[ The stories of the Palestinians struggling against Israel’s
decades-long attempts to expel over 1,000 people from their homes in
the Masafer Yatta region of the West Bank — the largest expulsion in
the occupied territories since 1967.]
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THE DESTRUCTION OF THIS PALESTINIAN COMMUNITY WAS GREENLIT BY
ISRAEL’S SUPREME COURT  
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Basel Adra and Yuval Abraham
July 10, 2023
The Nation
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_ The stories of the Palestinians struggling against Israel’s
decades-long attempts to expel over 1,000 people from their homes in
the Masafer Yatta region of the West Bank — the largest expulsion in
the occupied territories since 1967. _

Home on the range: Israeli forces conduct a training drill near
Masafer Yatta in February 2021., Keren Manor / Activestills.org // The
Nation

 

So’ed Od, a 13-year-old girl, is one of around 1,000 Palestinian
residents of the eight villages in Masafer Yatta—a small region of
rugged hills at the southern edge of the occupied West Bank. So’ed
now spends her days helping her mother look after their flock of sheep
and make cheese in the small village of Sfay, whose name comes from
the Arabic word for “pure.”

So’ed stopped attending class after Israeli bulldozers crushed the
village school. That day, So’ed told us, she helped young children,
the students of lower grades, to escape through the windows. “We
were in English class,” she said. “I saw a Jeep approaching
through the window. The teacher stopped the class. Soldiers arrived
with two bulldozers. They closed the doors on us. We were stuck in the
classrooms. Then we escaped through the windows. And they destroyed
the school.”

The destruction of the elementary school took place in November 2022
and was documented on video. Children in the first, second, and third
grades can be seen in one of the classrooms, screaming and sobbing.
Israeli soldiers surrounded the school, where 23 students were
enrolled, and threw stun grenades at villagers who were attempting to
block the path of the bulldozers. The sound of the explosions
terrified the trapped students even more. In the videos, mothers can
be seen pulling children out through the classroom windows.
Representatives from the Israeli Civil Administration, the arm of the
military that governs the occupied territories, entered the emptied
school, removed the tables, chairs, and boards from the classrooms,
and loaded them onto a truck, confiscating the items. The Civil
Administration did not respond to our request for comment.

In 1980, the army had declared 30,000 dunams (nearly 7,500 acres) of
the residents’ land to be a “firing zone”; the stated purpose
was to remove Palestinians from the area, which Israel designated for
Jewish settlement because of its strategic proximity to the Green Line
marking the border. In May of last year, a three-judge panel of the
Supreme Court rejected the residents’ appeal against the firing
zone, effectively giving the army permission to continue to displace
the Palestinians from their land. The judge who wrote the
controversial ruling, David Mintz, lives in a West Bank settlement
called Dolev, about a 20-minute drive from Ramallah.

The mass expulsion of Masafer Yatta’s residents has not yet been
carried out, but the lives of all the people of these villages have
changed beyond recognition in the months since the ruling. Soldiers
have begun detaining children at impromptu checkpoints they’ve
erected in the middle of the desert under the cover of night; families
watch as bulldozers raze their homes with increasing frequency; and,
right next to the villages designated for expulsion and demolition,
soldiers are already training with live fire, racing tanks, and
detonating mines.

Army officials have stated that plans to carry out the expulsion order
have already been presented to politicians. This year, with the most
right-wing government in Israel’s history in power––and with its
ministers openly calling for mass population transfers and the erasure
of Palestinian villages––it’s very likely that the mass
expulsion will actually take place. If it does, it will be the largest
single act of population transfer carried out in the West Bank since
Israel expelled thousands of Palestinians in 1967, in the early days
of the occupation.

Both of us have witnessed the struggle in Masafer Yatta from up close.
Basel, a journalist and activist, was born in one of the villages
there. His mother started taking him to demonstrations against the
expulsion when he was 5. He grew up without electricity in his home
because the military ordered a blanket ban on construction and access
to infrastructure for Palestinians in the area. Over the past decade,
he has been documenting the erasure of his community on video, and his
posts have reached millions of people around the world.

