Restrictions on Movement

Video: Harsh conditions persist at checkpoints where Palestinian laborers enter Israel

21 October 2013

In early June 2013, B'Tselem field researchers documented conditions at Tarqumya Checkpoint in the southern West Bank and at Eyal Crossing in the northern West Bank, both of which serve as entry points into Israel for Palestinians who have permits to work in the country. The researchers followed the situation there from the middle of the night, when the first laborers gather in line, until the morning.


תיעוד וידיאו: מחסום תרקומיא ומחסום שער אפרים, 1.9.13

The footage of both checkpoints shows long lines, overcrowding, prolonged physical inspections conducted in uncomfortable conditions, and insufficient personnel manning inspection counters.

B'Tselem reported these findings to the head of the Land Crossings Authority at the Ministry of Defense. The assistant to the head of the authority, Ms. Lia Moran-Gilad, rejected the claims that laborers must wait a long time in line, stating that the first laborers usually arrive at Tarqumya Checkpoint only 15 to 30 minutes before its scheduled 3:45 A.M. opening, and only few people arrive even then. Moran-Gilad added that there on no people at the Eyal Crossing when it opens at 4:00 A.M. She also noted that the Lands Crossing Authority is currently considering opening another inspection lane at Tarqumya Checkpoint, and that such an expansion is currently under construction at Eyal Crossing.

On 1 September 2013, B'Tselem's field researchers returned to Tarqumya Checkpoint and reviewed conditions there. They also went to Sha'ar Efrayim Checkpoint in the northern West Bank. They found that Palestinian workers in both locations are facing the same difficulties documented three months earlier:

  • Many laborers arrived at the checkpoint even before 12:30 A.M., and there were very long lines by 3:30 A.M. There were insufficient inspection lanes for the number of people wishing to go through the checkpoint.
  • The researchers were told that some of the people in line are sent for an additional inspection procedure conducted in designated rooms that are overcrowded and have neither chairs nor any air conditioning.

The Ministry of Defense must modify conditions at checkpoints to accommodate the number of Palestinians issued work entry permits by the Civil Administration. It must also ensure that the process of entry to Israel safeguard the dignity of the workers. The matter is especially urgent now, with winter approaching, as the long lines extend far beyond the roofed area of the checkpoints.

On 14 October 2013, B'Tselem applied once more to the head of the Land Crossings Authority and requested that, given the new footage, the overcrowding as documented at the checkpoints be re-examined. On 20 October 2013 the Land Crossing Authority asked B'Tselem for a DVD of the footage. B'Tselem complied with the request the very same day.

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Israeli soldiers bringing Palestinian detainees into the Mezadot Yehuda military base in the South Hebron Hills. Photo for illustration purposes only, individuals pictured have no connection to the incident reported. Photo: Itay Feitelson, 5 Aug. 2022

A Routine Founded on Violence

Israeli soldiers detain Palestinians, including a 16-year-old boy, at a checkpoint, mistreat them, and steal their money

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.

5 October 2023

Nabil Ghanem. Photo courtesy of the family.

Open-Fire Policy

Israel resumes ambushes of workers trying to cross known gaps in Separation Barrier; soldiers fatally shoot Nabil Ghanem (53)

