It happened fast, much faster than expected. Once the more isolated neighborhoods of Salameh and Abu Talib and Abu Musa were gone, their people expelled, the rest of the villagers also began to dismantle their homes and burn whatever they couldn’t take with them.
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Hanady’s sitting room is a shrine to her late husband, 31-year-old Awdah Hathaleen, killed in cold blood in July by a settler who was punished with three days of house arrest. Only a small diamond-shaped design of sequins to break the unrelenting darkness of her black draped clothing, Hanady tells me that everything is gone for her: everything left with Awdah: her home life, her future, her dreams, the list goes on.
Note: While I cannot photograph the faces of the Bedouin women of Umm al-Khair, I am encouraged to photograph the children.
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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 readingI 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 village of Mu‘arrajat is gone, ravaged and despoiled by savage settlers. There were years of harassment, large-scale theft, repeated violence, and death-threats. On July 3, 2025, after a gruesome night, the villagers took apart their homes, loaded their few possessions onto trucks, and left. Remember that date of infamy.
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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.
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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.
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.
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We (Peg, Yehonatan, the Haredi activist, and I) spent a quiet night in the madafeh at Ras al-‘Ain.
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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.
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