Occupied West BankTel Aviv Tribune English website published a story written by Ayman Al Nobani about the lives of 3 brothers under the Israeli occupation in 3 different places in the West Bank. They talked about how the settlers and the occupation army tightened the screws on them, their families, and all the Palestinians in the West Bank.
Al-Nubani says: This is the story of 3 brothers. Yamen and Wajid, and me. Yamen and I are one year apart. He is 37 years old and I am 38, while Wajid is the “child” at the age of 35, and the three of us work between the cities of Nablus and Ramallah and our village of Al-Lubban Al-Sharqiya, which is located halfway between the two cities. Now, my two brothers and I are each stuck in one of these three places.
Since October 7, the West Bank has been subject to unprecedented military measures by Israeli forces. The only time these strict measures were applied was perhaps in the first days of June 1967, with the beginning of the Israeli occupation.
Closing entrances and roads
Curfew measures and severe repression campaigns implemented by armed settlers and Israeli forces on all cities, towns and camps in the West Bank led to the complete isolation of the areas from each other. Israeli forces set up new military checkpoints, and closed entrances and roads with iron gates and dirt barriers.
Meanwhile, Israeli settlers continued to escalate their harassment and attacks on Palestinians every day, throwing Palestinian vehicles and shooting civilians who dared to leave their homes, take to the street or enter their fields; This is especially difficult during the olive harvest season, which begins every year at the beginning of October and continues until the end of November.
Al-Lubban Al-Sharqiya is located 21 kilometers south of Nablus and 27 kilometers north of Ramallah. It was closed on 3 sides during the past two months. The main road leading to it from the east is closed with an iron gate, cement blocks, and dirt mounds, and trenches have been dug along the road. The roads leading to the north and south were filled with ditches extending two kilometers from the outskirts of the village, so that vehicles could not cross them. There is only one road left leading to the city of Salfit in the central West Bank.
I am located in Ramallah
My younger brother, Wajid, who works as a photojournalist in the Palestinian Ministry of Information, told me, “The roads around Ramallah are very difficult. Every time I go out to check the conditions of the checkpoints and closures, I find that they are bad. One of the roads may be passable, but it is long and winding and passes through many Villages before you can reach our village.”
“Since the beginning of the war, I have only seen the family once due to the difficult road conditions. Leaving the city requires taking a long detour with Israeli checkpoints. The family communicates with me regularly. My mother calls me every day to check on conditions and ask me if I ate, and if “The room was warm. Every time she asked me to take care of myself and not go out too much.”
Things were not easy for people in the West Bank before October 7, but they have gotten much worse since then.
Wajid says: “Here in Ramallah, where I have stayed since the beginning of the war, the city is exposed to Israeli raids every night, especially after midnight and continuing until noon. Every night, the sounds of gunfire, bombs, and gas bombs can be heard. Then the sun rises and life begins again.” It is very noticeable that there are few people moving around due to the closures and tight checkpoints around the city and the siege of villages in all areas of the West Bank.”
As for Ramallah itself, the city known for its vibrant spirit and culture has completely changed, he says.
He added: “Movement around the city is reduced to a minimum. If someone manages to reach its outskirts, they will soon feel more dangerous.”
Protest marches are sometimes launched after the afternoon and sunset prayers, but half an hour after midnight, the raids begin.
Wajid continues: Ramallah was the most active and lively city in Palestine. But now it’s nothing! This city, which used to stay up until dawn, now closes its homes and shops shortly after sunset.
Some people gather in the evening at Al-Manara Roundabout, where they come from all districts of the city to demonstrate. The number of demonstrators, most of whom are young, increases in the city center at night, roaming the streets, chanting for Gaza, chanting slogans denouncing the occupation, and declaring their support for the resistance. They are not just sympathetic. “They are part of this war,” and many of them were arrested for showing their support for the resistance.
He says, “The arrests focus on everyone who participates in supporting the resistance, especially those who publish anything on social media sites.” He adds, “I still believe that Ramallah is safer than Al-Lubban Al-Sharqiya because of the permanent presence of settlers and the army in the village, but life is difficult.” Salary payments were delayed, and already high prices increased. Stuck in Ramallah, I know my family has run out of some things, but due to the condition of the roads, I cannot return to our home in the village to save them.”
“My mother asks me every day when I will be home, but I have to tell her that I don’t know. I really miss my family, especially Sarah, my niece.”
Yamen in the Eastern Laban
While the security situation and military measures surrounded Wajid in Ramallah, our middle brother Yamen remained in the family home in our village.
About 3,500 people live in our village, of whom more than 200 live in about 20 houses on the main street leading to the village. There are Israeli settlements nearby, and problems have occurred between them and the village before. In June of this year, settlers closed the road leading to the village, preventing children from reaching school.
“The people in these homes have been living in a state of instability and daily anxiety since the beginning of the war,” says Yamen. “They are close to Israeli settlements, far from the rest of the village, and have been attacked often. Their homes, belongings, and cars were looted by settlers. In the first weeks After the war, some of them moved to live with their relatives inside the village, as displaced people.”
