On the morning of Nov. 12, we were jolted awake by the sound of bulldozers just meters from our homes in the village of Umm Al-Khair in the occupied West Bank. As operators shouted over the rumble of the engines, we understood immediately what was happening: preparations for imminent demolitions.
For two hours, we were suspended in terror. We scrambled to pack documents, pull together blankets, and hold our children close, listening for the moment the machines would turn toward our homes. When the bulldozers finally drove off, we realized they were headed instead for the nearby village of Al-Fakheet, where by day’s end they had demolished two homes and two water wells. Still, we knew they would return for Umm Al-Khair; it is only a matter of time.
Just two weeks earlier, on Oct. 28, the Israeli authorities came and handed residents 13 final demolition orders, targeting structures that make up a full third of our village. We were given two weeks to appeal, with our lawyer securing an additional two. But once these 28 days expire, the demolitions can begin at any moment.
The orders target 11 homes, our community center, and our greenhouse. Israel deems them “illegal” because they were built without permits, even though every permit request we submit is systematically rejected. Meanwhile, the caravans erected illegally near the center of the village by Israeli settler Yinon Levy — the same man who less than four months ago murdered our cousin, the peace activist Awdah Hathaleen — remain untouched.
If carried out, the demolitions will level nearly the entire southern part of Umm Al-Khair, leaving more than 70 people, including 50 children, without shelter. But beyond the physical destruction, the aim is to break the spirit of a community that has become a vital hub of nonviolent resistance to ethnic cleansing in Masafer Yatta.
Seeking to pressure Israel to halt the demolitions, we rushed to organize a press conference on Nov. 5. Nearly 100 journalists, diplomats, and activists attended. The UN Human Rights Office called on Israel to halt the demolitions, while U.S. Representative Jamie Raskin circulated a letter in support of our campaign signed by more than 100 members of Congress. Even so, we have been told that the likelihood of halting the demolitions remains slim.
Erasing past and present
The past month has been the most dangerous and painful since Awdah’s murder. On Nov. 9, two settlers from the illegal outpost of Havat Shorashim cut our fences and led their sheep into our village’s olive groves in the early morning hours. Their flocks grazed, destroying trees planted decades ago by our family.
When two of our relatives attempted to flee the groves, the settlers attacked: They struck Ahmed in the head — sending him to hospital where he needed five stitches — and beat the arm of our uncle Yasser. We called the Israeli police immediately, as we always do, but the settlers continued their assault for a long time before anyone arrived.
When soldiers and police did arrive around 30 minutes later, none intervened. Many were settlers themselves. As has happened too many times, they claimed community members had thrown stones at the settlers and proceeded to detain a few of our cousins under these false accusations.
With Israeli forces standing by idly, the settlers had free reign. Led by Shimon Atiya, they used their sticks to destroy 200 olive trees, our thyme fields, and dozens of fig, almond, and cactus plants. Many of these trees were planted nearly 20 years ago by members of our family, including our cousins, siblings, grandparents, and uncle and guide, Haj Suleiman Hathaleen, who was murdered by Israeli forces in 2022. The land that sustains the village — both literally and spiritually — was left barren.
Another group of settlers, this time wearing military uniforms, arrived later that day and followed Atiya’s orders to push us away from our own land. We have unsuccessfully filed over 30 complaints against Atiya and his co-leader of the attack — months ago, they assaulted Ahmed’s elderly mother, Fatima, with video evidence that was shared with Israel Police — and still, the police took no action. With every ignored complaint, settlers gain confidence and we lose any illusion that the system will protect us.
The next morning, on Nov. 10, Atiya walked directly to the graveyard of Umm Al-Khair. Without hesitation, he began kicking the graves and lying on top of them. When residents and activists tried to stand in front of him as he pushed deeper into the village, the army used their vehicles to form an alternative path for him — through private land — less than a meter from our homes.
Three more times, the settlers have come back to the graveyard on ATVs the state purchased for them; the second, which occurred last Tuesday, ended with Tariq shackled, blindfolded, arrested, and transported to a military base by the very army that we had called for help.
After hours in military detention and then a police interrogation, he was released without charge, conditions, or a fine in the middle of the night and told to find his way back home from Hebron. On the latest visit, which occurred last Thursday, the police declared that settlers are allowed on one half of the graveyard that they claimed was “survey land.”
Watching someone walk, stomp, and lie on the graves of our loved ones, elders, and history — while soldiers and police stood by in silence — felt like an attempt to erase not only our presence but also what used to exist of it: our dead, and our memories.
In the four months since Awdah was murdered, the pain in Umm Al-Khair has not eased. Not one morning comes without fear, nor one night without grief. At the most challenging points, when we don’t know if we can bear the mounting pressure, we imagine Awdah and Suleiman standing beside us. We can almost hear their voices saying what they often said, and ultimately were forced to stand by: “We will stay here, even if the price is our lives.”
Every sunrise brings another attack, loss, and reason to wonder how much longer this small community of just 200 people can bear the weight placed upon it. But we remain rooted — like the olive trees they tried to destroy, and like the stones that still whisper the names of our dead.
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Since 2007, more than 100 homes and structures in Umm Al-Khair have been demolished across some 20 operations. Many were rebuilt, only to be torn down again. Each time, something inside us broke. And each time, we rebuilt not only our walls, but our hope.
This is how life works here: Settlers build illegally, and we are punished “legally.” The soldiers protect the attackers; the police dismiss our complaints; and the courts issue rulings that never reach the ground. The system designed to ethnically cleanse us has reached completion.
In response to +972’s request for comment, the Israel Police stated that it “does not determine guilt based on unverified claims, and inquiries that assign blame this way risk undermining due process and turning allegations into perceived fact.” It added that it “views any act of violence against any person, regardless of background, nationality, or religion, with the utmost seriousness and will continue to act to ensure that all offenders are brought to justice.”
The Israeli army said that Firing Zone 918 is “a closed military area,” and that as a result “no permits will be granted for construction inside the firing zone.” Regarding the Nov. 9 “incident,” the army said forces were dispatched to Umm al-Khair after reports of “mutual stone throwing” between settlers and Palestinians, and that “a lightly injured Palestinian was evacuated for medical treatment.” It added that soldiers worked to “disperse the friction” and “secured civilians while they were grazing.”
