I used to be afraid to cross the road and look at my house like a stranger.
Today, what I feared has happened.
Today, we are strangers — as if the house was never ours, as if we never drank tea there, as if we never played there.
We are strangers.
When you pass by, ask the house: Where are your residents? Where is your family? Where are your loved ones?
Our names are still there on the wall — all the names of my family.
I can never forget Ma’arajat. Every time I pass through that road, I will cry for it.
Life ended after Ma’arajat. —- Aliya
The soldiers and settlers aimed their guns at my father, they beat my brothers, they confiscated our cellphones, they tried to steal our herd of sheep (luckily, the sheep were in the neighbors’ sheepfold, and the neighbors wisely asserted that they were theirs), and they told us we had to leave by 8:00 that night. – Aliya
This was the second expulsion of Aliya and her family within four days. On July 3rd they were driven from their homes in Mu‘arrajat along with everyone else from the village. As if that were not enough after years of constant threats and violent harassment by the settlers and the soldiers, she and her family were now expelled again, this time from Aqbat al-Ja‘abar, where they had taken refuge.
Today Alon, Misha and I visit Aliya and her family on a rocky hilltop in the vast expanse of desert—their new home. They can see Mu‘arrajat from the summit, like Moses looking with longing at the promised land from Mount Nevo. It took us a long time to find them; maybe that isolated space is what they needed, though settlers are still not far enough away. It’s not a good site for sheep. Aliya says her brothers and cousins will try to sow seeds and work the land.
She’s 28 years old, with a mind of extraordinary clarity, a tongue that speaks in rapid, precise, musical Arabic, and a capacious heart, at once sensitive and indomitable. Everyone knows this. I can’t show you her picture; normally her face is veiled, in the Muslim way, though she has made exceptions for some of the foreign journalists who have interviewed her. I’m not one of them, just honored to be her friend. She is graceful, flowing with energy. Two of her brothers are doctors. It’s a gifted family. Most Palestinian families we have known are passionate about education. She tells us the story of the last week with its torments: “I feel the pain in my heart.” She scorns the settlers who have tormented her. She knows them for who and what they are: stunted human beings, distorted, cruel, impoverished in body and mind. They can scare her and hurt her, but she dwarfs them by light years. She is moved by our arrival. She remembers that I like strong Turkish coffee, better than the sweet Bedouin tea, so coffee arrives in tiny paper cups. She says they still dream of returning some day to Mu‘arrajat, when the world rights itself on its axis. She has hope.
I say to her, “You and your whole family are courageous people, and you have shown us that you have sabar, patience, that lasts for many years.” She nods, acknowledging the truth. We promise that we will never forsake her and her family. She thanks us. Then come the blessings of farewell. May Allah protect you, may Allah give you health.
I’m relieved that we found them, it was the most important thing we did today. More important even than warding off the demented settlers at dawn in Ras al-‘Ain. I manage to hold myself together while we are sitting there with her—her courage is contagious—but when I get home around midday, the tears come too. I’m not so good at soaking up huge quantities of pain, sorrow and, worst of all, injustice.
Postscript
Margaret Olin: The destruction of Mu’arrajat, as many of you know, is not an isolated incident, but here are some numbers. According to a UN news report, between October 7, 2023 and the end of May, 2025, the government had demolished the homes of 6,463 people and another 2,200 Palestinians were forcibly displaced by settler attacks and access restrictions. The expulsion of the residents from Mu’arrajat adds to that number, which does not include 40,000 displaced people in three refugee camps in Jenin and Tulkarem.
Even before that, after the election of Israel’s present right wing government, in November, 2022, the expulsion of Palestinians from their homes increased dramatically, leaving villagers to seek shelter in places that were isolated, dangerous, unsuitable for grazing, or already overcrowded and lacking useful infrastructure.
In July, 2023, I visited a number of destroyed villages with Arik Ascherman, and a few displaced families. Some families from ‘Ein Samiya lived under a makeshift canopy surrounded by debris, afraid to build a more permanent dwelling place, unable to graze their flocks, and worried about whether and when they would once more be forced to flee.
If you would like to help the Mu‘arrajat families that are now scattered all over the southern Jordan Valley, we invite you to contribute here. The link is in GBP, but it is possible on the website to choose Euros or USD instead.
text and photographs as credited © 2025