Yuval was born in the city of Be’er Sheva, a 30-minute drive from
Basel’s house, on the Israeli side of the Green Line. For the past
five years, he has been reporting on the expulsion and apartheid in
both Hebrew and English. The two of us work as a team, mostly
for _+972 Magazine_ and the news site _Local Call_, and this
article is a product of our collaboration.

Since the court’s ruling last May, Israel has made the lives of the
families in Masafer Yatta even more unbearable, to the point that
it’s unclear whether they will be able to survive there. This
process, however, has been going on for more than four decades—in
what can best be described as a slow-moving expulsion. The primary
tool Israel uses is the systematic denial of building permits. Because
Palestinian residents cannot possibly live in a village without houses
and other basic infrastructure—and because anything they build is
deemed “illegal” and summarily demolished—over time this policy
has forced the residents to leave their land.

Seven days after the ruling, the military razed the homes of nine
families in Masafer Yatta; 45 people were left homeless. “It was one
of the worst acts of destruction I have ever seen,” said Eid Hadlin,
a local activist who lives in a house that has no running water or
electricity and is facing a demolition order.

The bulldozers arrived at Al-Merkaz, one of the villages designated
for expulsion. The soldiers let the residents clear out their homes.
The women carried their personal belongings outside and gathered them
into a pile: mattresses, backpacks, underwear and shirts, shampoo
bottles. An inspector in the Civil Administration looked on until the
houses were emptied. Then he gave the go-ahead, and the bulldozers
wrecked it all.

Najati, a young teenager, sat with his grandmother next to the pile of
debris that was once their home. He was furious. “The officer told
me, as he was demolishing our house: ‘Why bother building? That’s
it, finished—this area is now the army’s for training,’” he
said.

One morning, the residents of his village discovered that soldiers had
posted warning signs on their houses overnight. “You are in a firing
zone,” the signs read, in Arabic that was so riddled with errors
that they seemed to have been written with the help of Google
Translate. “Entrance is forbidden. Anyone breaking the law can be
arrested, fined, lose their vehicle, which will be confiscated, or can
face any other punishment deemed fitting.” In the following weeks,
soldiers built a checkpoint between the villages and confiscated
vehicles that passed through it, under the pretext that driving
through a firing zone is prohibited. And so, gradually, most of the
residents were deprived of their ability to move freely.

Najati said his family slept outside that night, under the open sky,
and the next day they cleared the debris and took out a loan to build
another house, in the same spot. “I’ve lived in Masafer Yatta my
whole life, herding sheep,” said Safa Al-Najar, Najati’s
grandmother, her voice slightly hoarse but her smile that of a young
woman. Her home was demolished that same day as well. And so, she
said, she’ll sleep in the family’s cave.

“At first, my husband and I lived in this cave,” she said. “This
was our bedroom, and living room, and kitchen—everything together.
The sheep lived next to us in the second cave. But 20 years ago, when
my children were grown, we built a house for them. Everything we
built—destroyed.”

According to data from the Israeli human rights group B’Tselem,
since 2016, soldiers have demolished the homes of 121 families in
Masafer Yatta and have left around 384 people without shelter, many of
them children. And it’s not only houses that are at risk, but all
buildings and infrastructure. Pens for the sheep were also destroyed,
water pipes cut, trees felled; even the access roads, which connect
the villages to one another, were destroyed by a huge bulldozer.

At a time when two separate legal proceedings are being brought
against Israel at The Hague—in the International Criminal Court and
the International Court of Justice—Israel seems eager to avoid the
harsh international condemnation that would inevitably follow from a
brazen population transfer. By expelling the residents of Masafer
Yatta house by house, Israel can achieve the same goal at a much
smaller cost to its image.

