Now all the days are hard.
photographic activism
Ras al-‘Ain, October 19, 26, 2025: Text: David Shulman; Photographs: Margaret Olin
October 19, 2025
Where are the dogs of Ras al-‘Ain? There used to be lots of them. Together with the donkeys and the out-of-synch roosters, they performed the nocturnal symphony from midnight to dawn. They had a mission in life: they could warn you if settlers were invading the Palestinian houses and sheepfolds. But now most of them are gone. We found out why. The settlers from the outpost threw cut-off heads of chickens, doctored with poison, into the village; the dogs died, and apparently some of the jackals and the wolf also died. One lonely, mournful dog still haunts the madafeh, where we sleep. He seems glad to have company.
Continue readingIn Memoriam: Michal Peleg, 1959-2025. Text by David Shulman; photographs and additional text by Margaret Olin
Michal Peleg is now gone. Another enormous loss, just two weeks after Muhammad died.
Continue readingMay 29, 2025 Ras al-‘Ain. text: David Shulman
Emptiness. Sorrow. The madafeh, indeed the whole village, feels empty without Muhammad. Just last week we were sitting with him, drinking tea, chatting,devouring the cake he had bought for us. We took for granted his gracious manner, his steadiness, his gentle nature. He seemed as solid as the desert rocks, as the rolling waves of the hills. He was killed earlier this week in a car crash near Nablus; his car collided with a huge truck, and he died instantly. This man who survived years of settler violence and harassment, the theft of his herd, the never-ending threats from soldiers and police, died in broad daylight on the road.
Continue readingDecember 8-9, 2024, Ras al-‘Ain, text: David Shulman; photographs: Margaret Olin
We (Peg, Yehonatan, the Haredi activist, and I) spent a quiet night in the madafeh at Ras al-‘Ain.
Continue readingSeptember 1, 2023, Al-‘Auja: Text by David Shulman
avant-propos: Next year Intellect Press will publish The Bitter Landscapes of Palestine, a book of photographs and texts inspired by our work on this blog. Please consider donating to our kickstarter campaign to raise funds for the book. The campaign ends September 27. You can see our video, read our story and donate at this link.
March 3, 2023. Hawara. Text: David Shulman; Photographs: Dood Evan
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April 6-8, 1903 (Julian calendar), Kishinev, Bessarabia: A mob, led partly by Orthodox Russian priests, descends upon the town, killing 49 Jews, wounding scores more, raping many Jewish women, burning down Jewish homes. The local police stand by, watching, making no attempt to stop the massacre. Some of the Jewish men fight back with the meager tools in their possession. Children see their parents murdered before their eyes. Shock waves engulf the Jewish communities of eastern Europe and beyond. In response, many Jewish young men join the anti-Czarist revolutionaries; others leave for Palestine to build a new life for the Jews. Bialik, the national Hebrew poet, writes an epic poem on the massacre.
Continue readingOctober 29, 2022. Umm al-‘Ara’is. Text by David Shulman. Photographs by Margaret Olin
Take our picture! Umm Al-‘Ara’is, October, 2022
“Why are these children so wild?” the soldier asked me.
“Could it be because their father has just been arrested?” I answer.
“And do you know why he was arrested? Because he was in a closed military zone.”
“But he was on his own land.”
“You are making me laugh.”
“So who’s land is it?”
“Have you never heard of Abraham? When he was here thousands of years ago, there weren’t any … Palestinians.” The pause before the word “Palestinian” seemed to express a certain distaste.
I am with the `Awad family again. I wanted to visit beautiful Umm al-Amad, but Guy told me that Sa’id’s worsening situation needs documenting. He was right.
Continue readingPhotographic Empowerment. Umm Al-‘Ara’is, spring and summer, 2022
Remember Sa’id and his many children who accompany him every week to the fields? I hadn’t seen them for nearly three years, but I could recognize them at a distance from Jibrin’s pastures (if you can call a rocky patch with a few scrubby thorns a “pasture”) as they arrived for their weekly visit on the ridge far above us. Then they descended into the next wadi and disappeared.
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