Volunteers with the International Solidarity Movement are encouraged to write personal reflections about the work they engage in with Palestinian communities, the events they experience, and the people they meet. These journals offer the human context often missing in traditional reports or journalism. These articles represent the author’s thoughts and feelings and not necessarily those of the International Solidarity Movement.
2nd May 2016 | International Solidarity Movement, Gaza team | Gaza, occupied Palestine
After more than six months risking their lives while ploughing, planting seeds and weeding their land, and after investing a large amount of money on seeds and on renting a tractor, the Qudaih family from the village of Khuzaa were finally ready to start harvesting their barley and the wheat two days ago.
We arrived at the fields, located around 100 metres from the fence, at 7am. Around 9am one jeep from the Israeli occupation forces stopped in front of the farmers and a group of soldiers emerged. After a few minutes they fired several shots in the air, then returned to the jeep and left.
A family member working on the land in Khuzaa
45 minutes later another jeep arrived. This time the soldiers fired shots on the ground next to the farmers and the ISM activists that were with them. The shots were near misses, just a few centimetres from their feet. As if this was not terrifying enough, next they fired shots close to the farmers’ and activists’ heads. At that moment most of the farmers started to run away from their fields terrified by the whistling sounds of the bullets flying around them: One Bedouin man that was picking herbs for his animals laid down on the ground hiding behind his donkey, while the soldiers fired shot more than five times just a few centimetres from him. The shooting didn’t even stop when everyone started to run away, preventing the farmers to secure their horse cart holding what little harvest they had collected until they were attacked.
The Qudaih family harvesting their barley on their land.
These families now have to choose between losing all the money invested as well as their main sustenance for the year, or continue trying to harvest the crops on their land – despite the risk of someone getting killed or disabled.
17th April 2016 | International Solidarity Movement, Al-Khalil Team | Hebron, occupied Palestine
Today volunteers from ISM attended a demonstration in Al-Khalil for Prisoners’ Day. Once the main demonstration had ended in the city a group of young Palestinians invited the volunteers to the Fawwar refugee camp outside the city.
Prisoner’s day demonstration in occupied Hebron
At the camp they were greeted by the Janazreh family, relatives of Sami Janazreh who invited the volunteers into their home for tea so they could tell us his story. Sami’s brother Haitham explained that Sami was detained on the 15th of November 2015 from his home in front of his family. The Israeli military brought no charges against Sami, but he was brought before a military court, with no jury or media present and sentenced to 4 months in a military prison. Once the 4 months were up he was brought before the military court again and sentenced to a further 4 months, without charge.
Three young demonstrators hold images of Sami
On the 3rd of March 2016 Sami was left with no option but to begin a hunger strike in protest at his detention. He is now 46 days into his hunger strike, and for the last 20 days his family has had no contact with him. The last information they received was that his kidneys were failing, his teeth had begun to fall out and he was unable to walk. The family have made concerted efforts to contact the prison to get updates on his condition but to no avail. They have had no contact from the Israeli government and there have been no official reports made.
On April 3rd 2016 two other prisoners, Adeb Mafaga and Fuouad Asse also began a hunger strike in protest at their illegal detention. The three men are striking in the hope that the Israeli government will release them to their families with signed papers to say they will no longer be detained without cause.
Sami’s brother Haytham
Sami’s home is within the Fawwar refugee camp where he live’ with his wife, 3 children, Feras (13), Mahmod Darwesh (7), Marya (4) and other relatives including his brother, Haitham. The family has accepted that their father will die in prison without them having the chance to say goodbye. They asked the human rights defenders from ISM to highlight the plight of these men and raise awareness in the international community to give Sami the strength to continue his protest. As the hunger strike on its own has not been successful, it is now vitally important that we highlight this issue and put worldwide pressure on the Israeli government to release the men and save their lives.