Moving targets: The village of Al Majaz, in the area of Masafer Yatta
that the Israeli army has designated as a “fire zone.”  (Oren Ziv
/ Activestills.org  //  The Nation)
Since the destruction of their school, children in Sfay have been
attending class in a crumbling trailer parked on the outskirts of the
village. There are holes in the roof through which rainwater leaks,
and the bathroom door is a piece of curtain. The army has forbidden
any renovation of the trailer—or the building of a new school.

So’ed’s village is fairly typical for Masafer Yatta. Most of its
residents are farmers and shepherds who plant wheat, barley, and olive
trees, make goat cheese, and wake up early in the morning to bake
bread. The area is full of ancient caves, carved out of the soft white
rocks in the hilly desert by residents many generations ago.
So’ed’s parents lived in the caves, but they eventually built a
house for her and her siblings.

Families whose homes are demolished by military bulldozers are forced
to live in the caves, which quickly become overcrowded and
suffocating. Yet the residents are also forbidden from renovating the
caves, some of which are already uninhabitable.

“We want to build regular houses, to live aboveground. Sleeping in a
cave is like sleeping in a grave,” said Fares Al-Najar, a resident
of Al-Merkaz. Families who don’t have a cave or who refuse to accept
such living conditions are forced to either leave their community and
lose their land—or build a new house that will inevitably be
demolished. “It’s an unending cycle,” Fares said.

Both the scope and the frequency of such demolitions have increased
since the Supreme Court’s decision, which made it much easier for
Israeli judges to deny the appeals submitted by the families’
lawyers. And while those appeals, too, were often denied in the past,
the legal proceedings went on for years, buying the residents time to
remain in their villages and organize their community struggle.

Masafer Yatta is part of Area C, a designation under the Oslo Accords,
which covers 61 percent of the West Bank and is under full Israeli
military and civil control. Out of the hundreds of requests for
building permits the army received between 2000 and 2020, it has
denied over 99 percent of requests in Area C, according to data
provided by the Israeli NGO Bimkom—Planners for Planning Rights.

In the 15 months since the Supreme Court ruling, the army has imposed
a curfew on Jinba, the village where Nidal was born. Soldiers built
two checkpoints next to the village: At one, there is a black tent; at
the other, a tank. Both are used to detain residents, to confiscate
their vehicles, and to block visitors from entering the village.

The court’s ruling in May “cut us off from the other villages,”
Nidal said. “Every time we want to leave, to visit our family
members, to go shopping, the soldiers detain us for at least two
hours. That’s the best case-scenario. One time, they held me up for
seven hours.”

People are afraid to drive to the villages for fear of losing their
vehicles. In recent months, residents testify, soldiers have
confiscated the cars of humanitarian workers, schoolteachers, and
lawyers providing legal assistance to the residents. This policy also
has a chilling effect on journalists, who are less able to come and
report on the region. Cutting Masafer Yatta off from other communities
is expected to make it easier for the army to carry out the population
transfer with as few witnesses as possible.

The day before the start of school last year, soldiers refused to let
the teachers of Jinba’s elementary school enter the village to
prepare the classrooms. The soldiers at the checkpoint confiscated
their car, explaining that they were in a firing zone. These decisions
are made arbitrarily: The following day, the soldiers let the teachers
through.

Royda Abu Aram, from the village of Al-Halawah, is a student in 12th
grade, the year students take the _tawjihi_ exams—the Palestinian
equivalent of the SATs. “Yesterday I missed all my classes because
there was no way for me to get there without a car or
transportation,” she said. “My friend Bisan, who tried to get to
school by car, was delayed by the soldiers for an hour and a half, in
the sun.”

In a video recording of the checkpoint from August, a soldier, his
hand resting on his gun and a large tank behind him, explains to a
group of several adults and school-age children, backpacks slung
across their shoulders, that “this area is designated as a firing
zone, the army closed this area, and we are conducting searches
here.”

