Living In The Shadow Of The Wall By Ida Audeh

Living In The Shadow Of The Wall

By Ida Audeh

The Electronic Intifada
17 November 2003

During its spring 2002 offensive to reoccupy territories under Palestinian Authority (PA) control, and as most of the West Bank was under round-the-clock curfew, Israel confiscated thousands of dunums of Palestinian land to build a wall. One year later, a 145-km-long segment of a much longer wall extends from the northern village of Zububa in the Jenin district to 'Azzun 'Atma in the Qalqilya district.

When completed, the wall is expected to be at least four times as long and in many places twice as high as the Berlin Wall. But it is no ordinary wall; it is more accurately described as a system of control that includes concrete barriers, watchtowers, trenches on either side, military patrol roads, trace paths to register footprints, an electronic warning or 'smart' fence, and a concrete barrier topped with barbed wire.

Israel claims that the wall is a security fence or barrier designed to impede suicide bombers. But the course of the wall as well as its effect on the Palestinians belie that claim. The wall does not follow the Green Line, the demarcation line between Israel and the West Bank. In some areas, it meanders six kilometers east of the Green Line, bisecting some towns, separating villages from their land and water wells, and isolating hamlets from the neighboring towns that provide them medical, educational, and social services.

With the completion of this first phase of the wall in the northern West Bank, one can begin to tally the cost to Palestinian economy and society. The Jenin, Tulkarem, and Qalqilya districts have a combined population of more than 500,000 people (22-24 percent of the West Bank population) and accounted for 45 percent of the West Bank's agricultural production. In these three districts, the wall separates 51 villages from their lands, placing 122,000 dunums beyond reach (in effect, annexing 2% of the West Bank); resulted in the destruction or uprooting of 102,320 trees, dozens of commercial businesses, and 19 miles of water networks; and places 16 villages and 36 groundwater wells in the no-mans-land between the wall and Israel proper. An estimated 200,000 Palestinians are trapped between the wall and Israel proper; in some of these areas, like Jbara, Palestinians are required to secure permits, renewable once a month, to live in their own homes.

In the Jerusalem area, the wall results in the de facto annexation of 800 dunums of land and isolates 30,000 Palestinians in Kafr Aqab and Qalandiya who hold Jerusalem ID cards from the city as well as from family and social and public services. In both the Jerusalem and Bethlehem districts, the Wall surrounds the Palestinian population concentrations rather than the city. The effect of the wall on Bethlehem, whose tourism and export industry has already been shattered by closures and curfews, is especially revealing. According to Hanna Rishmawi, the local coordinator of the Medical Relief Committee, when the wall is completed, the population density of Bethlehem is likely to be about 4,500 people per square kilometer, which puts it in the same league as Gaza, recognized as having the highest population density in the world. The wall will prevent the city from growing naturally and put an end to green spaces in towns.

The implications of the wall are staggering. The wall strips farmers of their farms, thereby depriving them of a livelihood. By so doing, it will impoverish entire communities. Environmental hazards caused by the process of creating the wall as well as psychological pressures deliberately inflicted by the Israeli army (e.g., blaring noise at residents in the early morning hours to prevent sleep; diverting sewage to villages in valleys; dynamiting land to clear it for roads and in the process causing structural damage to nearby homes) are additional pressures on already stressed communities. Lack of water will make Palestinians dependent on Israel for its water supply, for which they will have to pay more than they can afford when they are allowed to have it. Lack of land also means that towns and villages cannot experience normal growth and expansion. Communities that are beyond the wall but not within Israel proper will be unable to sustain themselves.

When one considers the implications of the wall in the context of the network of bypass roads and roadblocks, it becomes clear that the West Bank has been divided into impoverished cantons subdivided into ghettos. To say that the wall attempts to force a political solution on the Palestine-Israel conflict is to understate the issue. Not only is Israel taking measures to prevent the emergence of a viable Palestinian state, but the Israeli policy of enforced hunger will make voluntary emigration the only viable option to an unsustainable existence.

The interviews that follow provide a sample of the range of problems that the wall poses for families. The interviews were conducted during August 14-28, 2003, in the districts affected by the completion first phase of the wall: Zububa and al-Taybeh in the Jenin district; Nazlat Isa, al-Jarooshiyeh, and Irtah in the Tulkarem district; al-Daba`a and `Azzun in the Qalqilya district; Qalandiya in the Jerusalem district; and Bethlehem and Beit Jala in the Bethlehem district. The interviews were facilitated by regional coordinators of groups on the Committee Against the Wall. Restrictions placed on traveling between towns and villages made it difficult for me to visit more than a few communities, and so I tried to select towns and villages on which the wall placed varying types of pressures.

Taken together, the interviews reveal what various interviewees independently referred to as the unique tragedies facing communities and the daily tragedies facing individuals, created by the wall.

