Amal Qabaha. Photo by Abdulkarim Sadi, B'Tselem, 28 February 2018
"When my husband passed away in 2006, we were left with no income, so I started working to support my children. In 2014 I found a steady cleaning job at a woodworking shop in the Shahak industrial zone which is part of the Shaked settlement. For the four years I worked there my employers provided me with a permit that they renewed every six months. I was on good terms with the people in charge and with the other workers."
This is how Amal Qabaha, 52, a widowed mother of eight children, described her place of work. She was forced to give it up on 4 February 2018. That day, as usual, she arrived at the Barta’a Checkpoint on her way to work, but was surprised to learn that her permit to work in settlements, which was still valid, had been revoked.
The village of Tura al-Gharbiya lies north of the town of Ya’bad in Jenin District. It is home to some 1,110 people, about 800 of them members of the extended Qabaha family. In 2003, a section of the Separation Barrier was built near the village, cutting it off from some of its lands which were annexed de facto to Israel. The barrier created an enclave of about 3.2 hectares that contains seven Palestinian villages and three settlements. Within the enclave, on Ya’bad land, Israel erected Shahak Industrial Park, about two kilometers from Tura al-Gharbiya.
Palestinians who wish to work in the industrial zone must apply to the Israeli Civil Administration for special permits. Permits are issued only sparingly, after to a process whose rules are unknown to the Palestinian applicants and whose outcome is arbitrary decisions with no explanation provided.
In order to get to their jobs in the industrial zone, villagers from the surrounding area must go through one of two checkpoints the military placed along the route of the Separation Barrier: Dhaher al-Malih Checkpoint, which is staffed by soldiers, or Barta’a Checkpoint, which is staffed by soldiers and by a private security company that hired by Israel’s Ministry of Defense. Dhaher al-Malih Checkpoint is closer to both the industrial zone and to the village, but can be accessed only via dirt paths and therefore is used mostly by farmers. Other workers usually favor the Barta’a Checkpoint, which is located four kilometers from Tura al-Gharbiya.
In January 2018, forty Tura al-Gharbiya residents had permits. Nearly three months ago, on 4 February 2018, soldiers and private security guards at the checkpoints told twenty of them that their permits had been revoked, giving no explanation or prior notice. Some permit-holders had the permits physically taken away from them, while others were allowed to keep the documents that had become useless.
Of the twenty people whose permits were revoked, at least two also had permits to enter Israel under the family unification process, and at least five also had agricultural permits to work their land on the other side of the barrier. Members of the Qabaha family told B’Tselem they had repeatedly tried to get through both checkpoints using one of the other permits, but to no avail.
For almost three months now, Israel has been denying these workers and their families their livelihood, without providing them or their employers with any explanation for the sudden revocation of their permits.
Palestinians in the West Bank depend entirely upon the Civil Administration for leading a reasonable life: to work, tend their land, visit relatives and so on. Revoking the permits of these twenty members of the Qabaha has left them and their dependents with no source of income, and it was done without any warning or justification. This is but one more example that illustrates the injurious impact of Israel’s policies in the Occupied Territories, the military’s arbitrary and indiscriminate use of power, and the blanket denial of Palestinians’ rights in the West Bank.
Members of the extended Qabaha family spoke about the implications that the permit revocation has had on their lives. They gave their testimonies to B’Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi on 28 February 2018:
Ahmad Qabaha, 54, a married father of five:
Image
Ahmad Qabaha. Photo by Abdulkarim Sadi, B'Tselem, 28 February 2018
I have had an agricultural permit ever since they built the Separation Barrier on our land. I have also had a work permit since 19 August 2014, because I work in a factory that recycles rubber tires in the Shahak industrial zone near the settlement of Shaked. I’ve worked there regularly for years, without any problems. I’m on excellent terms with my bosses. I usually go there every day with other workers from the village via the Daher al-Malih Checkpoint, and sometimes through the Barta’a Checkpoint.
On Sunday, 4 February 2018, I set out for work early in the morning. When I got to the Barta’a Checkpoint, I showed the private security guard my entry permit and ID card, but he told me I wasn’t allowed to go through.
He didn’t give me any explanation, although my permit to enter settlements for work was supposed to be valid until 16 July 2018. I had to turn around and go home, without knowing why they wouldn’t let me get to work and carry on with life as usual. I couldn’t believe this was happening and couldn’t understand why my permit was being revoked and I wasn’t being allowed to get to work.
I was so upset, and just couldn’t calm down. That day, I also tried to get in via the Daher al-Malih Checkpoint with my agricultural permit, which is supposed to be valid from 11 January to 9 July 2018, but they wouldn’t let me through there either. The soldiers told me I wasn’t allowed in for security reasons.
It’s not just me. It turned out that about twenty members of our family have been denied entry, although we all have entry permits that are supposed to be valid. Not allowing us in means our families are left with no income and that we cannot put food on the table for our families.