Every school in Masafer Yatta has received a demolition order. “I
really want to work in education. I’m interested in studying at
university and becoming a language and English teacher,” Bisan, also
a 12th grader, said. “But I’m worried I won’t do well on
the _tawjihi_ exam in these circumstances. It’s hard to learn when
you know that you may wake up tomorrow and bulldozers will come to
demolish your school.”  

Holding the line: A demonstration near al-Tuwani in the South Hebron
Hills protesting against the expansion of Avigail, an Israeli
settlement.  (Oren Ziv / Activestills.org  //  The Nation)
Court ruling also granted permission to the Israeli military to start
training with live fire in the area. Tanks have been roaring through
the area between the villages while soldiers fire live rounds and
detonate explosives; helicopters have been practicing landing and
taking off. All these loud noises join the buzzing of the drones that
the soldiers, and sometimes the nearby settlers, use to monitor
whether residents are building new houses after their homes have been
destroyed.

“Our entire village went outside to look at them,” said Jinba
resident Issa Younis, after a day of tank training that took place
next to the village last June. “The noise of the tanks was
deafening. The mine detonations started before sunrise, right by our
houses. All the walls shook, like we were in an earthquake.”

During one of these training sessions, in the village of Al-Majaz,
soldiers placed targets on the windows of the houses, on a tractor,
and on a car. Jabar, a 15-year-old boy, left his house to see what was
going on. A sand cloud swirled around him—the result of a tank
driving through the desert region. “The soldiers hung targets on the
window of our house and on the haystacks,” Jabar said. “They wrote
that they would be returning soon to shoot, but I took the targets
down.”

The military promised the court that it would take precautionary
measures when conducting any exercises with live fire, and that the
soldiers would not endanger the lives of the residents. The reality
has been different. In July 2022, Leila Dababsa was sitting in her
home when she heard an explosion above her. The ceiling began to
crumble. “The living room was filled with the sound of gunfire, and
my daughter screamed,” she said, pointing to the holes in the tin
roof. Most of the houses are built from cheap materials, out of fear
that they will be destroyed. Leila and her daughter escaped and hid in
a nearby cave.

“A second before they shot our house, I was picking tomatoes in the
garden,” said Sa’ud Dababsa, whose house was targeted. “This is
the first time that a bullet entered our home, into the living room.
Before, we were in danger of being expelled. Now my family and I are
in danger of being killed.”

Historically, the expulsion process in Masafer Yatta can largely be
traced back to two men: Ariel Sharon and Ehud Barak, both of whom were
senior military figures who later became Israeli prime ministers. They
represent competing camps in Israeli politics: Sharon headed the Likud
party, which is identified with the Zionist right, and Barak led the
Labor Party, which is affiliated with the Zionist left. But on issues
related to Masafer Yatta, the two worked together in harmony.

After leading the conquest of the West Bank in 1967, Sharon, then a
military official, began the process of declaring various areas as
military firing zones, first in the Jordan Valley and later in Masafer
Yatta. “As one of the people who initiated the firing zones in 1967,
everyone was aware of one goal: to enable Jewish settlement in the
area,” Sharon testified in 1979. “Back then, I sketched out these
firing zones, reserving our land for settlement.”

The locations of the firing zones weren’t chosen randomly. They
perfectly matched the Allon Plan, which was submitted to the Israeli
government a month after the occupation began by Yigal Allon, another
future prime minister, and which determined that the areas should be
permanently kept under full Israeli control. With their relatively
arid climate, these areas had few Palestinian villages compared to the
crowded northern West Bank, which made them appealing for Jewish
settlement.

A map commissioned by the state in 1977 designates part of the Masafer
Yatta region for such settlement. Three years later, in 1980, firing
zones were declared in the same area.

In a secret meeting of the Ministerial Committee for Settlement
Affairs held in July 1981, Sharon offered the army the firing zone
that was declared in Masafer Yatta and reaffirmed that his goal was to
remove Palestinians from the area, according to the official
transcript. “We have a great interest in being there, given the
phenomenon of Arabs from the villages spreading toward the desert [in
the south],” he explained to the army chief of staff.