JERUSALEM DISTRICT

The 40-100 meter wide, 8-kilometer-long northern Jerusalem wall is designed to isolate the Palestinian community, not to encircle the city. About 800 dunums of land were confiscated from Palestinian owners to build that portion of the wall.

QALANDIA

Qalandia, north of Jerusalem, is a major checkpoint between Ramallah and Jerusalem. The wall isolates 30,000 Palestinians in Kafr Aqab and Qalandiya who hold Jerusalem ID cards from the city as well as from family, workplaces, and social and public services.

Fatima Asaad

I am a teacher in Jerusalem, and I live in Qalandia. In the past, it took me no longer than 7 minutes to drive to work. But after they put their separation barrier up, our home became beyond the fence. Now I can't drive my car. I have to wait at the checkpoints an hour or two or three. So I have to walk. I walk to the Qalandia checkpoint and then cross it on foot. Then I take public transportation from the Qalandia checkpoint to the Dahiya checkpoint. I have to walk about 1/2 kilometer to get to the checkpoint. At each checkpoint, I wait in line. Sometimes they add another checkpoint beyond the usual one. Sometimes I have to walk all the way to work. I leave home at 6:15 and I arrive around 8. The distance is no more than 7 km. In the morning, I have no time to do anything for my kids or in the house. I rush and barely make it to work on time. When you go through these hardships just to get to work, what state are you in when you finally get there? I'm tired, I take 10 minutes or so to get something to drink. When I look at my students, many face the same struggles that I face, so I feel very sorry for them. Nevertheless, we try, and I'm sure all schools try, to get something positive out of all this struggle.

The fence has harmed us a lot at home. The Israelis took about 1.5 dunums from our land. We also had 6 dunums planted with trees -- olives, almonds, figs, grapes, apples -- anything you might desire, we had. At the beginning of the intifada, they bulldozed about 1.5 dunums. Their excuse was that kids throw stones at them and then hide between our trees. So the kids went to a different area to hide from them. So 1.5 years ago, they bulldozed more of our land. That left a third parcel. About 2 months ago, at the end of June, and I remember it was a Friday, soldiers came and stayed on our roof for 2 nights. We said, this is part of the Jerusalem district, we pay arnona, why are you doing this? You should have official orders if you are going to do this. They said, we have military orders, so we don't need written official papers. Having soldiers on your roof is very disturbing.

One morning, at 10:30, we saw a big army bulldozer. It is very loud. It was uprooting our trees. We went crazy. I went out and started to yell at them. They said, we have military orders. They uprooted about 300 trees. My husband and I have 5 kids, and we are part of a large family. My husband's brothers and sisters and their families, all of us ate from those trees. When you raise a tree all your life, you raise it like your own child, imagine your feelings when they uproot it right in front of your eyes. This upset me a lot, and I yelled and cursed them. I felt that they intend to uproot even the tree that ties us to the land.

We responded quickly. The next day we hired a bulldozer and we smoothed the land and we dug 50 pits and we replanted the trees they uprooted. The olive trees in particular, the others couldn't be replanted. We planted 50 big trees, the small ones can't be replanted. We watered them and most are doing well. The Israelis were surprised. We've had some journalists come by, they were surprised by our determination and the positive action we took. Resistance isn't just a matter of confronting the army. We are rooted in our land. No matter what they do, we won't leave.

Every day, there is shooting in the neighborhood. Little kids come and throw stones or get close to the fence. So the army comes. There are continual battles going on here. In the afternoons, we don't leave our home. I tell my sons to wait in Ramallah until evening, when things quiet down. If you want to step outside, first you have to check to see whether there is any shooting. We could get shot at any moment. We've had to replace our windows several times. Our water tanks are bullet marked, we've put screws to close the holes, and our satellite dish has been shot at, too. There is a lot of damage. My 11 year old boy likes sports, and in the present situation there are no clubs where he can play. So he wants to go outside. In the afternoon, he can't even go outside the front door. So he bounces his ball indoors, and he is upset. He asks me, check to see whether the soldiers are here, so that I can go outside if they're not.

Life is difficult, very difficult. People living abroad have trouble imagining just how difficult it is. Even in this interview, I am giving you merely a glimpse of what we suffer. Our suffering is day in, day out.

Last night, there was shooting. For about half an hour, we all hid in one room. We were afraid to get close to the windows. We live in terror. But we have no choice. Where should we go? Even in your own home, you aren't safe. They shoot and they take our land and bulldoze our land. And sometimes, they enter our homes and start searching. That scares me because my sons are young men.

Life consists of more than just eating and drinking. But we can only dream of living an ordinary life. The simple things that an ordinary person doesn't think about, we feel how dear they are, because we lack them.

The problem in our neighborhood got worse after they put the fence. It is a provocation. Kids come to this fence, and they throw stones and they burn tires. What more can they do? And then all hell breaks loose, and the army chases them. And then they close the checkpoint and punish people.