‘Ali Qabaha, 32, a married father of two:
Image
'Ali Qabaha. Photo by Abdulkarim Sadi, B'Tselem, 28 February 2018
I work at a factory in the Shahak industrial zone. I have three entry permits: one for commerce, one for work in a settlement and one for spouses, because I’ve been married for ten years to an Israeli citizen from the village of ‘Eilut. The agricultural permit was revoked on 4 February 2018 at the Daher al-Malih checkpoint, and the married couples’ permit was confiscated four days later, when I tried to cross the Jalameh checkpoint north of Jenin with it.
Ever since I began working at the factory on 1 January 2014, the management has helped me get a permit to work in a settlement and gets it renewed every six months. Because the permit was just getting renewed at the time, I used my other permits to get to work. That’s what I usually do when the work permit is up for renewal. I don’t know why they revoked our permits. I didn’t hear that anyone in the family had committed any offense or crime.
Our family relies on work in Israel, and especially in the Shakah industrial zone, which is only four kilometers from the village. The whole family is being punished for no reason.
Raafat Qabaha, 30, a married father of one:
Image
Raafat Qabaha. Photo by Abdulkarim Sadi, B'Tselem, 28 February 2018
My wife is an Israeli citizen and lives with me in the village. After we got married, I had two permits – a spousal permit that is valid for a year and allows me to stay in Israel for up to 24 hours, and a work permit that my employer renews every six months.
In 2015 I began working in the Shahak industrial zone at a large woodworking workshop that employs about seventy people. On 4 February 2018, I went to work as usual via the Daher al-Malih Checkpoint and gave the soldier my spousal permit, which was supposed to be valid. The soldier said the permit had been cancelled by the authorities. I tried to come back with the work permit, which was supposed to be valid until 12 May 2018, but the soldiers said the authorities had given an order not to let me in.
We contacted our bosses at the workshop to help us solve the problem. Our supervisor at the factory checked called the authorities and told us that an administrative order denying entry had been issued against the Qabaha family for six months. They didn’t tell him why. Denying us entry has taken away our income.
Muhammad Qabaha, 34, a married father of two:
Image
Muhammad Qabaha. Photo by Abdulkarim Sadi, B'Tselem, 28 February 2018
I’ve been working at a tire-recycling factory in the Shahak industrial zone since 2015. My employers get my work permit renewed every six months. I’ve never had any trouble with them or with the Israeli authorities. My current work permit is supposed to be valid until 7 May 2018.
On 4 February 2018, I went to the Barta’a Checkpoint to get to work. I gave my papers and permit to the private security guard, and he told me the authorities had issued an order that I wasn’t to be allowed in. I wasn’t given any explanation why I couldn’t keep working. I’m now out of work. They took away my family’s income with no explanation.
On Friday, 18 August 2023, at around 11:30 P.M., cousins Mahmoud (18) and Yihya (16) a-Nawaj’ah arrived at the Meitar checkpoint. They were traveling in a car belonging to a Palestinian citizen of Israel. The two were on their way back from Israel to their home in the community of al-Jawaya, which lies southeast of the town of Yatta in the South Hebron Hills. When they reached the checkpoint, Israeli soldiers had the driver and two passengers get out of the car and conducted body searches on them. The soldiers took their bags, cellphones, and a bracelet and ring Yihya was wearing. They also took 8,000 NIS (~2,100 USD) in cash, money the cousins had earned working and were carrying in their pockets. Next, the soldiers tied the hands of the three individuals behind their backs using plastic bags, covered their eyes with plastic bags, and placed them in a military jeep. When they asked where they were being taken, the soldiers told them they were going to the Beit Yatir checkpoint (a checkpoint near the Mezadot Yehuda military base). Once they arrived at the military base, the three were taken out of the jeep and seated on the ground. Throughout the night and until the following afternoon, the three remained on the ground, handcuffed and blindfolded. Even in the intense heat of the day, the soldiers denied them water, food and access to the bathroom. When they requested to sit in a more shaded area, the soldiers refused. They were also forbidden from contacting their families or a lawyer to inform them of their whereabouts. Later, the three were taken to a room in the military base where the plastic bags around their hands were replaced with zip ties – this time, in front of them – and the bags covering their eyes were replaced with cloth blindfolds. They were interrogated in Arabic and asked for their names, ages, how they entered Israel and what they were doing there. From there, they were taken to another military facility, where fingerprints were taken from all three while they remained handcuffed and blindfolded. The soldiers then separated the driver from Mahmoud and Yihya and later released him. Mahmoud and Yihya were put in a car and sat there for about half an hour. Then, after a short drive to the Beit ‘Einun roundabout on Route 60, which sits north of Hebron, the soldiers took them out of the car and told them that they were being released. Only after the two pleaded did the soldiers remove the handcuffs and blindfolds. They returned their cellphones and Yihya’s jewelry that had been taken during the arrest. When the cousins asked the soldiers about the money that was taken from them, the soldiers claimed it had been transferred to the police and then left. Mahmoud called his father, who came to