During the same period, the Israeli government worked to establish
Jewish settlements in the region. Settlements like Susya, Ma’on, and
Carmel were part of the state’s policy of cutting off the
Palestinian population in the Negev, which is inside Israel, from the
Palestinian population in the southern West Bank, like the residents
of Masafer Yatta.

“For many years, there was a physical connection between the Arab
population of the Negev with the Arab population in the Hebron hills.
A situation was created in which the border extends inside our
territory,” Sharon told the settlement committee. “We must quickly
create a buffer strip of [Jewish] settlement, which will distinguish
and separate the Hebron hills from Jewish settlement in the Negev. To
drive a wedge between the bedouins in the Negev and the Arabs in
Hebron.”

Sharon’s words are particularly relevant today, as not only the
residents of Masafer Yatta but also the Bedouins in the Negev are
being dispossessed of their land through the systematic denial of
building permits and the declaration of military firing zones.

Murder by tow truck: The funeral of Hajj Suleiman Hathaleen, run over
in his village by an Israeli tow truck sent to confiscate Palestinian
vehicles.  (Oren Ziv / Activestills.org  //  The Nation)
In 1999, Ehud Barak was elected prime minister. These were the days
of the Oslo Accords, four years after Yitzhak Rabin’s
assassination—when there was still hope among Israelis and
Palestinians that a peace deal might come. But Barak’s government
decided to permanently remove the residents of Masafer Yatta. Under
his watch, in November 1999, soldiers moved through all the villages,
loaded 700 people into trucks, and expelled them. They became refugees
in nearby villages.

“I remember that day vividly,” said Safa Al-Najar, now 70.
“Soldiers came inside, while outside there were two big trucks
waiting. They lifted us onto them by force, with all of our
belongings. The sheep escaped on foot. They threw us into another
village.”

Barak’s ethnic cleansing, carried out by a government that included
the left-wing Meretz party, inspired protests in Israel led by
intellectuals, among them famous authors like David Grossman. The
protesters met with the general of the Central Command to express
opposition to the operation, but they were told that it had to be
carried out because, in preparation for further negotiations with the
Palestine Liberation Organization, Israel had a major interest in
keeping the region part of its sovereign territory.

The talks between Israel and the PLO for a final peace resolution,
which took place in 2000 at Camp David, apparently led Barak to
accelerate the dispossession efforts in Masafer Yatta. The thinking
was that if there were no Palestinians living there, it would be more
likely that the region would ultimately remain under Israeli control.

This is one reason why the “peace process” in the 1990s was in
fact deeply destructive for many Palestinians: It galvanized rather
than tamed Israeli colonialism. In those years, the number of
Palestinian home demolitions grew significantly, while Jewish
settlements were quickly populated and roads leading to them were
rapidly paved.

A few months after Barak ordered their displacement, the residents of
Masafer Yatta petitioned the Israeli Supreme Court against the firing
zone. Palestinians living in the West Bank are subject to military
law––they don’t have the right to vote and so are unable to
influence the legal system that rules over them—and the Supreme
Court has expanded its jurisdiction to encompass the occupied
territories.

Their petition remained before the court for more than 22 years.
Instead of making a decision, the judges issued an interim order
allowing the displaced Palestinians to temporarily return to their
homes. In 2012, while Barak was defense minister, the state declared
in court that its demand for forced transfer was still active, and
that the army was prepared to allow residents access to work their
land only during Israeli holidays and on the weekends, when no
military exercises took place.

