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permits in three instances: in the vicinity of Yatta in the Hebron District, where the largest number of permits was revoked; around Beit Surik to the northwest of Jerusalem; and in Barta’ah a-Sharqiyah in the Jenin District.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:
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Ali Abu 'Aram. Photo by Musa Abu Hashhash, B'Tselem, 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:
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Zaher Abu 'Aram. Photo by Musa Abu Hashhash, B'Tselem, 27 March 2018
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:
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Bashir al-Jamal. Photo by Iyad Hadad, B'Tselem, 9 April 2018
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:
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Mahdi al-Jamal. Photo by Iyad Hadad, B'Tselem, 9 April 2018
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.
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Zakaria Kabha. Photo by Abdulkarim Sadi, B'Tselem, 16 April 2018
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:
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Muhammad Kabha. Photo by Abdulkarim Sadi, B'Tselem, 16 April 2018
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 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.
The economy in Gaza is at an all-time low, a depression driven by 12 years under the Israeli-imposed blockade; 19 years that Israel has been working to cut Gaza off from the West Bank; and 19 years since Israel revoked Gaza residents’ permits to work in Israel. The most recent World Bank report indicates that over the last two years, the situation has deteriorated further due to declining foreign donations and transfer of funds from the Palestinian Authority. S According to figures released by the Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics, unemployment in Gaza was 52% in 2018, reaching as high as 69% in the under 26 age-bracket, and 78% among university-educated young adults. Unemployment among women is particularly high, reaching 74.5% in 2018. S As soon as the second intifada began in September 2000, even before the blockade, Israel introduced severe restrictions on travel out of Gaza, almost completely cutting it off from the West Bank, and drastically cut back on travel through Erez Crossing. Israel also revoked the work permits of tens of thousands of Gaza residents who had worked in Israel until then, abruptly cutting off their source of income and livelihood. In 1999, 15.7% of all employed Gazans worked in Israel, and the unemployment rate in Gaza was 16.9%. Two years later, in 2001, only 1.9% of employed Gazans worked in Israel. Overall unemployment rates climbed to 34%, with unemployment among women reaching 24%. In June 2007, when Israel imposed a full blockade policy, it stopped issuing work permits altogether. Unemployment in Gaza reached 40.6% in 2008. Sealing the Gaza Strip and cutting it off from the rest of the world have brought about Gaza’s economic collapse and trapped its residents in a small, closed job market, with no prospects of development and no future. Israel could change this stifling reality right now. Instead, it chooses to force Gaza residents to live in a state of poverty, stagnation and hopelessness. Gaza residents who used to work in Israel, or whose relatives who did, spoke with B’Tselem’s field researchers and described the reality forced upon them with the closure of the Gaza Strip. Hamdiyah Abu ‘Odeh, 46, a married mother of nine, is a homemaker and lives in Beit Hanoun. Her husband, Ayman, worked in Israel from 1988 until work permits were revoked. In a testimony she gave B'Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd, Abu ‘Odeh spoke about how her life was transformed: When I got married in 1988, my husband Ayman was working in construction in Israel. He would leave for Israel every day at 5:00 o’clock in the morning, and come home at 5:00 or 6:00 P.M. He made about 5,000 shekels a month. We had a good standard of living back then. The children were born, and Ayman made enough money to provide for us and for his mother. I was even able to put some money away, to save for the children’s future. It was a time of financial and security and wellbeing. It never occurred to me that my husband could lose his job one day. When the second intifada began, they started closing Erez Crossing on and off, so he no longer worked every day, but we still managed. Then, in 2005, he wasn’t allowed to work in Israel anymore. Ayman started looking for work in the Gaza Strip. He found a few jobs, but they were very hard to come by and paid very little, and even then, the work wasn’t regular, and he didn’t have work every