BETHLEHEM DISTRICT

The Bethlehem district is home to more than 170,000 Palestinians, concentrated mostly in the three towns Bethlehem, Beit Jala, and Beit Sahour. The wall surrounding the Bethlehem district is a 15-kilometer shackle that segregates 15,000 dunums of agricultural land, mainly olive trees.

BETHLEHEM

The wall around Bethlehem serves to isolate and annex the religious areas. Around Rachel's Tomb and the Bilal Ibn Rabah Mosque, hundreds will be isolated between two walls, further strengthening Israeli control of historic, religious, and deeply significant places and strangling the city economically.

Mundher Elias al-Bandak

My family has been in Bethlehem for hundreds of years. I live where I work, I have a factory that makes school and wood and metal furniture, located about 120-150 meters from Rachel's tomb. My father built this factory in 1936. At one point we had 120 workers here.

On 10 April 2002, I saw Israeli bulldozers on my property without prior notice. When I asked, I was shot at (warning shots). If you remember, Bethlehem and the manger were under siege at the time. They took advantage of the curfew and world focus on the manger crisis, and they used their bulldozers to seize people's properties. I tried legal means to stop them but wasn't successful. The road was developed and now it is 30 meters wide.

You cannot measure the psychological impact of the wall. You can't capture it in words or images. Nor can you control it or be treated for it or push it away. This ghost never goes away, and it always controls your consciousness, even when you sleep, the nightmare grabs hold of you. When you are made to feel like an animal, confined by walls. More than 100 years ago countries created sanctuaries for animals that weren't defined by walls. They tried to care for the animals in a humane way. They created preserves. How can people treat their fellow brothers in ways worse than animals are treated?

We are also economically negatively impacted. You can measure this in dunums or dollars, and you can easily find a solution for that. You can figure out the compensation. But the effect on morale and history, culture, civilization -- these are things we can't measure or compensate. How can we in the 21st century have walls that are 8 and 10 meters high and electric fences and plans that are hard to imagine?

The wall is going to be 25 meters away from my bedroom and about 6 meters away from my factory on 2 sides. Politically, the wall creates a huge problem as it tries to solve a small problem. The Israelis say they are concerned about security for those coming to pray at Rachel's tomb, but since 1967 not a single person visiting Rachel's tomb has ever been harmed.

We are still raising legal objections to the military order on the wall. We were able temporarily to stop implementation of the wall. The wall is inappropriate, inhumane, and illegal. We don't need 8-meter high walls or fences unless one side has taken something from another side and doesn't want to return it. If you have good relations, you can put an 80-cm wall of roses, and that's enough of a geographic demarcation. If Israel is serious about good relations, it doesn't need a wall.

My factory and home are in a border area. As such, we will always be subject to sudden unwanted visits. This wall will trigger a much bigger problem. We will be isolated even from Bethlehem. Who will be brave enough to visit me at home or come to the factory to buy my goods? I might be forced to close. How can I protect myself and protect what remains of my land?

BEIT JALA

Saleh Mohsen Sarhan

I live here with my family; I have 5 sons and 3 daughters and lots of grandkids. We are one family, about 39 people.

We faced many problems during the intifada from neighboring Gilo settlement for about 2 years. Both sides exchanged gunfire, and because we are on the borderline we got it from both sides. Sometimes we couldn't make it out of our homes to go to Bethlehem or Beit Jala. This was hard on the children, and they have psychological problems, including fear and instability.

The Israelis started to dig trenches for the wall near our home. We lost 90 to 95 trees. Olive, almond, fig, apple, and peach trees. About 30 trees were Roman olives. They were uprooted. Part of the wall is an electric fence, with a trench separating two rolls of coil near our home. At present, the children can't reach the fence because of the trenches, and we're always afraid that they'll fall in them and to the electric current.

We had a farm with two hatcheries, each with 1,000 hatching chickens. When they were digging their trenches the sound of the machinery affected the chickens. For 5 months, they didn't lay eggs. Not a single egg. They had psychological problems. Each chicken cost 25 shekels, and those that didn't die we sold for 1 shekel apiece. And these chickens had been a source of income for us. You know, an employee's salary isn't enough to support a family, you have to supplement it. We pay taxes to Israel (arnon) but we get nothing in return, except water. We have a well, but it was compromised by the machinery and explosives the Israelis were using.

They took about 6 dunums from us and started digging at least a year ago. They put the fence in 3-4 months ago; it is about 70 meters away from the house, and the electric current is running. We explained to the children that these are electric wire, and they understand that, they don't go near it.

From the wall to the north, they made a dirt road, and patrol cars use it. On the other side, they made a road and paved it; it has traffic signs like a regular road, and there is an alternate route. And no one knows what this road is for and who will use it. Right now only patrols use it. Five or 6 trips a day, and when they get close to our homes they create disturbances. They honk at 1 or 2 am.