Even this temporary reprieve came to an end last May, when the judges
finally rejected the residents’ petition. In the ruling by Justice
David Mintz, the court accepted the state’s claims that when the
firing zone was declared over 40 years ago, the people of Masafer
Yatta were not “permanent residents” of the area, but rather
“seasonal residents.” That is, they used to move between two
places, depending on the shepherding season: They had one house in a
village in Masafer Yatta and another in the city. According to the
letter of the military law, the declaration of a firing zone does not
apply to permanent residents in the territory, but since, as the state
claimed, the residents of Masafer Yatta were only “seasonal,”
their expulsion should be permitted. The Supreme Court agreed.

On the same side: Armed Israeli settlers stand near a policeman during
a protest by Palestinians in Masafer Yatta.  (Oren Ziv /
Activestills.org  //  The Nation)
Such legal arguments don’t impress halima, who was born in a cave
in Al-Merkaz in 1948 and has lived there her whole life. “That’s
their court, not ours,” she said, “and they use the law in order
to expel us.”

The names of the Masafer Yatta villages are all over old maps that
predate the Israeli state, including one by British surveyors from
1879. Another can be found in a 1931 book by a geographer named Nathan
Shalem, who visited homes in Jinba and noted that human settlement
there “had never ceased.” Aerial photographs from 1945 testify to
the existence of the villages. Even the official documentation of the
State of Israel shows that in 1966, the Israeli military blew up 15
stone structures in Jinba, then under the control of Jordan, later
compensating the residents through the International Red Cross.

The Supreme Court rejected this historical evidence, which was
attached to the residents’ petition. “The existence of the stone
houses in the ruins of Jinba, in 1966, has nothing to teach us about
the situation of things in 1980,” Mintz explained in his ruling. He
gave evidentiary weight only to the area’s status in the year in
which the military’s firing zone was declared.

In their decision, the judges relied on the work of an Israeli
anthropologist, Ya’akov Habakkuk, who lived in the region in the
1980s, for their claim of “seasonality.” Habakkuk wrote that
during the grazing season, in winter and spring, the families lived in
Masafer Yatta, but in the dry months of summer, they lived in the
adjacent city of Yatta. This describes the lifestyle of many families
living in the region in the past, though not all of them.

Habakkuk himself is adamantly opposed to the court’s interpretation
of his work. He told us he had no idea his research was being used to
justify the expulsion. “It was obvious to everyone around that this
is their village,” he said. “The families came there consistently,
always to the same cave, and when they weren’t here, no one else
would enter.”

International law explicitly forbids population transfers in occupied
territory, with almost no exceptions. But in their ruling, the judges
claimed that if there is a conflict between international law and
Israeli law, “Israeli law decides.” In the decision, they wrote
that the section of the Geneva Conventions forbidding population
transfers is intended “only to prevent acts of mass expulsion of a
population in occupied territory in order to destroy it, to perform
forced labor, or to achieve other policy goals,” and therefore there
is no connection with the Masafer Yatta displacement, which was only
ordered so that the military could train there.

The ban on population transfers is found in the Fourth Geneva
Convention, in Section 49: “Deportations of protected persons from
occupied territory to the territory of the Occupying Power or to that
of any other country, occupied or not, are prohibited, _regardless of
their motive_” (emphasis ours).

The story of Masafer Yatta thus represents the cornerstone of Israeli
settler colonialism throughout Israel-Palestine. On both sides of the
Green Line, Palestinian displacement is largely achieved by way of the
law: the systematic denial of building permits, the denial of
Palestinian ownership rights to the land in question, the declaration
of expansive firing zones, the designation of national parks, and the
establishment of new Jewish settlements to “drive a wedge” and cut
villages off from one another.

“Everything that lies behind the process is the theft of our land
and the expulsion of our communities,” said Nidal Abu Younis, the
head of the Masafer Yatta village council. “Destroying our homes,
confiscating our vehicles, destroying our roads and
schools––it’s all one massive crime. They can expel us at any
moment. Now more than ever, we are in need of international
solidarity.”

_[BASEL ADRA is a reporter for +972 Magazine and Local Call._

_YUVAL ABRAHAM is a reporter for +972 Magazine and Local Call.]_

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