Difallah ‘Ara’rah, 47, a father of 11, described the displacement of the a-Shqarah community in Nablus District by settlers
I live with my two wives and our children, apart from my two eldest daughters who are married and live elsewhere, my daughter-in-law and our granddaughters. I am from the al-Ka’abneh clan, originally from east of Bethlehem, but life there was very hard because it is a desert area, and there was no pasture for the sheep, so I had to buy fodder, which got me into debt. My brothers, ‘Eid, 60, and Khaled, 55, and I decided about 10 years ago to move somewhere else with our families in search of a respectable, honest living.
We settled in the Duma area, about 20 kilometers southeast of Nablus, a quiet, beautiful place whose residents are good people. I bought a plot of land of about 1.5 dunam (1 dunam = 0.1 hectares) in the a-Shqarah area, about 1.5 kilometers east of the village. My brothers jointly bought about six dunam. We put down roots there and raised our sheep. In addition to raising sheep, I also worked in the Jordan Valley picking dates for a daily wage of 80 NISILS (~ 27 USD). It is seasonal work, from April to September, and after the season ended, I worked in Israel with a work permit. In 2019, with the help of an international aid organization, we were connected to electricity, and a road connecting us to Duma was built.
Like everyone else, I lost my job in Israel, and after I heard about workers being arrested inside Israel after suddenly having their permits revoked, about the heavy fines imposed on them, and about the horrific conditions of detention and the abuse they suffer, I avoided going into Israel.
On 7 October 2023, everything changed. Like everyone else, I lost my job in Israel, and after I heard about workers being arrested inside Israel after suddenly having their permits revoked, about the heavy fines imposed on them, and about the horrific conditions of detention and the abuse they suffer, I avoided going into Israel. But my financial situation kept getting worse, and in September 2025, I broke down and entered Israel without a work permit to work at a place I knew. The conditions there were unbearable, and after about two weeks, I left and went back home.
The situation in our area became increasingly difficult. At the end of July, beginning of August 2025, settlers cleared a road from the outpost they set up about a month earlier northwest of Duma, which also passes near the area where we live east of the village. Then, right after a settler fatally shot Thamin Dawabsheh on 13 August 2025, while Duma residents were protesting the road cleared on village land, they set up a new outpost less than 500 meters northeast of our homes, called Giborey David. They prepared the area, added new caravans, connected to the water supply and installed solar panels, and they now have about eight or nine caravans there, about 25 sheep and dozens of cattle.
At the end of August, when the settlers brought their sheep to the new outpost, they began invading our area and the a-Zawahreh community, which is closer to the outpost, and that was the moment our great suffering began. After what had happened to other communities, we immediately understood that our sheep were in danger, so the first thing we did was move them away from the area. The sheep are all we have, our capital, our life’s work, and as we say, “property is equal to life”.
Fridays and Saturdays were the worst. Ten to 12 settlers would come, and I realized they were bringing friends to help them hurt us. On the other days of the week, between one and four settlers would come with their sheep and donkey, leave them between the homes, swear at us and try to drag us into a confrontation.
Fridays and Saturdays were the worst. Ten to 12 settlers would come, and I realized they were bringing friends to help them hurt us. On the other days of the week, between one and four settlers would come with their sheep and donkey, leave them between the homes, swear at us and try to drag us into a confrontation so they could attack us and drive us out of the area. Despite all the provocations and humiliations, we tried not to respond.
They brought their sheep into the yards, cut water pipes, broke faucets, punctured water tanks and threw shoes into them. They took clothes off washing lines, tore them and threw them on the ground, broke windows and stole anything they could get their hands on: children’s toys, a small hammer, solar lanterns, two wood stoves and construction tools including a drill, a demolition jackhammer (Kango) and many screwdrivers. At night they made noise, played loud music in Hebrew, honked car horns and used loudspeakers that scared everyone. We did not have a moment’s rest.
The settlers came almost every day, like they had a regular shift, with at least one of them carrying a rifle or a handgun. Someone also always brought pepper spray. They pepper-sprayed my son, Ayman, and also some of the Israeli and foreign activists who came to try to help us.
The settlers came almost every day, like they had a regular shift, with at least one of them carrying a rifle or a handgun. Someone also always brought pepper spray. They pepper-sprayed my son, Ayman, 25, and also some of the Israeli and foreign activists who came to try to help us. Even the activists couldn’t stop the settlers, who attacked them too.
The soldier said to me: “If you call me again, I will demolish all your homes”. He punched me in the chest several times, grabbed my clothes forcefully, pushed me up against the jeep and then left. On another occasion, the police came, and the officer said to me: “Where are the title deeds for the land?” When he looked at the documents, he said: “This is Area C, and I can’t do anything to the settler. I can’t stop him from coming here, and you aren’t allowed to stop him”
We asked the Palestinian and Israeli DCOs for help, and once, a military jeep arrived, and the soldier said to me in Hebrew: “If you call me again, I will demolish all your homes”. He punched me in the chest several times, grabbed my clothes forcefully, pushed me up against the jeep and then left. On another occasion, the police came, and the officer said to me: “Where are the title deeds for the land?” When he looked at the documents, he said: “This is Area C, and I can’t do anything to the settler. I can’t stop him from coming here, and you aren’t allowed to stop him”. I told him that they were bringing their sheep into our homes, and he replied: “Leave him be. You have no right to stop him. This is Israeli land. Go to Kuwait, to Jordan, to Sinai. This is Israeli land”. I told him that he beats us and swears at us, and he answered: “File a complaint. You are not allowed to lay a hand on him. I will arrest you if you lay a hand on any of the settlers.”
