You remember the story of Zanuta, the ancient village in the hills at the southernmost point of the West Bank. Israeli settlers from the illegal outpost nearby terrorized the people of Zanuta, and after years of this torment, the villagers fled their homes. They appealed to the High Court of Justice, which found in their favor in July 2024: they were to be allowed to return to their homes, and the police and army were to protect them there. The second clause was pure fantasy: you won’t find an honest policeman or army officer anywhere in the territories. They have fused with the violent settlers.
1. Visits to Prisoners. Text and photographs by Margaret Olin
I began this post on Martin Luther King Day, 2025, a moment to think back on all we in the United States have achieved and the distance we still must go to realize King’s dream of racial equality. In 2025, this day of concern for justice and love also marked the inauguration of a president who opposes these values and many others we hold. Some, dreading this event, found ways of trying to forget about it. My way was to think back to my visit to Israel and Palestine this past December.
Daily settler attacks on Ras al-‘Ain are becoming tougher, also more dangerous; more settlers involved, more outrageous acts, more physical violence, a surplus of arrogance and burning hatred. Every day they invade the village, on horseback, on donkeys, in their vehicles, with their herds of sheep and camels. It feels like something bigger is boiling, about to spill over. They know they are completely immune to punishment of any kind; the police and soldiers stand with them. As for the government, the extremists, including the prime minister, initiate, fund, arm, and fully support lethal settler violence everywhere on the West Bank, with the unmistakable aim of expelling the entire Palestinian population of Area C.
“I’m a soldier in the army of peace.” Thus Yehonatan, as night falls in the madafeh of Ras al-‘Ain. The mystery has been solved: he is the ultra-religious Haredi young man who has become a familiar activist in the Jordan Valley and elsewhere. In fact, he seems to be almost everywhere. He was wounded by a settler at an olive harvest at Battir, near Jerusalem, not long ago (the settler threw a stun grenade at him). He makes light of his wound. Muhammad told us about him, with admiration and wonder, last time I was in Ras al-‘Ain. He is my partner today for the night-and-early-morning shift.
Moments of respite. Seven, maybe eight water tankers manage to fill up at the ‘Auja stream toward sunset. We are there to greet them. For once, no settlers come to ruin things.
Goat in front of military installation, Al-Hadidiya, Jordan Valley, 2019. Back cover of a Passover Haggadah, 5779.
Before Pesach most years, I revise the Haggadah I began to compile decades ago. I gather material from traditional sources as well as from more recent alternative Haggadot created with various agendas in mind – political, ecological; or from commentary, unrelated literature, and remarks of friends and colleagues relevant to our family or to whomever we might be hosting at our seder table that year. I insert images that I find or create. Some years ago, I placed on the back cover of my Haggadah a photograph of a goat I met in the Jordan Valley, to recall the traditional song Had Gadya, an only kid, sung toward the end of the seder. It begins with the verse “an only ,kid, an only kid, my father bought for two zuzzim, and continues with a litany of woe, as the goat is eaten by a cat, that is then bitten by a dog, and, after a series of beatings and burnings and slaughter by various agents, including objects and living creatures animal and human, the song ends with retribution by the angel of death, who in turn succumbs to the Holy One, blessed be He, thus ending the carnage on a peaceful note, none of the predators left standing, like the end of a bloody Elizabethan play.
Toward sunset we arrive, Yigal, Koby, and I. It’s my first time in Wadi Jḥeish (probably “Valley of the Mules”): a tiny hamlet of some 60 souls, all part of the large Nawaja‘ family that we know from nearby Susiya. Houses of cement blocks and stucco with flat roofs of aluminum and plastic. A trellis of dry grapevines. Potted plants and small garden plots of desert flowers. Rock underfoot. Two tall water tanks behind the houses, higher up the hill. A sheep pen. A few trees, including a small olive grove. Many children. From every spot you stand or sit, a wide-open stretch of the brown, stone-ripe hills. They’ve never been more ravishing. The village has changed since Peg saw it in 2018, when it was mostly tents; it’s more solid now, but no less vulnerable. Someone has drawn and painted red and white hearts, lots of them, on both sides of the door to the kitchen and sitting room, where we are to sleep. There’s also an inscription: baytkum ‘āmir bi’l-afrāḥ, May your house be filled with celebrations.
avant-propos: We still could use more funds for our book, which Intellect Press will publish early in 2024. The Bitter Landscapes of Palestine is a book of photographs and texts inspired by our work on this blog. Our kickstarter campaign to raise funds for the book has met its modest official goal. Extra funds will go toward lowering the price of the book. The campaign ends September 27. You can see our video, read our story and donate at this link. Your donations are still very welcome and much appreciated, as is spreading the word about the book. Thank you.
The school at Wadi a-Siq in July. photograph: Margaret Olin
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. NB: the first, modest goal has now (Sept. 9) been met; donations are still very welcome and much appreciated.
Ein Rashash, 2018, photograph: Margaret Olin
Like so many Palestinian villages in the central West Bank, between Ramallah and Jericho, Ein Rashash is hanging by a thread in the perilous space between life and death. A massive program of ethnic cleansing is taking place before our eyes. Israeli settlers, religious in some perverted sense of the word, have perfected very effective methods to reach their goal. Readers of this blog are familiar with some of them.