There is a watchtower near the homes. If we get anywhere near it, the watchtower contacts the Border Guard and a patrol comes by and starts to question us. We're just standing on our own property. Why are you standing here? We say, this is our land and these are our homes. They start to talk to each other. It is annoying.

QALQILIYA DISTRICT

AZZOUN VILLAGE

The wall separates Azzoun (population 7,000) from its agricultural land, which now lies west of the wall. No gate in the wall allows residents access to their lands. As a result they must travel long distances---approximately 4 kilometers to a gate near Isla to the west, and 9 kilometers to another gate near Nabi Elias, where some land belonging to Azzoun is located. The main roads are often reserved for soldiers and settlers, and so Palestinians are forced to take even longer routes, often on foot, and cannot bring equipment to harvest their crops.

Faisal Hasan Ahmad Adwan

We have 200 dunums of land, on which we planted wheat and barley, vegetables, olive trees. One day, we found a wire fence around our land and a sign that says, it is forbidden to get close to this fence. For as long as they are working on the wall, we have access to the land. But later, they will put 3/4 of our land beyond the wire. And we can't get to it from the other side either.

We are 5 brothers, each of us has 4 or 5 kids, so this land feeds about 50 people. Some of us have married kids with families of their own. We have no recourse with these Israelis. We appealed but we haven't gotten a response. Now we have about 5-10 dunums left outside the fence that we have access to, 5 or 10 out of 200. What will that do for 50 people? There is also a well that collects rainwater, and that's now beyond the fence. We can't go near it. The land was our only source of income. Now we work as laborers in town when we can, outside if we have to. I have a tractor I use to transport things, a load of dirt, a load of manure. But there are more than 50 tractors in town.

Mohammad Hasan Ahmad Adwan

The damage caused by the wall goes beyond the loss of our land. Now there is no work. Our income is practically nonexistent. If there were work to be done in town, no one has money to pay for it. People would just record it as a debt. When the Israelis set foot on our property and took it over, I went to pick up the tree trunks. They stopped me. They brought the army in. I stayed on my land until I got my trees. For several days they would kick all of us out except one, me. They eventually stole around 15 olive tree stalks (?) from us. This is over and above the ones they cut early on. When we got to our land, they brought the army; the soldiers said, go home or you will be arrested. We can't stop them. When we try to talk to them, they say, this is part of the Oslo agreement. Go talk to your Arafat. But we don't really know whether this is true or not.

AL-DABA'A VILLAGE

This hamlet of 200-250 people, surrounded on three sides by the wall, now lies in the area between the wall and Israel proper; village lands are east of the wall. In the process of creating the wall, Israel destroyed 250 dunums of land, uprooted 2,000 trees, and isolated 5 cisterns beyond the wall; the quality of the drinking water is now questionable. Some 1,200 dunums of farmlands are now inaccessible or reached with difficulty, a major problem for a population 80% of whom had relied on agriculture. Some homes are now unsafe, a consequence of Israel's use of explosives to clear a path for the wall. For schools, garbage disposal, water supplies, and social and medical services, residents had relied on neighboring towns, all of which are difficult if not impossible to reach. Since the following interview was conducted, residents have been required to apply for permits to live in their own homes; approximately 70-80 individuals have not received permanent residency permits, and no car permits have been granted, either. The Israelis generally open the gate briefly each day, although the gates remained closed for 20 days during the Jewish holidays.

Zaki Ibrahim Awda

We received no official notice. Before we knew it, they were building this wall. We asked them why they were doing this to our land and where are we supposed to go? Now we don't have water or schools.

They started to work on the wall in December 2002. I'm not sure exactly when. We stood in front of the bulldozers. The military governor of Kedumim came to my uncle, the head of the local council, and told him, we don't want to see you, and you should move as far as you can from the wall. The decision to build the wall is final. My uncle told him, you said the wall would be 150 meters away from our homes, but it is more like 50 meters away. Because we stood in front of the bulldozers, they took my uncle to the settlement and kept him there until 1 am.

They completed the wall here and locked the gates. Now we have to take mountain routes, which really is a lot of wear and tear on the cars. Just to bring food for our kids. There is only one road out, and they closed it. Now we pass through an opening in the fence that they created for themselves. When they finish the wall, they'll close that passage. They created a road they claim is for our use, but it doesn't look that way to me. Even when we try to use it, they don't give us a chance to walk on it. I haven't seen a single person use it. They say they will help us, but I haven't seen that. We have to go through the Alfe Menashe settlement, and then pass a checkpoint, and then go to Qalqilya and Azzoun. And they tell us this is the shortest way out. We don't really know if this is the road we can use. We don't know what they will do to us.

We don't have water and we don't have electricity. The wells are all beyond the wall. We buy water containers for 100 shekels. Each container has 10 cubic meters. How long does that last? The water comes once a week from Kufur Thuluth. Sometimes we bring water tanks in on tractors or donkeys. We lack just about all services. There is no activity here at all.