Sami’s children
On this Palestinian Prisoner’s Day we urge you to show support for Sami, Adeb and Fuoud by tweeting #FreeSami and by spreading his story through social media as much as we can.
6th April 2016 | International Solidarity Movement, Ramallah Team | Jerusalem, Occupied Palestine
Ali greets us international activists with a certain kind of warmth that those who are foreign to the middle east (or Palestine in this case) may have never experienced or have been accustomed to in our home countries. We have all learned very quickly to appreciate the culture that is being bestowed upon us and the welcoming nature of the Palestinian people; a nature which remained steadfast for more than a half century despite the ongoing, brutal occupation and despite what much of the media and certain governments from abroad would like you to think of the Palestinian people and the current situation they are facing.
Ali
He prepares seating arrangements for us to the best of his ability in his tiny family home, asking everyone to take a seat whilst he sits himself on a single bed that has been prepared in the living room. The bed has been placed there to accommodate the extra people in his family, due to the evident lack of space they endure whilst living in the highly dense African quarter of Jerusalem.
You know from the moment he begins to speak that Ali has natural charisma, charm and a quick way of thinking that has been acquired through a lifetime of hardship and struggle. Turning his past situation into positive ideas and proposed solutions for the future of Palestine. He sheds real food for thought for those who care to know the real situation the Palestinian people of Jerusalem, and Palestine as a whole, continue to face.
Ali was only eighteen years old in 1967 when he and some friends tired of the situation, along with the racial oppression that he also faced from being an afro-Palestinian from the Israeli’s, decided in an act of defiance to place a bomb at the entrance to Jaffa gate in Jerusalem. Nobody was killed, however nine Israeli soldiers were seriously wounded. Ali was soon found, arrested and tried for the crime that he had committed. His next seventeen years were to be spent in an Israeli jail, shaping and changing the way in which Ali would now live out the remainder of his life.
When released Ali started to run alternative tours throughout Jerusalem, bringing awareness to the situation that the people of Palestine and occupied Jerusalem face daily. However it’s a tour far different from the standardised religious journeys that the majority of internationals and passers by would participate in. In factanyone fortunate enough to strike up conversation with Ali, who can be found near the entrance of Damascus gate, may just find themselves on one of the most worthwhile, informative and alternative tours in the old city.
Ali chain-smoked his cigarettes, pausing between inhalations, leaving long but comfortable silences as he pondered on what to tell us next, leaving us internationals on the edge of our seats. As he exhaled, the smoke danced in front of his face through the thin ray of sunlight that cut through the dimly lit room and onto his face.
Ali spoke to us about the current situation the Palestinians in the Islamic quarter face and the “tightening of the noose” on Palestinian shopkeepers by the occupying forces. He sees the Islamic quarter being reduced to nothing in the near future due to strategic economic strangulation by the Zionist government, heightening taxes and limiting the flow of tourisms and locals within the area. He explained to us the continued harassment and occupation of homes by the illegal Israeli settlers in the area.
Ali looks at the ideas put forth from the political parties regarding the situation facing the Israel/Palestine conflict, the one state or two state proposals that he deems have passed their used by dates, “the new Palestine, if there is to be one must come from the roots up.” This was a perspective that, in no small part due to my experiences on the ground as well as the conversations about the dead-end nature of past attempts at top-down political reorganisation I have had with Palestinians, I found myself in absolute agreement with.
Ali has toured internationally throughout Europe, giving speeches in varying countries and has received recognition and admiration wherever he has spoken.
My take on the day: Ali is a unique character, he is in no way what you would expect of a tour guide, he speaks from the heart (perhaps a little crudely at times!) and tells it how it is. He is extremely informative and brings about questions and points that no formal tour would dare speak of. All of which makes him and his talk captivating and extremely interesting in their own way. I would highly recommend him to anyone wanting to get to know the real Jerusalem. If you’re interested you can find him near the entrance to Damascus gate drinking coffee on most days. Just look out for the ‘Denzel Washington’ character as he likes to call himself.