day. Now, he doesn’t have a steady job, but he sometimes does find odd jobs. I started gradually cutting back on household expenses, to save money. Later, I used the money we had saved. When Israel tightened the blockade, I was at my wits’ end. I started looking for organizations that give money and donations, and we started receiving a welfare pension from the Welfare Ministry - 1,800 shekels once every four or five months or so. When our three eldest children got married, it cost us a lot of money. We took loans from relatives and friends. Now, they’re married and have children, and they live with us and the rest of our children. Only two of our children work. In 2012, to provide for the family, my husband started a small business growing chickens. It cost us a lot of money, but in the war of 2014, the chicken coop was completely destroyed. We rebuilt it, but we went bankrupt because of the difficult economic situation in Gaza. Very few people were able to buy. In the war of 2014, our house was also completely destroyed. It was a three-story home that we built when my husband was working in Israel. We became homeless for a time, wandering between UNRWA schools and rented apartments. Thank goodness, our house was rebuilt thanks to UNRWA funding, and we’re back living in it. We have a small plot of land, around 500 square meters. We’ve been cultivating it and we started growing vegetables for our own consumption. Anything extra, we sell to make some money, but my husband and I keep thinking we might be better off selling the land. All the stress and the tension gave me diabetes, high blood pressure and heart muscle weakness. We don’t have a steady source of income, and it depresses me and makes me feel hopeless. My husband has also become very short-tempered because he’s constantly sitting at home without work. Nasser Nur a-Din, 54, a married father of three from al-Maghazi Refugee Camp, has been unemployed since 2000. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Khaled al-‘Azayzeh on 1 May 2019, he spoke about the hardship his family has suffered due to his unemployment. I started working in Israel in 1980. At first, I only did odd jobs. I was single, and the permit I had didn’t include overnight stay, so I worked in Israel and went home to sleep in Gaza. I made 100-120 shekels a day. In 1990, I found a steady job with a company that painted homes and offices. I made 250 shekels. I worked every day. It was my “golden era.” Thanks to this job I got married in 1998, and in 2000 I built a 60-square meter home. Because we’re refugees, I got help from UNRWA to build it. But after 2000, Israel closed the crossings, and I was left with no work. I’ve been unemployed ever since. I work just a few days a month, if I even find anything. I have three children, and I’m in a terrible state financially. We live off UNRWA food aid, which we receive once every three months: five 30-kilo sacks of flour, 10 liters of cooking oil, four boxes of powdered milk, a kilo of sugar per person (it used to be 3 kilos per person, but it’s been cut down), 3 kilos of lentils and five cans of sardines per person. These supplies don’t last us three months, so I have to buy supplies on credit. When I find the odd job, I pay it back. We buy chicken once every five or six months, and we eat meat only during the holiday of ‘Eid al-Adha, when people give the needy a portion of the sacrificial sheep. All I bring the family are tomatoes and potatoes. Sometimes, I don’t have a single shekel in my pocket for a month at time. Every day, I “run away” from the house to avoid getting into fights with my family or having to face my children when they ask for things I can’t get them. I sit in a coffee shop, and here too I drink the coffee on credit. My children go to school without pocket money. When there are special events, they ask me to buy them new clothes, but unfortunately, I can’t. My eldest daughter, Arij, is about to finish high school and take the matriculation exams. I’m worried because I don’t see how I can pay for her to go to university. I can’t afford either the tuition or to cover the trips there. I haven’t paid my water and electric bills since 2000. I think I owe more than 10,000 shekels. Our roof is made out of metal, and we can’t afford to build a real roof. In the winter the house is as cold as an icebox, and in the winter it gets hot as an oven. The rain leaks into the house, so we put down pails everywhere to keep the house from flooding. I’ve looked for work for so long and couldn’t find any. It made me feel so hopeless. I don’t really look anymore. I’m cut off socially and from my family too. I don’t visit relatives because I have no money. My three sisters live in a-Shati Refugee Camp. I visit them only on holidays, because I don’t have money to buy them gifts or pay for the fare for the trip there. Sometimes, so that I can visit them I walk there. It’s a four-hour walk, and I go alone, without my family. Husam Balur, 51, a married father of nine, lives in a-Nueseirat Refugee Camp. He is out of work. Balur had worked in a variety of jobs in Israel from 1984 to 1998. He then found work at a sewing factory in the Gaza Strip, until it closed in 2000, after the crossings were shut down for the export of goods. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Khaled al-‘Azayzeh on 28 April 2019, Balur described how the blockade affected his family: I started working in Israel when I was 17, doing all kinds of jobs. I worked in public parks, the Tel Aviv Municipality, a restaurant in Tel Aviv, in a bakery in the Rishon LeZion Industrial Zone in and in a biscuit factory in the same industrial zone. The last job I had was at a pastry shop in Rishon LeZion. I worked there for about six years, until 1998. I made 70 shekels a day. I would sleep in the factory during the week and go home on weekends. I saved money and got married. After I got married, I switched to working in sewing factories in the Gaza Strip for 30 shekels a day, but in 2000, the sewing factory closed because Israel closed the crossings and wouldn’t allow to export and import goods. I worked several temporary odd jobs in the Gaza Strip, including in a hummus restaurant in a-Nuseirat and selling coffee and tea by the roadside. In some of the places I worked, the owners couldn’t pay me even 20 shekels for a 12-hour work day. I’ve been completely out of work for three years now, and currently receive assistance from the Welfare Ministry. I get 1,800 shekels once every three months and I share it with my mother. Sometimes we get food aid from charities or from private individuals. We also get food supplies from UNRWA once every three months. We live in a 90-meter metal-roofed home. The space has been terribly tight for years. We all live in three rooms with my mother. I can’t pay university tuition for my daughter Ruba. I’ve racked up a lot of debts. I owe the electric company 39,000 shekels and about 12,000 to the water company. I go out looking for work every few days, but find nothing. It’s causing me a lot of stress. We don’t have a penny to our a name, and I feel like I’m suffocating. A few years ago, I got diabetes because of the trouble and the state I got into. Jamal a-Sheikh Khalil, 60, a married father of six, lives in Gaza City and is unemployed. He had worked as a housepainter in Israel for more than twenty years, beginning in the early 1980s. In 2003, the Israeli authorities revoked his work permit, and he then barely scraped by doing occasional work in Gaza. Since the blockade was imposed on Gaza in 2007, he has had no work whatsoever. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 15 April 2019, a-Sheikh Khalil spoke about his family’s life since then: I began working as a housepainter in Israel when I was in my twenties. Those were very good years for me. I got married. I built a house, and I had six children. I made about 4,000 shekels a month. I provided for my family, and we wanted for nothing. I managed to provide for my parents too, and also to save some money. But all this changed when the second intifada began in 2000 and we were no longer allowed to work in Israel. I was frustrated and felt desperate. I had a family of eight to provide for, and the children were small. I kept thinking about their future. I started looking for work in Gaza. I got temporary jobs for very little pay, which weren’t enough to cover our expenses. Our situation has gotten worse even since 2007, because of the blockade Israel imposed on Gaza. The blockade hurt the laborers the most. We couldn’t find work at all. I was just sitting at home. I started looking for charities that give food aid rations in Gaza. I contacted the Ministry of Welfare to get a pension, but I didn’t get it until 2016, and only then after a great deal of effort. It’s 750 shekels once every three months. I also managed to get a monthly food allowance from Oxfam for about 270 shekels, but it’s not enough for us all. My kids have reached marriageable age, but I wasn’t able to secure their futures and help them establish themselves and get married. They’re unemployed too. Sometimes, they find one-day jobs for 20 shekels. I have a son who is a university student, and he has been threatened with expulsion several times because of debts I can’t pay. I ended up borrowing money from friends and family so he can finish his studies. I still go out looking for work, but I barely even find odd jobs. Ever since I stopped working, I’ve been worried and depressed. I got diabetes from the stress and tension. I’ve borrowed more than 50,000 shekels so we could make ends meet. I sold