There are about 50 or 60 houses here. We have an elementary school and a preparatory school. We don't have teachers. The teachers are from Azzoun, Kufur Thuluth, Habla, and Ras Atiya, and they can't reach us at all. Our high school and university students can't reach their schools. This is a huge problem for us.

We have no doctors here. Generally we go to Qalqilya or Habla or Azzoun. When we call for an ambulance, it can't reach us here. A patient might die on the way before he gets to an ambulance. We have to drive patients a distance before we get to the spot the ambulance waits for us. Just this morning, someone was taking a woman who had had a stroke to Qalqilya, and they were stopped at the checkpoint and prevented from passing, even though he had a permit. Qalqilya is 3 km away, but with the road as it is, you drive 30 km to get there.

We were told that there is no code number for our village, that we weren't even on the map and we weren't recognized. I am 37 years old, and I was born in this village, and I know that my grandfather and his father all lived here. So how can there be no code number for this village? Why is it not on the map? We are completely tied. We don't know what future we have.

I used to work in Israel, but now there is no work. I have a tractor, so I do a few odd jobs with it. Only 2 or 3 people in this area work, and they are government officials. There is no work to be had.

I have about 25 dunums outside the wall. And I have another plot of land, about 30 dunums. If they let us through the fence, I have to cross a distance of 20-25 km to get to my property outside the wall. To buy groceries, we go to Azzoun or Habla or Kufur Thuluth. This is a big distance. And the police always stop us along the way, whether or not we have permits and drive correctly. There is always either a fine involved or license suspension, 500 shekel fines, and courts. We don't know what we're going to do about this. When we see the police, we try to avoid them because they question us: where are you going? And when we tell them, they say, do that some other time, this is not the time.

Our cars are not allowed on the road without a permit. And they don't give us permits. This morning my neighbor went out to his property. He should be able to cross the wall and be on his land in about 5 minutes. Today he tried to leave but couldn't. It took him 3 hours to get there and 3 hours to get back. He can't drive there, he has to go on foot. This is not workable. We can't tend our land when we spend so much time on the road. Two-thirds or more of the village lands are now beyond the wall. The wall isn't complete yet, but we still can't reach our land. When the wall is finished, we won't be able to go anywhere.

We were told we would get 6-month permits. In Beit Amin, they were given permits that were canceled after 1 or 2 months and the gate was locked, and people couldn't move.

My sisters and cousins are in neighboring villages. I can still see them. But when the wall is complete, I won't be able to see them anymore.

We try to imagine what the future will bring. We can't build anything. If we want to do something for ourselves, we can't. We don't know what our destiny will be.

TULKRAM DISTRICT

NAZLAT ISA

With the northern portion of the wall complete, Nazlat Isa (population 2,300) now falls in the no-man's-land between the wall and Israel proper. Since January 2003, more than 130 commercial buildings and 6 homes have been bulldozed. Residents fear that Israel's attacks against the commercial sector are designed to force them to leave.

Nafez Asaad

For about 9 months we have been dealing with this problem of the house. In June we received official notice from the Israelis that they have nothing against us and that we have nothing to worry about. This morning we were surprised to find that they had imposed a curfew and that they brought about 20 bulldozers to our house. They told us we had to leave. They didn't even give us time to appeal.

Why did they bulldoze my house? It's a racist thing. They claim the wall passes this way, but it won't. This is just a racist policy to break the Palestinian economy and Palestinian spirits and morale. This is a collective punishment imposed on Palestinians.

Two of our homes were bulldozed, and so were two homes belonging to my cousins. One of my cousins was to be married tomorrow. This is a crime in the full sense of the word.

Rathiya bin Abu Zeben

I built this house for my kids. There are 10 of us in this house. My son was married here only 5 days ago. New furniture and people haven't yet had a chance to congratulate him on his marriage. This morning, we saw bulldozers. For the past 2-3 years, we have been threatened with this [the possibility that Israel would bulldoze our homes]. This morning, they started to bulldoze our house and some businesses.

For the past 5 or 6 years, everything my sons made went into building this home. We went without many things just so we can finish the house and live in it. Now they denied us that. What are we to do now? Can no one stop their violence?

Where can we go? We are going to stay put right here. There is no place else for us to go. Arab leaders have abandoned us. They aren't objecting and they aren't concerned about what's happening to us or our children, each of whom sweats blood and flesh for each cent he makes. While the Israelis chase them from street to street.

This town was quiet, no problems here. People just want to live. Why did they come to take out their hostility on us? Isn't it a sin, this oppression they dealt us?

Suhaib Jallal Abu Yasin

My father owns this aluminum factory in Nazlat Isa. At 7 am this morning, we were surprised by a phone call telling us to come quickly, that the Israelis were going to destroy the factory. They gave us 3 hours to empty the store. We were not given a reason for this, and we don't have an official order for the destruction.