pick them up and took them home after more than twenty hours without food or drink. The next day, Mahmoud and Yihya went to the Kiryat Arba police station to demand their money back, but the police officers referred them to the Border Police camp in the settlement of Telem. Upon arriving there, they were told to come back the next day. On 31 August 2023, the two contacted HaMoked: Center for the Defence of the Individual to file a complaint on their behalf with the police demanding their money be returned. B’Tselem field researcher Basel al-‘Adrah collected testimonies from the two cousins. Mahmoud a-Nawaj’ah (18), a resident of a-Jawaya testified: Ever since I finished school, I’ve helped support my family. In June 2023, I started working in the town of ‘Araba, inside the Green Line. I didn’t have a work permit, so I crossed in illegally. After about a month, my 16-year-old cousin Yihya a-Nawaj’ah joined me. On 18 August 2023, we decided to go home and paid a Palestinian citizen of Israel to drive us. At around 11:30 P.M., we reached the Meitar checkpoint. The guard there stopped the car and asked to see IDs. The driver showed them his ID, and I told them I didn’t have mine with me. Yihya said he didn’t have one because he’s sixteen and hasn’t gotten one yet. The guard instructed us to get out of the car and asked the driver to park it in the lot next to the checkpoint. A few soldiers made us move away from the car, and another soldier searched the vehicle with an electronic device. Meanwhile, the soldiers told me to call my parents and ask them to send my ID number or a photo. I tried calling, but no one answered. Yihya, the driver and I got taken into a room at the checkpoint, where our photos were taken, and then our faces were identified. Afterward, we were taken to a small cell, got physically searched, and everything that was on us was taken: our cellphones, our bags with all our clothes, the 5,000 NIS (~1,300 USD) I made in all the months I’d worked, and 3,000 NIS (~780 USD) Yihya had made that was on him. Then our hands were tied behind our backs with plastic bags, and we were blindfolded with plastic bags too. All three of us were put in a black military jeep. I asked where they were taking us, and one of the soldiers said: “Mezadot Yehuda.” After about a ten-minute drive, at around 12:30 A.M., we were taken out of the vehicle and sat on the ground inside a military base. I could feel cars zooming by very close to us. It was really scary, and I was very worried about what would happen, especially since no one in our family knew we’d been detained. I asked the soldiers if I could try calling someone from my family again, but they refused. When we asked for water and food, they refused that too, didn’t give us anything, and ordered us to shut up and not talk to each other, either. We asked how much longer we’d stay on the floor like that, and one of the soldiers said we had a lot more time. We were there all night. The next morning, about an hour and a half after we heard the call to dawn prayer, it got very hot. We couldn’t take the heat of the sun anymore and asked the soldiers to move us somewhere with more shade, but they refused. Around noon, it had become completely unbearable, and we asked them again and again if we could move, but they said no each time. At some point, I managed to take the plastic bag off my eyes, but within seconds, soldiers came over to put it back on and yelled at me that I wasn’t allowed to take it off. We sat on the ground handcuffed and blindfolded for 15 hours straight. Then, the soldiers brought us into a room in the base. They took the plastic off our eyes and covered them again with cloth. They also tied our hands tightly with zip ties – this time in front. They sat us down on chairs. Suddenly, someone I hadn’t seen began talking to us. He said his name was Khaled, and he asked each of us questions in mediocre Arabic. He asked for my name, my age, where I worked and how I entered Israel. He asked Yihya and the driver the same questions. After that, the soldiers put us back in the jeep, drove for about forty minutes, took us out again, and brought us into a room again, where they took our fingerprints while we were still handcuffed and blindfolded. After that, they put me and Yihya in a civilian car. I don’t know where the soldiers took the driver. We waited in the car for about half an hour before it started moving. A while later, we got dropped off and told we could go. They hadn’t taken off our blindfolds or untied our hands. They only did it after we begged them, and then we realized we were at the Beit ‘Einun roundabout. One of the soldiers gave us back our cellphones. We asked about our money, and the soldier said it was with the police, and then the soldiers left. I managed to take a photo of their license plate. That was at about 5:30 or 6:00 P.M. I called my father, and he came to pick us up. We were exhausted. Later, I called the driver, and he told me he had been released and that his friends came to pick him up, but that the soldiers confiscated his car. The next day, Yihya and I went to the police station in Kiryat Arba to get our money back, but they said our case was being dealt with in the Telem base. We went there, and they told us to come back the next day. The following morning, the Kiryat Arba police called me, and the interpreter asked me to tell him what happened, and how much money it was. I told him and said I was planning on going to Telem the next day to pick up my money. He told me they’d be in touch, but that never happened. Yihya a-Nawaj’ah (16), from Yatta, said: I was looking for work over the summer in order to have some pocket money for my last year of high school. My cousin, Mahmoud a-Nawaj’ah, got me a job where he works near ‘Araba in Israel, and I started working there on 15 July 2023. The first day of school was 20 