlers come and threaten them; the villagers call
the army or the police; the army or police come and
tell them thereâs nothing they can do (sometimes they
add that their job is to protect the settlers). They
tell the villagers to go home and try again tomorrow,
when the whole drama is repeated. The impact this has
on the farmers runs deeper than the daily anguish of
watching your ancestral land slowly being taken away
from you, and the economic repercussions of losing
your livelihood. The Israelis have dusted off an old
Ottoman law that says if land lies fallow for three
years, ownership is lost.
Yesterday we traveled north to Wadi Qana with Rezeq
Abu Nasser, who used to farm there. Wadi Qana means
âValley of the Canals,â and itâs one of the most
fertile places in the West Bank â a long valley
watered by 17 separate springs. It is part of the
extensive land of Deir Istya, a village close to
Hares, and was abundant with fields of wheat and
barley, and of tomatoes, squash, lentils, figs, and
watermelon. I say âwasâ because, since 1978, Deir
Istya villagers have lost between one third and one
half of their farmland in and around the valley. Itâs
not just the land lost to the eight settlements that
have sprung up on the hilltops overlooking the valley,
or to the road that joins them. Much of the land has
been polluted by the open sewage pipes that ended on
the hillsides just below the settlements, spewing
their contents down into Wadi Qana. You can smell the
sewage as you enter the valley, see the algae covering
the pools. Years of documenting and reporting on the
pollution by Rezaq and other Deir Istya residents,
environmental groups, and supportive international
groups such as IWPS, finally bore some fruit when a
couple of months ago most of the open pipes were
closed. But itâs a hollow victory, with the valleyâs
land spoiled, and sewage water still flowing down from
Ginat Sharom into pools banked by dark sludge.
A major highway, the Trans-Samaria Highway, crosses
the West Bank, giving settlers speedy access to Tel
Aviv. In the Palestinian Territories, only vehicles
with yellow Israeli number-plates can use roads like
this. Palestinians use the smaller local roads. They
always bring their ID cards with them, to show to the
soldiers at the checkpoints, and allow many hours over
the driving time. People can pass through a checkpoint
in half an hour, or in four hours, or in eight â there
is no way of telling in advance. Iâve heard stories of
Palestinians being late for meetings in nearby cities
even though they began their journey the day before.
There are major permanent checkpoints, such as Zatara
on the road south to Ramallah, where drivers queue for
hours and the soldiers take their time, and there are
flying checkpoints â you round a corner and cars are
slowing, two or three soldiers in the roadway flagging
them down. Road blocks are another factor to consider
â roads blocked by slabs of concrete, or because the
tarmac road surface has been smashed. A roadblock in a
rural area like Salfit can mean that a 5-minute trip
to the next village can suddenly take 45 minutes.
There are no checkpoints or roadblocks on the
Trans-Samaria Highway, and it is never subject to
arbitrary closures.
Time to close, and to cook supper. I will write again
before long.
Blessings,