Two months ago, our lawyer (who is Jewish) spoke to people in Beit El, I don't know who the responsible people are, and he reassured us that our factory was safe. So this came as a complete surprise today. My inventory is worth at least 7 million shekels. That doesn't include the machinery and the structure. Forty men work here. What can I say?

JAROOSHIYA VILLAGE

Israel confiscated about 300 dunums and uprooted about 5,000 trees when it built the wall in Jarooshiya (population 800); another 100 dunums of land and 2 cisterns became inaccessible, and a 1-kilometer-long irrigation network was destroyed. Villagers now face great difficulty in getting access to health services.

Basima Said Uthman

The Uthman family consists of about 130 people. We have 450 dunums from which 22 families live. All gone, except for the land the houses sit on. The Israelis came and cut down about 5,000 olive trees at the peak of the season, before the olives fully ripened. We went to pick the olives on one side, and the Israelis were cutting the trees on the other side. The uprooted trees were lying on the ground, and we felt like we were turning over a human being who had died. Wherever you turned, there were gnarled dead olive trees.

The Israelis cut our trees to make a road for the wall. About 1/3 of our trees remain inside the wall. The olive trees are more than 100 years old. My great grandfather planted them, and some were planted by my father. The land is about 20 meters away, but we can't reach it. We look at it, but this year we haven't tasted the olives or the nuts. We yearn to eat from it, but instead we've had to buy our olives. This year we'll have to buy our olive oil. This is a tragedy.

The Israelis plan to cut down the few remaining trees because they want to expand the space next to the wall. Generally, we make about 1,000 cans/year. Almonds, about 5 tons per family. We exported to Jordan and Syria. At night, whenever the bulldozer comes, it runs just below the street, to make more noise and prevent people from sleeping and create a lot of dust.

Now we rely on the God who created us and who provides for us. We have to look for other things to do. For the past 50 years, none of us has worked for wages. Everyone worked the land. They got an education, built homes, got married. Now we don't know how our children will find the means to get educated and married.

In spots close to the house, they used explosives. And here, about 500 meters, they exploded it all at once. Of course that affects the house. In the dead of winter, they'd force us from our homes using the excuse that the roof would come down on us. Let it! The kids would all get sick, because we woke them from sleep and took them outside in the cold and the rain. We have land far from the home. Go use your explosives there. They said no, we won't. Our orders are to come here, near the house. We have a lot of property. Why do they have to come so close to the homes?

They fire flares and sound bombs daily. The night sky is lit up like daylight. They drop things from the sky. If they fall on a kid's head or on a solar water heater, they'd break it. If they fall on a car, they'd burn it. And many fires have been caused by this. We believe that they are provoking us so that we'll leave our homes. But we won't leave, even if they bring our homes down over our heads. We won't leave.

IRTAH VILLAGE

The agricultural community of Irtah (population 4,200) has severely limited access to farm lands. To create the wall, Israel destroyed 200 dunums of farmland and uprooted 100 trees.

Fayez Odeh al-Taneeb

I have been in farming since 1984. After my father died, I took over the farm, an area of 32 dunums. My wife and I started to work it, centimeter by centimeter, meter by meter, until it became a model farm at the district level growing all kinds of vegetables and having 7 greenhouses. We used scientific methods. We turned the farm's organic refuse into compost and planted crops in it. We used nets to cover the plants to avoid the use of chemicals or pesticides. We were also careful to use water judiciously. We used a large tank to collect rainwater that we channeled into greenhouses and irrigated the whole farm.

In 1996 during the Barak government the Israelis decided to build a racist wall, which started as mounds of dirt on top of which they placed metal reinforced rods. One day my wife and I were at the farm and we were surprised to see a bulldozer in the middle of the farm and it was destroying our crops. I told the driver to stop, but he wouldn't. So I grabbed the scoop but he still wouldn't stop and the level of dirt he piled up kept rising until it reached the top of my back. My wife saw that my life was threatened, so she climbed up the driver's side and she started to beat him until he stopped and then moved in reverse, which allowed me to climb away from the dirt. The driver said, Today I am alone and you had your way. Tomorrow I'll be back with 2 bulldozers and 100 soldiers. And we'll see you then.

The next day, about 20-25 military jeeps came and surrounded the farm on all sides and 2 bulldozers were running the length of the farm over the vegetables and the irrigation network. They destroyed what they could for no reason God sanctioned, and they didn't want the farm, either. They took 8 of the 32 dunums and destroyed everything in the farm. But we are determined to live and are committed to peace. We believe we are civilized people, we want to raise our children, and we have a message and an ethical and human responsibility toward our children. So we revived our farm.

Between 1996 and 2002, several measures were taken against us in order to get us to give up our farm. They closed the entry to the farm. We found a second entrance, but they closed that, too. We created a third entrance, but then they cut the irrigation routes. We repaired them 3 times. When they saw our determination, they encircled the farm with a wire fence, even though it is east of the wall. The wire fence closed it off completely. So my wife and I cut an entry through the wire so we could reach the farm.