August 2023, and I wanted some time to prepare, so we both left work on 18 August 2023. We left at around 9:30 P.M. with a Palestinian citizen of Israel who drove us for a fee, and at around 11:30 P.M., when we arrived at the Meitar checkpoint, the guard there detained us when he saw Mahmoud and I didn’t have IDs on us. The guy who was driving us showed the guard his ID, and the guard told Mahmoud and me to get out and the driver to park in the lot next to the checkpoint. The two of us got out of the car, and two soldiers led us through the lot. Then three more soldiers came, and one of them searched the car with an electronic device. The soldiers demanded to see IDs again, but we said we didn’t have them. They took the three of us to a room at the checkpoint, took our pictures in there, and then did a body search inside a small booth. They took our cellphones, and from me, they also took a bracelet and ring I was wearing, and the 3,000 NIS (~780 USD) I had made at work. They took Mahmoud’s 5,000 NIS (~1,300 USD), too. Then, the soldiers tied our hands behind our backs and blindfolded us with plastic bags. After that, the soldiers put us in a jeep and after a 10-minute ride, we were taken out and sat on the ground inside a military base. It was scary because I couldn’t see anything, and I didn’t know what the soldiers were planning. I felt cars zooming right next to me. I asked the soldiers to go to the bathroom a few times, but they didn’t let me. They also didn’t give us water or food, and they forbade us from talking to each other. Mahmoud and I asked to call our family or a lawyer, but one of the soldiers kept saying the same word every time: “forbidden.” About an hour and a half after we heard the call to dawn prayer, when the sun was already up, we asked them to move us to the shade, but they refused. Around noon, we couldn’t stand the scorching heat anymore – we had been there for 15 hours straight – but they continued to refuse our request to move to a shadier spot. At some point, they moved all three of us to a room in the base and replaced the plastic blindfold with a cloth one and the plastic bags tying our hands with zip ties; they put them in front this time. One of the soldiers tied my hands really tight, and it hurt. Then, someone who said his name was Khaled asked the three of us some questions in mediocre Arabic. He asked how old we were, where we worked, and how we entered Israel. After that, they took the three of us out of the room and put us back in the jeep. After a forty-minute ride, we were brought into another room where they took our fingerprints – even though our hands were still tied and we still had blindfolds on. They then put just Mahmoud and me in a car, and we waited for about half an hour inside it. After a short ride, the soldiers dropped us off and told us we could go, but they didn’t take off the handcuffs and blindfolds. We asked them to take them off, but one of them said they weren’t allowed. We didn’t understand why he wanted to leave us like that in the middle of the road, so we persisted until, finally, one of them untied our hands and took off our blindfolds. I felt relieved. They also gave us back our phones, and they gave me my bracelet and ring. They didn’t return the money they took from us, and when we asked for it, the soldier told us that the police had it. After that, they drove off, and Mahmoud called his father, who came to pick us up. We were so hungry and tired, and we just wanted to sleep.
Over the past year, the Civil Administration has revoked permits to work in Israel and in the settlements from hundreds of Palestinians, in response to attacks committed by residents of their communities with the same family name. Until May 2018, the Civil Administration revoked permits in three instances: in the vicinity of Yatta in the Hebron District, where the largest number of permits was revoked; around Beit Surik to the northwest of Jerusalem; and in Barta’ah a-Sharqiyah in the Jenin District. The workers and their families depend for their livelihood on these permits, which were revoked months ago and have not yet been returned. The longer the revocation, the greater the damage to the workers and their families. Workers report drastic changes they have been forced to make to their lifestyle following the revocation of the permits, and some state that they have fallen into debt. The workers have no way of knowing when, if ever, their permits will be reinstated and whether they should attempt to find alternative work in the West Bank, at much lower salaries. It is difficult for them to commit to a new place of employment due to the possibility that the permits could be reinstated at some point, allowing them to return to their regular positions. Revoking permits from Palestinians who have no substantive connection to perpetrators of attacks is part of a declared Israeli policy. Maj.-Gen. Yoav Mordechai, who until recently served as Coordinator of Government Operations in the Territories (COGAT), wrote following an attack committed by Palestinians on 17 June 2017 at Damascus Gate in Jerusalem, in which a Border Police officer was stabbed and killed, that Israel had decided on a number of steps. “The first”, he stated, “is revoking 250,000 entry permits [for Palestinians visiting family in Israel] and revoking work permits from the kin of the terrorists.” A few months later, following the attack in Har Adar in which two security guards and a Border Police officer were shot and killed, the Prime Minister announced that measures taken in response would include demolishing the terrorist's house, imposing a closure on the village of Beit Surik and revoking the work permits of his extended family. The revocation of the permits is not based on any claim that the workers were responsible for the attacks, involved in them in any manner, or even knew the