Several times, some other residents and I filed complaints with the Binyamin police station. We used the videos filmed by the Israeli activists. The police told us they would arrest the settlers and punish them, but it didn’t happen. On the contrary, after we filed the complaints, the settlers suddenly knew all our names, shouted at us that we were from Bethlehem, called my sons Ayman and Muhammad, 16, by name, and sometimes called us ‘Ara’rah and sometimes Ka’abneh, just to show us they knew everything about us. The army would come an hour or two after an attack and do nothing. We stopped calling them, because they work with the settlers, support them and protect them.
At the beginning of March 2026, we sent the women and children away from the community and moved them to a house in Duma to keep them out of harm’s way, hoping this would help us cope with the situation. The settlers kept coming to us and ate and drank in front of us on purpose while we were fasting during the month of Ramadan. On 2 March 2026, when the army issued a closed military zone order for the area, which prohibited the presence of Israeli and foreign activists with us, we understood that the situation was going to get even worse.
A few days later, the settlers started cutting down trees and slashing the fences around the homes. I was inside one of the homes with some residents and two Israeli activists, and I called the Israeli police because the settlers were banging on our doors and trying to break in through the window. The police officer told me on the phone: “I will come there, and if I find activists there, I will arrest them”. At that moment, I understood this was the end. When the settlers backed off a bit, we opened the door, ran to the activists’ car and left the area.
We hoped to return after a month, when the order would expire, but it was extended by a year. It took several days for the activists to manage to arrange access for just three hours so we could take out our clothes and belongings. I went back to the community with my children, some residents and friends.
There was graffiti in Hebrew on the walls saying: “Death to Arabs.” The doors were broken, a dog had given birth to her puppies inside my home, and everything was destroyed and scattered on the floor. [...] All the equipment and tools had been stolen. They threw our clothes on the floor and tore them. The gas tanks, ovens, stoves, portable toilets, water tanks, steel framing and barbed-wire fences were all stolen.
The sight was horrifying. I stood there and tried to hide my tears. There was graffiti in Hebrew on the walls saying: “Death to Arabs.” The doors were broken, a dog had given birth to her puppies inside my home, and everything was destroyed and scattered on the floor. They even broke the mirror. All the equipment and tools had been stolen. They threw our clothes on the floor and tore them. The gas tanks, ovens, stoves, portable toilets, water tanks, steel framing and barbed-wire fences were all stolen. They took apart the shack where my wife Nofah, 47, lived and threw it on the ground. This was a tragedy in every sense of the word.
I had to rent the skeleton of a house that was stopped mid-construction because the Civil Administration issued a demolition order claiming it was built without a permit in Area C. It had no flooring, windows, toilets, electricity or plumbing, and it was very cold outside. My wives, my children and I shivered from the cold and wrapped ourselves in blankets in an attempt to keep warm. I have never felt such cold. The activists brought us firewood from Israel, because the settlers had not left us even the propane and kerosene heaters, and they had also stolen the two wood stoves we had in the community. We all huddled in three rooms, including the kitchen, and the house had only one door, the main entrance. Later, I had to rent the second floor for my wife, Asmahan Njum, 36, and the third floor for my son Ayman, his wife, Intisar, 21, and their two daughters, for 600 shekels (~ 200 USD) a floor. All the apartments had the same harsh conditions and were not fit for habitation.
We have been living without work and without any source of income for almost a year now. I wanted to sell my sheep, but my children refused and said to me: “If you sell them, what will you live on?” But I can’t keep the sheep here. There is no room for them, and the settlers come here too, ride around on their ATVs, come right up to the house, and stop in front of it. Once, one of them said to me: “Difallah, are you here?” I answered: “Yes, I rented this whole house out of sorrow.” He laughed and said: “It’s only a matter of time.” He comes here several times a week. There is also another settler who comes up to the house with his cattle. My children immediately go inside and lock the doors, because I don’t want trouble. The settlers graze their cattle on other people’s land. We are living in a real war situation.
Once, I lived in my home, on my land, alongside my brothers, our children and the rest of the family. Today, we have all been scattered. One brother stayed in Duma, but in another part of the village, the other moved to the Salfit area, and their children have also scattered. I don’t feel at home here. We are Bedouin. We’re used to living in open, quiet places, and I can’t live with people I don’t know. My children might get used to village life, but it’s too late for my wives and me. We’re not used to this life. We were pulled out by our roots, like a plant that is uprooted from the ground and thrown into the wind.
- Testimony given to B’Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb’i on 4 June 2026