At the end of 2002, we were notified that they plan to confiscate the entire farm. We went to our lawyer, who took it to the district advisor (?), who refused to deal with the case, citing security issues. So we took it to the Israeli Supreme Court. A committee came to check the farm, and they suggested taking a portion of the farm and granting us access to the rest and restoring the water lines. We didn't want them to take a single centimeter, but there was nothing we could do. But after they took half the farm, they destroyed the greenhouses and the water collection tanks, and then they refused to implement the court order to open a passage through the wire fence and to restore the irrigation routes.

As you see, my life and that of my wife and children are constantly exposed to danger. We pass under the gun of an Israeli soldier every time we enter or leave the farm.

We employed 13-14 people; this farm supported 12-14 families. These families now have no support and don't know what the future holds for them. Today the farm generates zero income. So I ask: Is the policy of hunger expected to lead to peace? And if it leads to an explosion, who is responsible?

We are absolutely determined to stay on our farm and to keep it productive. I have obligations to this land and I have a historical bond to it. The bond doesn't break just because the occupation destroyed the farm once, twice, or three times. I am glad I was able to get a tractor back on the farm after an absence of 1-1.5 years. But I am sad that this farm, which was the best in the district, has fallen to this state where it is full of weeds.

JENIN DISTRICT

ZUBUBA VILLAGE

Zububa (population about 2,000) is located in the northernmost tip of the Jenin district. At least 70 trees were uprooted to make room for the wall, and in some places the wall is no more than 40 or 50 meters away from the closest house. The village has experienced gradual land confiscation since 1948, and villagers now fear that the rest of their land will be confiscated through the wall. Unemployment is high. As a result of the construction of the wall, villagers face environmental and water contamination.

Mohammad Salih Mohammad Jaradat

This wall affects my house and the entire region. The wall changed the contours of the land, it diverted all the rainwater to our lands, which are lower. The sewage water was diverted to us, too, from the Salem checkpoint. In February, the whole area gets flooded. Our whole house was filled with sewage. The salt in the sewage threatens the house, not to mention the environmental contamination. We have an old village well and a few springs, and all of them have become contaminated. The whole area is affected. When we don't have access to water from Jenin or when it is cut off, we are forced to drink this contaminated water.

They want to expropriate the lands above us to choke the residents of this village. They dig 190-195 meters into the mountain to create the wall. It's not possible that they did this just to take 50 meters. They are sending us rainwater and their sewage so that we leave the village. They are just confining us so that they can take our lands away from us. We have appealed for help, but no one is listening.

Before the wall was built, we worked in Israel; it was difficult to get there, but you could use an indirect route. The wall makes it impossible for laborers to make a living in Israel. The adult worker is completely demoralized when his child comes to him in the morning and asks for a shekel, and you can't even give him that. You can't pay electricity or water bills. If you have a telephone, the bill is at least 1,000 shekels, and you can't pay that. And then it gets disconnected. No one can afford the costs. Debts are piling up on people. Even people who work aren't getting paid. There is no money for salaries.

The wall paralyzed the Palestinian economy, it brought it to a standstill. The West Bank and Jenin in particular are disaster areas.

Shadia Mohammad Salih Jaradat

We live in a swamp, and we have it worse than anyone else, and we are worried about our children. The sewage enters our home while we are sleeping, it seeps under the door when we are unaware. We struggled to build this house, but we can't live in it in January, February, and March, and our children are unable to go to school. We don't have access to the schools. There is so much mud.

We lost our vegetable garden, and we had been relying on it and on God; we lost our chickens and pigeons. Thank God our sheep were unaffected, we had help of some good people, and they rescued us. Our neighbors also lost a lot. We brought two truckloads of sand and dumped them in front of our house, each truckload cost 1,000 shekels. Four days later the flood came and swept it all away.

We were told that we could go to the president [Arafat] to tell him what happened and get some help. How are we supposed to get to the president? You see what the roads are like, and it costs 200 shekels per person. And you can't make a round trip in the same day.

Siham Hussein

We had a 40-dunum plot, it had 500 olive trees on it, and that was supporting us. The Israelis confiscated the land and built a military base on it. That was 8 years ago. We had another piece, about 30 dunums. During the second intifada, they confiscated another 10 dunums, and they are slowly taking it over. Yesterday they sent us notice that they would be cutting down 10 big olive trees. They are digging in it, whether a well or for sewage, we don't know. My husband is 60 years old. When he hears this, he goes nuts. He says, we have no recourse, no one cares what happens to us, we are a lost people. To whom can we appeal? There is no one. For the last 3 years, he hasn't worked, not a single agora. He has to support 7 girls and 2 boys and 3 sisters.

They opened their sewage (probably in our land), either it was full or they directed it to us, we don't know. The smell was stupefying, and the area was so full of flies and mosquitos you couldn't sit outside at night. Also cockroaches and frogs. We couldn't use the spring water because it has been contaminated. They use every means at their disposal to harm us. The village was surrounded by 4 fences, we can't go anywhere, and we hear that one of them is going to be electric.