perpetrators. The grave damage to them is due solely to the fact - meaningless in itself – that their family name is identical to that of the perpetrator. In the vast majority of instances, there is no actual relation between the two. Accordingly, the policy is completely unjustified and constitutes collective punishment, which is prohibited under international law. This policy is based on Israel’s position that issuing work permits to Palestinians is a privilege or act of charity. Accordingly, Israel argues that it is entitled to revoke and reissue these permits at will, without reason. The state completely ignores the ramifications of this decision and acts as though it were not the one restricting the movement of Palestinians, impeding the development of their economy and blocking their access to resources . This is yet another example of the arbitrary manner in which Israel acts in the West Bank. This arbitrariness governs the Palestinians’ lives and forms part of the organized state violence aimed at perpetuating Israeli control over a civil population denied political rights. Yatta area, Hebron District The town of Yatta in the Hebron District has a population of some 65,000. About 30,000 people in the town and its vicinity share the family name Abu ‘Aram. On 2 August 2017, Isma’il Abu ‘Aram stabbed an Israeli supermarket worker in Yavne, causing him serious injuries. The next day, the Civil Administration revoked the work permits of more than 1,000 Palestinians named Abu ‘Aram – 915 worked in Israel and the others in settlements. The permits were initially revoked for 10 days. About four months later, on 14 December 2017, the Civil Administration again revoked them, this time “until further notice.” In testimonies given to B'Tselem field researcher Musa Abu Hashhash, workers from the Abu ‘Aram family described the difficulties they face without the permits. ‘Ali Abu Aram, 51, a construction worker and married father of seven, related on 18 March 2018: I live in the village of al-Carmel to the east of Yatta, and I’ve worked in Israel since 2007. At the time my permit was revoked, I was working for an Israeli contractor in Holon. I pay him NIS 2,000 (NIS 1 = USD 0.28) a month to get a work permit. My last permit was valid through 9 June 2018. Every day I’d head out early for work and return after 7:00 P.M. via Meitar Crossing. I worked together with my three married sons: Nidal, 24, Nihad, 22, and Muhammad, 21. We all had permits. Our lives were stable and our pay was very good. I made NIS 500 a day. At the beginning of August, a young man from the Abu ‘Aram family attacked an Israeli in Yavne. After that, they revoked my work permit, as well as my sons’ and those of other workers from the Abu ‘Aram family, for 10 days. Then we had to go and get new work permits again, and we went back to work. A few months later, on 14 December 2017, we were surprised to hear at Meitar Crossing that our permits had been cancelled. At first we thought it was just a temporary decision for that day. The soldier at the crossing didn’t give us any reason. He only told us that those were his orders and that we should go home. When I got home, I heard that hundreds of people whose family name is Abu ‘Aram had had their permits revoked. They were all sent home that same day, regardless of which crossing they’d used. Since then, my three sons and I, along with the other workers from the Abu ‘Aram family, have been unemployed. We’ve tried to contact various officials to help us, but it hasn’t done any good. I called the contractor who employed me, my friends spoke to lawyers and we organized a protest outside the Civil Administration, but nothing changed. We’ve been unemployed and had no income for three months now. I’m starting to worry that it might stay like this for ever. It’s causing me massive losses. I have some savings, but I rely on my daily income. I’ve managed to cut back on the family’s expenses significantly and I’m using part of our savings. It’s hard for us to find work in Yatta. There aren’t many jobs on offer, the salaries aren’t enough, and there are lots of unemployed people here. This is a policy of collective punishment. My family, my workmates and I are all totally frustrated. In a testimony he gave on 19 March 2018, Zaher Abu ‘Aram, 25, a married, stated: I live with my family in the town of Yatta. I have a work permit and for the past two years I’ve been working in Lod. My father and two brothers also work in Israel, and another brother works in settlements. Together, we provide for 27 people. On 3 August 2017, the day after someone from the Abu ‘Aram family attacked an Israeli in Yavne, they told me that I wasn’t allowed into Israel. This prohibition lasted for 10 days, after which my father, my brothers and I had to take out a new permit. A few months later, on 14 December 2017, they suddenly told me at the crossing that a new prohibition had been imposed on workers from the Abu ‘Aram family entering Israel. That prohibition is still in force. I was in the middle of building a house. I’d already bought the building materials and given checks to contractors, but I don’t know whether I’ll be able to repay my debts and cover the checks. My father and brothers are helping me for now, from their savings, but even so I decided to stop work on the house until I can go back to work. What happened to us is severe collective punishment. I hope this suffering will end. Beit Surik, Al-Quds District The village of Beit Surik, northwest of Jerusalem, is home to some 4,500 residents. On 26 September 2017, Nimer al-Jamal killed two civilian security guards and a Border Police officer at a military roadblock set up at the entrance to the settlement of Har Adar. The Civil Administration subsequently revoked the permits of some 150 village residents with the same surname, who worked in Israel or in settlements. The