Nabil Ghanem (53) lived in Sara, a village west of the city of Nablus. On Sunday, 19 June 2022, at around 10:00 A.M., he tried to cross through one of the gaps in the Separation Barrier near the Qalqiliyah DCO (Eyal) Checkpoint in order to enter Israel, where he worked without a permit, and collect money his employer owed him. As soon as he crossed the barbed wire fence on the eastern side of the barrier, Israeli soldiers who were lying in wait fired several shots at him and at other Palestinian workers who were with him. Ghanem was injured in the torso and was evacuated by soldiers to Meir Hospital in Kfar Saba, Israel, where he died of his wounds a short while later. Israel justified the shooting on the grounds that Ghanem had vandalized the barrier and tried to cross into Israel, and held the body until 23 June 2022. After Ghanem was killed, Israel revoked the work permits of two members of his family. Ghanem is the second Palestinian worker killed by soldiers while trying to cross the Separation Barrier into Israel in the last two months. On 8 May 2022, soldiers killed Mahmoud ‘Aram (27), a resident of Khan Yunis who lived in ‘Aqbat Jaber Refugee Camp in recent years, after, according to the military, he tried to cross the barrier near Far’on. He died of his wounds later that day at Sheba Hospital in Tel Hashomer, Israel. In his case, too, Israel held the body and only gave it back to the family on 11 May 2022. Over the course of four months, from April to July 2022, Israel implemented a lenient open fire policy by the Separation Barrier, permitting live fire at the lower body of Palestinians crossing – or trying to cross – it. The policy change, officially a response to several terrorist attacks by Palestinians who entered Israel via gaps in the barrier, increased the number of Palestinians wounded or killed by live fire in this period. According to media reports, in addition to Ghanem and ‘Aram, Israeli gunfire injured 15 Palestinians in April alone. In comparison, according to UN figures,* one Palestinian was wounded by gunfire near the barrier in the first quarter of 2022. B’Tselem has previously documented periods in which soldiers used live fire against Palestinians crossing or trying to cross through gaps in the Separation Barrier. Israel appears to periodically decide, for its own reasons, whether to allow thousands of Palestinian workers to cross through these gaps or try and stop them. The latter is enforced, among other things, by live fire. As B’Tselem has previously stated, whatever grounds Israel cites, opening live fire against Palestinians seeking to enter Israel through gap in the barrier – almost all of them laborers looking to work in Israel – is unlawful and cannot be justified. The soldiers are not operating on their own initiative, or at the behest of commanders on the ground; they are implementing a declared policy approved by senior officials. It follows, therefore, that no one is held accountable for the injuries and the killings, and that the MPIU investigation launched, according to media reports, after the killing of Ghanem will also result in whitewashing. Y.‘A. (54), a resident of Sara, met Nabil Ghanem and his son at Qalqiliyah Checkpoint and set out with them to find a way to cross the barrier. In a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb’i on 2 July 2022, he recounted: On Sunday, before dawn, I met Nabil Ghanem and his son Mu’tasem at Qalqiliyah Checkpoint. We sat outside one of the businesses there and waited to cross through one of the gaps in the fence near the checkpoint. We stayed there until the sun rose. Another young man from our village, M.R., joined us, as well as two other young men who I don’t know where they live. One of them said he knew a gap in the fence. We got in a car that drove us there, and asked the driver to wait for us. We noticed soldiers lying in wait near the gap and heard shots. Nabil said it was dangerous and refused to cross there. We went back to the car and drove back to the checkpoint. We talked with fixers who know the gaps and take workers through them. Some people, including Mu’tasem, went and tried to cross through one of the gaps, but after about half an hour, they came back and said there were soldiers and shooting there. Mu’tasem said he wanted to go home because it had been dangerous since the morning. We drank coffee and some of us had breakfast. M.R. suggested we go back to the gap because maybe the soldiers were gone. We went and tried to cross through farmland near the fence, but we heard young guys saying: “Soldiers, soldiers,” so we turned back because we were afraid the soldiers would catch us. Nabil and another young man I don’t know really wanted to go through, and kept walking around the area to find an opening to cross. I heard one of the young guys say there was a way through if anyone wanted. I told them not to go because it was dangerous, but Nabil didn’t listen to me. The young guy trod on the barbed wire fence. He was about 20 meters away from me. M.R. and Nabil and two other young men went over to him. I saw the young guy who was treading on the barbed wire go through and so did Nabil. Then I heard three or four shots, I’m not sure how many. I immediately turned and ran away. While I was running, I heard someone say, “Oh, I’m dying.” I was afraid the soldiers would chase us and catch us or shoot at us. Some young men told me how to get