Houses are closed all day
“Then half of them started returning to their homes. They live in a state of constant anxiety, especially the women and children, and keep the houses closed all day and night.”
Yamen himself works from home, and is a press correspondent for the Palestinian News Agency (Wafa). It covers as much as possible events in the region, especially within the borders of Salfit Governorate. He tells me that he cannot go to his workplace in Ramallah, and he cannot reach Nablus. He says: “Public vehicle drivers told me that the road is completely different from what it was before October 7, and that they have not worked much since the beginning of the war, and some of them have not worked at all.”
He continues: Taxi and bus drivers who are able to work go out only once a day, instead of 4 or 5 times as usual.
“All the main roads are closed, and people who have to leave their homes have to cross bumpy dirt roads between villages, and are often stopped at emergency Israeli checkpoints, or what we call (emergency checkpoint).”
He heard from his friends that the trip to Nablus, just over 20 kilometers away, which previously took 25 minutes, now takes up to 3 hours.
And every evening, when our mother picks up her phone and tries to contact me and my other two brothers via Messenger and WhatsApp, she seems “sad” as she follows up on their news and checks on them, and it is often said that she misses our meeting, especially since the olive harvest season, during which families gather in Palestine, has passed without us meeting. “.
On October 8 – the day after the outbreak of war – the main entrance to the village was closed. It is the only paved road, and Israeli forces dug a trench along a length of 1.5 kilometers. The other paths to the village are dirt, created by nature thanks to its location between a hill and a plain.
There is only one road left out of a neighboring village towards Salfit, through which one can reach Ramallah. However, this adds 20 kilometers to the travel distance, and many people do not have enough money to pay for the additional fuel.
According to Yamen, “Before the war, there were five public transportation vehicles transporting villagers to the city of Nablus. But they have been completely stopped for more than 15 days, even though they are considered the most important means of transportation in the village.”
A resident of our village told him that the price of a ticket to work had nearly tripled from $2.25 to $6, and that the taxi she was traveling in had to cross checkpoints and long, potholed roads to reach her workplace.
No study for children
Yamen told me, “The war changed everything in the village. One of the main problems is that the children have not been able to go to the village school since the beginning of the war.”
Yamen explains that the village schools, from the seventh grade until the secondary level, are located on the main Nablus-Ramallah road, through which thousands of settlers pass daily.
Occupation army jeeps have been stationed at the gates of those schools since 6 am. The village streets were once crowded with schoolchildren coming and going, but they are almost empty now.
Some students reported that they received threatening messages from settlers on social networking sites and that they were afraid to go out. Other students also sustained bullet wounds, fractures and bruises.
“In the end, the violently armed settlers closed those schools under the protection of the army,” according to Yamen. “A few days ago, they stormed a girls’ school, tore down the Palestinian flag, and raised the Israeli flag in its place.”
“When I walk in the neighborhood, I hear girls and boys from village schools talking about their desire to receive education directly from teachers and return to school.”
Children are not the only ones absent from the streets of our village
Yamen says: “The street is like a military barracks, as no one passes through it except Israeli military vehicles, which sometimes chase and shoot at Arab cars that try to leave our village or the surrounding villages.
He continues, “I witnessed the rampage of the tunnels in September 1996, where the confrontations continued for a week, and the second intifada in September 2000, which continued until 2005. Those were years of very violent confrontations, but the street was not devoid of (civilian) cars for a moment as “It’s happening now. This is a new level of fear and caution.”
It is particularly unusual for the village to be this quiet at this time of year during the olive season. Regarding this, Yamen confirms that “there is usually a momentum of people moving back and forth to their lands to pick olives.”
He explains that about 40% of the trees are located in areas that have become very difficult to access due to threats from armed settlers and soldiers who shoot at farmers. Some have ventured out, unwilling to let the harvest go to waste, but say settlers and soldiers have stolen their crops.
According to Yamen, “More than 1,500 kilograms of olives were stolen here, valued at about 3,000 dollars, while 4,000 trees still have not yet harvested their fruits, and there are entire families who depend on the olive crop to cover their expenses. This is a loss amounting to dozens.” Thousands of dollars.”
Ayman in Nablus
Then there is me, their older brother. I am still stuck in the city of Nablus with my children who are eager to visit the village during the farming season.
I would like to try to go to the countryside, but checkpoints, harassment and the possibility of settler attacks make that impossible. Today and every day, my children, Julia and Amin, wait for the war to end and the roads to open again.
My children love the village’s wilderness, its mountains, its plains, and its seasons. Julia wants to pick daffodils and take photos and videos of the land. But she says the army prevented her from reaching the ground and chasing small insects and butterflies.
In turn, Amin particularly misses tea prepared on firewood, which is a tradition in the village during the olive season. He wanted to film the wood smoke and the teapot boiling on his phone, as he had done last year.
They tell me, “We want to go milk milk even if we have exams.” What bothers them most is that the family lost its olives this year.
I never imagined being away from my family for such a long time, especially since I had not visited them for two months before that. Now it has been 4 months without me sitting down with them to share a meal or a cup of coffee.