workers were informed that their permits would be revoked for six months, but at the end of March they discovered that they were still barred from entering Israel until further notice. In testimonies given on 9 April 2018 to B'Tselem field researcher Iyad Hadad, members of the al-Jamal family who live in Beit Surik described the difficulties this collective punishment has caused them. Bashir al-Jamal, 49, a gardener and married father of seven, explained: I am the sole provider for 10 people – my wife, our seven children, my sister and my father, 75, who has heart problems, diabetes and high blood pressure. My sister and father live in a separate house. Two of my children are students – Muhammad, 20, and Siwar, 19. The other children are still at school. No one else who care for these people. Our monthly expenses are at least NIS 6,000, including 600 to 1,000 for my father and sister’s needs. I make NIS 6,000 a month working in Israel, so usually our expenses and income are balanced. I was barred from working in Israel after the shooting attack in Har Adar, and since then have been without an income. Our family is in a very tough spot financially and psychologically. I’ve been a gardener for 14 years, including 11 years working for a neighborhood house committee in Mevasseret Zion. It’s not easy to find a new job in gardening – there’s hardly any work like that around here. I have a serious problem with my eyesight and it’s difficult for me to work in another profession. At present I’m still unemployed. It’s hard for me to meet my family’s basic needs. I can’t borrow money from my brothers, because they’re in exactly the same situation. Two of them worked in Israel and also lost their work permits. I had no choice but to sell my wife’s jewelry, but even that money ran out very quickly. It embarrasses me to go to a wedding or on social visits, because it entails expenses that I can’t afford. When my son Muhammad realized that our financial situation was getting worse, he moved from Bir Zeit University to Al-Quds Open University. The tuition fees at that university are much lower and his timetable leaves him time to study and work at the same time, so that he can cover his own basic needs. My daughter, who is attending a teacher training college in Ramallah, needs money every day for public transportation, as well as NIS 25 for her expenses. Now she’s thinking of giving up her studies. When she comes home and sees how sad and depressed I am, she strokes my head to comfort me. She tells me: “Never mind, Dad, everything will pass with God’s help.” But she, too, says it very sadly. Poverty and want are the hardest things a human can experience. This is what we’re all experiencing every day, and all because we have the same family name as the person who carried out the attack. Work in Israel allowed us to breathe, and now we don’t even have that. Mahdi al-Jamal, 34, an electrician, engaged, stated: I am the breadwinner for six people – my father, mother and four sisters. We all live in a house in Beit Surik. My father is sick and can’t work. I’m engaged and was supposed to get married this month (April). I’ve been working in Israel for 15 years. For the past 10 years I worked in the settlement of Har Adar, nearby, with an Israeli electrical contractor. I have a permit to work in settlements that my employer renews every three months. Since the shooting attack at the settlement seven months ago, all the members of the al-Jamal family have been barred from working in Israel or in settlements. Some 20 to 30 people from the al-Jamal family worked in Har Adar, and they all lost their work permits. We’re not allowed to go there any more. More than 100 other workers from the al-Jamal family worked inside Israel, and they’ve all lost their work permits. We’ve all been punished for something we didn’t do and had nothing to do with. The revocation of the work permits has caused financial damage and also harmed us psychologically and socially. I’ve been left without any income. Beforehand, my average income was NIS 250 a day. Now I don’t make anything. A month after they took away my permit, I went to work at a quarry in the West Bank for a very low salary of NIS 100 a day. It’s exhausting work and it isn’t my profession. After 12 days I had to quit, and now I’m unemployed again. I hardly ever leave the house anymore. I only go out for a walk, just to move a bit. I don’t dare go into a café or restaurant because I have to save money. Before they took away my permit, I used to visit my fiancée at her family’s home at least once a week, but now I only go once a month. I don’t know how we’ll get by. We planned to get married this month, but I had to postpone the wedding to September in the hope that the problem will be solved by then. I had some savings, but I spent them all on preparations for the wedding and the engagement ceremony last year. By the time they took away my permit, I didn’t have any savings left. I have to borrow money from friends, and sometimes from my married brothers. While I was working, I could care for our parents, but since they took my permit away my brothers have had to support them. Without my brothers, they wouldn’t have anything. The situation is also really hard psychologically. I was an adult man, responsible for my family, and now when I put my hand in my pocket I don’t even have money for cigarettes. I’m trapped between heaven and earth, waiting for them to let me work. I’m really scared that this could go on forever and that my whole future will be ruined. I want to get married and start a family like everyone else. I’m scared that all my dreams will turn out to be one big illusion. Barta’ah a-Sharqiyah, Jenin District Barta’ah a-Sharqiyah is a Palestinian village in the Jenin District that Israel has trapped in an enclave between the Green Line and the Separation Barrier. It