to the main road, and from there I got in a car and went home. On the way home, I saw on social media that one of the workers trying to cross the fence had been injured. I realized it was Nabil. I was shocked. I’ve had coffee with him more times than with my own family. For years, we slept in Israel together for weeks at a time. I later learned he’d been killed. M.R. (21), single, a resident of Sara, cannot obtain a permit to work in Israel as he does not meet the criteria set by Israel. Instead, he enters through gaps in the barrier. In a testimony he gave B'Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb'i on 20 June 2022, M.R. described what happened that morning: At around 10:00 A.M., one of the young men went to the fence and trod on it in order to cross through to the other side. After he got through, he called out to us to cross too. We went towards him. A resident of my village, Nabil Ghanem, was walking ahead of me. He put his foot on the fence, and then I heard four shots. I saw three soldiers hiding in a low place behind the fence, seven to ten meters away from us. I had no choice but to run away. I turned and ran without stopping until I got away. I didn't know what happened to Nabil. Everyone who was with me ran away. I decided to go home. I was very scared by what happened. After about an hour, I called drivers in the area. They told me they’d seen an ambulance and that there was probably a wounded person. I later found out through social media that Nabil had been killed. The next day, I had to go to the fence again. I can't stay without work. My employer owes me money and if I don't go to him, I won't get it. This is our life. We have no other choices. Nabil's son, Mu'tasem Ghanem (23), a plasterer, set out with his father from home before dawn towards the Separation Barrier. They reached the checkpoint at around 5:00 A.M. In a testimony he gave B'Tselem field researcher Salma a-Deb'i on 27 June 2022, he recounted: The drivers in the area told us there was a gap in the fence in an area called Abu al-‘Adas. We drove there. There were other workers there trying to enter Israel. When we were 200 meters from the fence, I heard shots but didn't know what was happening exactly. We went back to the car and drove back to the checkpoint. We had breakfast there. My dad had schnitzel and I had falafel. We waited until about 6:30 A.M., and then I went to check other gaps near the checkpoint, but they all had soldiers nearby. I called my dad and told him we couldn't go through. He asked me to come back to him. When I got there, the bus to Qalqiliyah was just passing and my father signaled it to stop and told me to go. I asked him to come with me, but he wanted to stay and try to cross the fence anyway. He wanted to go to his employer to get his salary, so he could give money to my brother Mu'taz (31) and help him buy an apartment. I got on the bus and went back home. At 8:30 A.M., my dad called and asked if I was home. I said I was, and he said he was still waiting to cross. I asked him to come home, and he said he'd cross the fence soon. We hung up and I went back to sleep. I woke up at 11:00 A.M. and called him, but he didn't pick up. His phone was off. I was worried, because he’s only never answered when he’s been arrested. I called M.R., whom I met in the morning by fence, and he told me he’d seen Dad go through the gap in the fence, and then heard gunfire and ran away. He later found out an ambulance had come and he thought the soldiers had arrested my dad. I didn't believe him. I went out of the room and found my mother, my sisters and my brother Mu'taz crying. I asked them what happened, and they said dad had been injured. I told them it didn't make sense. Even an hour later, when news of his death was shared on social media, everyone was crying and I still didn't believe it. I said he’d been arrested and nothing had happened to him. Very quickly, relatives, friends and neighbors started arriving. I started to grasp that he was dead. In addition to our mourning over Dad, Israel refused to hand over his body. The Palestinian DCO told us the body was being held because Dad was a terrorist and wanted to cut the fence. Only on Wednesday evening did the Israeli DCO hand over the body, at Huwarah Checkpoint. Dad wasn't a terrorist. He worked in Israel for 35 years without a permit, and always crossed through the gaps in the fence to support us. He was arrested many times in Israel because he didn't have a work permit. His last arrest was in 2018, when he spent two months in prison. Yet he still returned to work in Israel every time. We have no other choice. There's no work in the West Bank, and whatever there is, is irregular and badly paid. We just want to work and earn a living, like everyone else. * According to the database on the protection of civilians of the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA). Updates: On 1 July 2022, media reports stated that an MPIU investigation had been launched.

4 August 2022

Husam Balur, who worked in Israel for 16 years, at his home in the a-Nueseirat Refugee Camp in the Gaza Strip. Photo: Khaled al-'Azayzeh, B'Tselem, April 28,

The Gaza Strip

Forced unemployment: Palestinian residents of Gaza who worked in Israel until 2000 describe how their lives came crashing down because of the unemployment forced upon them

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.

6 June 2019