3rd April 2016 | International Solidarity Movement, al-Khalil team | al-Khalil, occupied Palestine
The two boys met us at the store, shouting the name of our Palestinian contact and waving us along. The cobbled stones in the alley made a nice contrast to the darkness of the night. My feet landed softly on the mud where we started our climb. Glimpses of trash were seen from the flickering flash lights, as if we were threading our way across the city dump. We were going to the house of Imad Abu Shamsiyyeh, the man who had managed to catch last week’s execution on film. His name was out in the media and he and his family had received death threats. The local illegal settlers had also put up posters with his name and face on them, saying they wanted him skinned alive. The house had already been firebombed. We were going there as an international presence to act as a deterrent to what seemed a likely further attack.
Imad in his family home
This night his backyard looked like your average neighbourhood barbecue, except that nobody was eating. Imad was sitting by the brazier alongside ten other men from the surrounding houses. His children were buzzing about, and his wife Faisa made sure everyone got their coffee and tea. When the soldiers showed up she made sure everything got caught on film.
There were three of them, all dressed in green, with black automatic rifles and some form of knee pads, which went well with the beret of their leader. They reminded me of turtles with their inability to look back over their shoulders. The execution had been condemned by president Netanyahu at first but later on, as the Israeli public opinion cleared in favour of the soldier, the shooting was surrounded with excuses. The situation for the messenger had however deteriorated.
As the soldiers walked in to the backyard a handful of camera LCDs lit up the night, like torches keeping the wolves at bay. Faisa brought her camera close to the officer’s face, where he hopefully saw a reflection of himself, a harasser of ordinary people.
The soldiers stood around for a while as they checked our passports and IDs. The situation was a bit tense but as everyone had the right to be there, they turned on their heels and left. They were the second delegation from the Israeli army that night. A lone soldier had come at first, to see if there was any protection present, and Issa guessed, to go back and tell the settlers. Luckily, there were a lot of people showing Imad and Faisa their support.
As the hours passed people started to leave for their homes. Our delegation from the ISM spent the rest of the night at Imad’s place. There was an Indian soap opera on TV, dubbed to Arabic, and the children surfed the internet. It could have been a quiet night in a home anywhere in the world, if it hadn’t been for the occupation, or the death threats.
23rd March 2016 | International Solidarity Movement, al-Khalil team | Hebron, occupied West Bank
I’ve wanted to find out more about Laila since I met her on my first day here. She is the only woman storekeeper in the souk and she has a bed and breakfast here. One evening I saw her standing up to soldiers who did not want to let her pass to go home. I have seen nobody else with that firmness and confidence. Everything about her is unusual here (or indeed anywhere). When I do talk with her for this interview, I realise just how unusual.
Laila
Laila’s store sells the same beautiful traditional Palestinian products as many others in the souk but hers are the produce of a rural womens’ cooperative run by her sister Nawal. Laila serves tea and we settle down to talk. Next to me are boxes of beads, silver and stone that I rummage in idly as I sit with her.
Laila doesn’t come from a Hebron family: she was brought up in one of the hill villages and she is lyrical about her childhood there, in what must have been a tough upbringing. In winters they lived in the village, in a cave with the animals, and in summer in a tent near the summer crops: by the time she was a child her family were living on a tiny vestige of the land they had owned before 1948 and the Nakba. ‘If you think about our lives you never believe how we survive. We survive for little things. I remember when we are young our food is from the garden. We can have vegetables from the garden, we can cook, we can catch birds. It’s a simple life. We have a fire to cook, we have water from the wells or a spring. Its very hard for people but for us we like it, we enjoy it much, much better [than in the city].’