has about 5,000 residents, almost all of whom bear the family name Kabha. On 16 March 2018, village resident ‘Alaa Kabha ran over and killed two soldiers near the settlement of Mevo Dotan. The same day, the Civil Administration revoked the permits of almost 100 residents of the village – 67 permits for work in Israel, 27 for commercial purposes, and four for work in settlements. In testimonies given on 16 April 2018 to B'Tselem field researcher Abdulkarim Sadi, members of the Kabha family from Beit Surik described the difficulties they have faced due to the revocation. Zakaria Kabha, 37, an electrician and married father of three, stated: I live in Barta’ah a-Sharqiyah with my wife and our three young children. I’ve been working in Hadera for several months, at a company that specializes in electric and infrastructure works. I had a permit to work in Israel. On Sunday, 18 March 2018, I was at work in Hadera. At the end of the day, my employers told me that Israel had revoked the work permits of all Kabha family members. Four other people from the same family were working with me. The owners told us not to come back to work until the authorities cancelled the ban. This decision means that I can’t support my family anymore. My wife, my three little children, my mother and my three brothers – one of whom has Down’s Syndrome – have all been dependent on me since my father died. As I see it, this is collective punishment of the innocent. My family didn’t do a thing to a soul. Every second day, I call the company that employs me to ask whether the prohibition has been cancelled yet. A whole month has passed and we’re all still sitting at home without work or regular income. There’s no other way for us to earn a living for our families. Muhammad Kabha, 41, a construction worker and married father of six, explained: I’ve been working as a construction laborer in an Israeli company for five years. I have a work permit that the company issues and renews every six months. After ‘Alaa Kabha ran over soldiers on 16 March 2018, the authorities decided to punish residents who share his family name. Kabha is a very big family and we don’t have anything in common except for the name. The authorities imposed collective punishment on all the residents of the village who have the same family name and who hold entry permits to Israel. Since they took away the permit, I’ve been unemployed. They told me not to come to my place of work in Netanya. The authorities told the employers that they mustn’t take on anyone with our family name until further notice. This punishment has changed our lives. In addition to my wife and children, I also provide for my mother and for my brother, who is disabled and deaf. Two of my children are in post-secondary studies and I asked them to take a break, because I don’t have enough money. My family has been directly affected by the imposition of this prohibition. Seven other people who are also called Kabha worked with me in the same company, and they’re unemployed now, too. Our relations with our employers were very good. We never had any problems with them. I asked the Palestinian DCO to help us, and the Barta’ah Municipality also contacted the authorities. I’m hoping to hear good news, and every day I call the company to see whether anything’s changed. As long as this prohibition continues, our families’ suffering will also continue.
On Sunday, 23 October 2022, at around 10:00 P.M., brothers Rajeh (24) and Bassem (21) a-Razem set out from their home in the Jaber neighborhood in the Hebron city center to deliver goods to the family store, which is located about 200 meters away. As they approached the Jaber checkpoint, the brothers saw several soldiers chasing youths from the neighborhood. Bassem got scared and ran back towards the house, while Rajeh kept walking towards the store. One of the soldiers suddenly approached Rajeh, pushed him, knocked him down and pressed his knee into his neck, choking him. More soldiers arrived. They handcuffed and blindfolded Rajeh and made him sit by the checkpoint. Bassem and Rajeh’s parents, who heard the commotion, rushed to the scene to rescue Rajeh, but the soldiers pushed them, swore at them and did not allow them to come near. The soldiers also attacked neighbors who came to the family’s aid, including: Ahmad Jaber (19), who was also handcuffed; his father, Minwer Jaber (48), who told the soldiers he was a member of the Palestinian security apparatus; and Minwer’s brother, Munzer Jaber (56), and his son Mu’taz (36). The soldiers also detained ‘Aref Jaber (48), who came to the spot to document the event. About half an hour later, an officer arrived at the checkpoint and released everyone except Rajeh, whom the soldiers held at the checkpoint, handcuffed and blindfolded, until 12:30 A.M. The Israeli media reported that two soldiers and an officer were suspended following the incident, which the IDF Chief of Staff described as a “a flagrant departure from IDF values.” Yet this case is no exception. It is part of the violent routine that is all too familiar to Palestinians in downtown Hebron – and throughout the West Bank. The only exception here was media exposure. Even then, how did the military choose to penalize soldiers who were documented verbally and physically assaulting Palestinians and falsely arresting one? By suspending them from operations. This is no mistake: the soldiers did not misinterpret orders and the Chief of Staff did not misunderstand the severity of the incident. It is Israel’s policy. B’Tselem field researcher Manal al-Ja’bari took testimonies on 25 October 2022 from some of the residents attacked: Rajeh a-Razem (24) from the a-Salaimeh neighborhood said: On 23 October 2022, at around 10:00 P.M., my father asked my brother Bassem and me to take goods to the store. Because we’re not allowed through the Jaber checkpoint