my wife’s jewelry to pay off some of the debt, but there are debts I haven’t been able to repay. Our lives are on a downward spiral, and I feel that it’s an injustice. I spend most of my time at home because, with no money, you can’t get out of the house. I feel sorry for my children. Their future is a complete write-off. I pray for Gaza residents to be treated humanely and for the blockade and poverty to end so we can live in dignity. Muhammad al-Jaru, 59, a married father of eight, lives in Gaza City. He has been out of work since 2004. He used to make a living selling fruits and vegetables from Israel in the Gaza Strip. In 1996, he got a job in a car-part factory in the industrial zone near Erez Crossing. He started out as a laborer and became the foreman in 1998. In 2004, the industrial zone shut down, and he lost his job. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 18 April 2019, al-Jaru spoke about his family’s life since then: When I worked selling produce from Israel, I made about shekels 5,000 a month. Then, when I was a foreman at the factory at Erez Crossing, I made about 6,000. Back then, we had financial stability and lived very comfortably, in every sense of the word. I didn’t have to constantly think about money, and I never denied my family anything - clothes, food and anything else they needed. Every day, on the way home, I’d buy food for us, and clothes for my children and my wife. I even managed to save some of my earnings. In 2004, my life turned upside down after they closed the industrial zone at Erez Crossing and laid off all the workers there. Thousands of workers were laid off from all the plants. It was a disaster for us. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t understand why they kicked us all out and closed down the industrial zone. None of us were a threat to anyone. I became unemployed with nine mouths to feed. I tried to find work in Gaza, but couldn’t find anything. There are hardly any opportunities, and the market is small. When I did manage to get work, my salary was about 2,000 shekels a month, working twelve-hour days. I started using the money I’d saved when I worked at the Erez Industrial Zone. In early 2005, I bought a bus and a stock of cleaning supplies and started selling them. But since 2007, when Israel imposed the blockade on Gaza, I’ve had a really hard time getting the cleaning supplies, because we haven’t been able to bring merchandise into Gaza. I went on selling whatever stock I had left until war broke out at the end of 2008. During that war, my house, in eastern Gaza City, was bombed and completely destroyed. I lost all the stock I’d had stored there. That’s how my business went bankrupt. After the war, we moved from one rented apartment to another for six years - until 2014. It was a very difficult time. I wished I would die so my hardships would be ever. Since then, we rebuilt our house with money we received from UNDP. We only got 18,000 dollars. Our original home cost much more, and I still haven’t paying for it. I lost my work in Israel. I lost the business I started. I even lost my home. I was in a very bad emotional state. I was always worrying about getting enough food for my children. My son Hassan and my daughter Tahani started university. I borrowed money so both of them could continue to study. I’ve been unemployed since my business collapsed at the end of 2008. There are no employment opportunities in Gaza because of the tightening of the blockade. Four of my children have post-secondary degrees, and they’re all out of work. Today, we get by on a weekly allocation of food we get from CHF worth 70 NIS per week. It’s not enough for a family of ten. My kids sometimes find occasional work for 20-30 shekels a day, for working from morning until night. My sons Ahmad, Mahmoud and Bahaa are of marriageable age, but their futures aren’t bright. They have no work, no home. Even though I’m almost 60 years old and job opportunities are scarce, I am willing and able to work, if I can find a job in Gaza. But, because of the situation today, even if I’ll actually find work, it won’t be enough to provide for the family. I really wish I could find work so that I can provide for my children and ensure their future. The situation in Gaza is hopeless. The standard of living is extremely low, and the future is a great mystery for us. My children’s future is hopeless. They don’t even think about getting married and starting a family because they don’t have the means. They live in despair and frustration.
"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: 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: 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: 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: 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.