Then after 1967 with the coming of illegal settlements came the fear, and the fear was justified: over the years, either settlers or soldiers have burned down the majority of the village’s olive trees. They lost even more land in the last decade when the separation wall sliced away further areas ‘to make the road straight’ and they could no longer get to their own olive trees to crop. ‘In the beginning they let a few people, not many, enter in so they can pick olives but after they burned the trees. Now the land is empty and they took it and they use it for agriculture and they have a lot of cows in that [settler] village.’ Recently too, settlers who had been evacuated from Gaza in 2005 were resettled in new houses built near their village (so much for the munificence of the Israeli government in returning Gazan land to Palestinians). ‘It makes you very nervous and sad; you can see how they take your land. They have everything; at the same time you cannot buy even 200 metres of land to build a house for your child.’
Now Laila lives in the heart of a complex and dangerous city but it is not how she wants to live: ‘Now its more complicated the life, you have to buy everything; you have to buy the water, you have to buy the food, everything is modern and it costs more than we can pay. I miss the life before, I want my children to have the same life I had.’
The need to make a living drove Laila and her husband for three years to Jordan but she hated it so much they had to come back. Then she worked for many years for a women’s cooperative in Jerusalem until the Israeli government built the separation wall and she was unable to cross to work. That is when her new life in Hebron began: her sister Nawal asked her to take on the shop in the souk from her women’s rural cooperative, and despite Laila’s pleas that she did not speak English, Nawal left her for longer and longer periods until she was in full charge.
‘ISM, they have a girl, I never forget her, she came to the shop every day. She want to learn Arabic, I want to learn English. We start to write for each other and by her she encourage me to talk a little bit and I started to listen to people when they talk. I still learn day by day.’ Now her English is good if idiosyncratic and her entrepreneurial skills are considerable: she never pressures customers (unlike many who are desperate in these difficult times) and people like and return to her to buy.
She has recently branched out into operating a bed and breakfast in the souk (if you are ever in Hebron: https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/2148561?s=LVjE97o5). Again she had the help of ISM. When their Tel Rumeida apartment became a closed military zone some time ago, Laila put them up. ‘Then I have a friend who help me put it on airbnb. People who stay with me teach me how to use it. And after [that] I started to make lunch for people, for groups. Friend by friend they know about me and they like it and they tell other people.’This degree of independence and initiative is surprising in the very masculine environment of the souk. But then Laila volunteers something that I really wasn’t expecting: she says, ‘I like to do some thing women they cannot do it, just for man. I like to put myself in [a] place I can be strong in.’ Why is that, I ask?
‘I don’t know, she says. ‘Because maybe when I grew up with my father, always he taught me how to be strong: when you have problems, talk about them. He was really clear with me. Really, he loves me more than the boys. And all the people in the village they never say I am a girl. I am look like boy, not girl. And I continue with this. I respect the men but I never feel shy to be in places where the men have to be. Allah he cannot give them things more than he give me. He give the same. I am nine months, they are nine months. I am female is just from Allah, but I feel I can do what they do. I like it.’
Then we talk about life now in Hebron and that is when she nearly makes me cry, and when she tells me that ‘we have not to cry, we have to be patient’. Her two sons have been arrested several times. One threw stones at soldiers when he was fifteen and went to prison. The other attempted to work in Israel without a permit and was imprisoned three times, for 45 days, for three months and then for six months. Both are still unemployed but she would never want them to go abroad to work.‘When my son was arrested I feel as mothers feel and from that time I start to fight: if I see they stopped any boys or children, I have to ask: ‘why you search them? be nice with them, do it in a nice way’. Some are aggressive with me. They are very scary for us and we don’t know what they can do to us but I never care if they want to kill me: if Allah he want to take my soul, its not by their hand. It should be your time is finish. Allah he decide. This is how the mothers of children [who] got killed by the soldiers they believe their time is finish: I cannot say ‘it is haram* he has died’ because it is the will of Allah. This is how we continue. Allah gives the patience. You never believe your children will die, when you start to think you will become crazy. You never believe you can continue.’‘We have to continue by good food, by water, by air, we have to continue: its enough for us.’