by car, we have to transport goods with a small cart. We finished transporting the first batch and were taking the rest when we saw about four soldiers near the checkpoint yelling at some young guys on the street and chasing them. Bassem ran towards home, and I continued with the goods towards the checkpoint. Suddenly, one of the soldiers attacked me, knocked me down and sat on top of me, pressing his knee into my neck. He was choking me. Another soldier pointed his rifle at me. The soldiers asked me in Arabic about Bassem, who he was and why he ran away. I was afraid they’d hurt my brother, so I told them I didn’t know him, and then the soldier who was pointing his rifle at me shouted something in Hebrew that I didn’t understand. I told him I didn’t understand and he hit me, slapped me and shouted at me that I was a terrorist. The other soldier, who was still pressing his knee into my neck and choking me, also slapped me. Then, he pulled me to my feet and led me towards the checkpoint, where he tied my hands in front of me with zip ties, blindfolded me and made me sit in front of the checkpoint. Meanwhile, my parents arrived. I heard them talking to the soldiers. The soldiers were shouting at them and swearing at my mother. It sounded as if they were attacking my father, too. At some point they lifted me to my feet, dragged me a few steps and then made sit back down on the ground. I heard other people from the neighborhood shouting and it sounded like there was a struggle going on. I think the soldiers hit one of the residents, and I heard him tell them in English he was a police officer. I couldn’t see what was happening because I was blindfolded. They held me like that until about 12:30 A.M., and then they let me go and I went home. My family told me the soldiers had attacked Minwer Jaber and his family when they tried to help me. Ibtesam Jaber, a 37-year-old mother of six from the Jaber neighborhood, said: At around 10:30 P.M., my husband Minwer and I were at home. Suddenly, I heard shouting out on the street. Minwer went outside to see what was going on and our son Ahmad, who was woken by the shouting, followed him outside. I looked out the window and saw Rajeh a-Razem handcuffed and blindfolded. The soldiers had him sitting on the ground near the Jaber checkpoint. I saw his parents trying to get them to let him go, but the soldiers were pushing them and swearing at them. My husband came back inside to call the Palestinian DCO and get help for the young man. Meanwhile, I heard my son Ahmad shouting. Minwer rushed back out, barefoot. I saw three soldiers leading Ahmad to the checkpoint, hitting him as they went. They pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down over his face, tied his hands behind his back with zip ties and sat him down at the checkpoint, too. Afterwards, they pulled him and Rajeh to their feet and started dragging them, but Minwer blocked their path and asked why they were taking Ahmad, who had been asleep at home and had done nothing. One of the soldiers got angry and aggressive and said in Arabic that Ahmad was a Palestinian terrorist. The soldiers pushed my husband and ordered him to go home, but he refused to back off until they released both young men. One of the soldiers assaulted my husband and beat him. I yelled at them from the porch to let my husband and son go. One of the soldiers pointed his weapon at me, started swearing at me in Arabic and ordered me to go inside, while another soldier kept beating my husband. He pushed Minwer up against a wall, and his body and head got hit. Minwer shouted at the soldiers in English that he was a member of the security apparatus, but it didn’t help. In the meantime, my brother-in-law Munzer and his son Mu’taz came to help, but the soldiers attacked them too, handcuffed them and made them sit on the road. Ahmad Jaber (18) from the Jaber neighborhood said: I started heading downstairs to see what was going on, and before I even got to the street, three soldiers attacked me. One grabbed me by the shoulder, pulled the hood of my sweatshirt down over my face and started dragging me to the Jaber checkpoint, swearing at me and kicking me. He told me I was a Palestinian terrorist. Then he pushed me against the wall of a building. He started talking to me in Hebrew, and I didn’t understand what he wanted. Then he pulled my leg, knocked me down to the ground, trod on my legs and slammed my face into the wall. I heard my father’s voice and tried to raise my head, but the soldiers wouldn’t let me speak. They were very aggressive. The soldier punched and hit me several times on the head and kicked me. Then he tied my hands behind my back with zip ties and made me sit next to the checkpoint. A few minutes later, the soldiers pulled me and Rajeh up and led us a few steps on foot until my father blocked their way and asked why they were detaining us. The soldiers attacked my father, pushed him and ordered him to go home. He refused to back away, and then the soldiers started beating him. My mother shouted at the soldiers from the porch. One of the soldiers pointed his weapon at her and swore at her. Another soldier pushed my father against the wall, and he hit his head against it. My father shouted at the soldiers in English that he was a member of the security apparatus, but they didn’t stop. Meanwhile, my uncle Munzer and his son Mu’taz came to help, and the soldiers attacked them too. They handcuffed them and made them sit down next to the same building by the roadside. After about half an hour, an army officer arrived. He talked to us and let all of us go except Rajeh. A Palestinian ambulance arrived, and the crew gave my father first aid. He had bruises all over his body. Rajeh was only let go around 12:30 A.M. That evening, soldiers went up to our roof. They stayed there all night, making noise and disturbing our sleep.