When we learned that they would confiscate our land, I wanted to do something about it. But my husband said, we are a single family, what can we do? They'll shoot us. We don't dare go to our confiscated property. It hasn't even been plowed, but we are afraid we'd be shot if we go there.

Once there was a curfew and my children were in the backyard. I told them to come indoors so that the soldiers wouldn't bother them. They said, but we aren't even outside. The army came by and started shooting. One of the girls hid inside. They came after her and asked for her, we said, she's inside praying. [In fact, it was her sister who was hiding inside.] I said, and if she wants to sit outside, why is that a problem for you? I argued with him, and he threatened to shoot me. He pulled her away from me and hit her. For about 3 hours the soldiers were inside the house and this was going on and my legs were shaking.

It just isn't safe for us to walk out the front door. They are never out of town, they come day and night. They create disturbances. They say filthy things on the loudspeakers, calling us whores. They come by early in the mornings, on school days, and announce curfews right before the kids leave for school. So they miss school that day. When kids are on their way home from school, the army is following them.

Now we make some income shelling nuts, about 100 shekels for 4 days work. Our fingers have been wasted. We do anything we can. I would really like to start my own project, barracks, get some goats, something. But there is no money to get started.

The Palestinian people are lost. Our homes are destroyed, the best young men are gone or imprisoned. What's left?

AL-TAYBEH VILLAGE

About 950 trees were uprooted and 250 dunums belonging to al-Taybeh (population about 2,100) were destroyed when the wall was built, and about 250 dunums became inaccessible, for a total of 10% of village lands that were lost to the wall. Villagers no longer have access to the public services they once received from neighboring towns. An additional 25-meter-wide barbed wire barrier built around Al-Taybey, referred to as a “depth barrier,” further impedes Palestinian movement.

Ribhia Asaad Dahood Ighbariyaa

Last July [2002], the Israeli army started to dig up a street next to our house. I have about 30 dunums that they confiscated. They didn't send notification, we found out when we went to our property to pick the olives. Israeli guards were hiding under the trees. There was some shooting above our heads, and we didn't know where it was coming from. So we ran away and sat under some trees. We were afraid. We went back a second time and told them, we want to pick our olives, and they said, you can't, you don't have property here, this belongs to Im al-Fahm. We said, no, it is ours. They said, what is here, and I said, this is the grave of my husband, and this is my father-in-law, and this is my brother-in-law. And there is a child buried there. They said, you have to remove them; we want to make a road here. I said, what law says that we have to remove them? They have been dead for 14 years; you took our property, you took our homes, you took everything. Do you have to take our graves?

For about a month, I went everywhere I could think of to get some help. Then they called my son at work. Again the Israelis called me and said, you have to remove the graves.

I found some people who agreed to remove the graves. When they opened the graves, my husband still had his hair and he still had skin covering his face and hands, even after being dead for 14 years. And that's because he was a martyr. We reburied them in the Taybe cemetery.

They started to plow through the top of the mountain. Our house is in the mountain, and they kept digging and dumping the dirt on my house. We could only enter our home through the back door. They used dynamite 4 or 5 times right above the house without warning. My kids told me, our house is cracking.

When it rained, there was nothing left as a buffer with the mountain. We stayed another month or two in the house in the rainy season. Some men asked me, aren't you afraid to stay in it? I said, Where can I find a place for me and my children? Members of the town council [learned of my predicament] and came to me at night, at about 10 or 10:30. I was making dough and baking bread. The kids were around me, having dinner. Haj Khalid said, you have to leave this house. Don't you see [how bad it is]? He started to examine it. I said, every night I move the kids to a different room [whatever seems safest]. That night they were in the kitchen. All the other rooms were leaking. He said, just take your mattresses so you can sleep the night, and in the morning God will provide. At that time I thought the move would be temporary. A month or so, until the weather improved. They said, you can stay in the school. We came here, to this school, at about midnight. It was winter, and cold and rainy. It was dirty, and it took us hours to clean the place up so we could put our things.

In the morning, I really couldn't get up. My legs were killing me. My 19-year-old son freaked out. I told him, I don't know what's wrong with me, but my legs won't support me. I saw a doctor who thought it was nerves and being upset by what happened. Mainly I was most upset about the graves. In the Muslim faith it is a sin to move the dead.

My 3 daughters and two sons and I have been in this school for 8 months now. School starts Sept. 1, and now they tell us they want the school. I said, where am I supposed to go?

What more can I tell you? I have no one to protect me other than God. I don't know what to do. Life is very difficult, and there aren't many options. My brothers are all unemployed, and all of them have families.

Nothing beautiful is left in this world. I lost my home, my husband, and my land. There is nothing left that is beautiful in the whole world.

Ida Audeh is a Palestinian from the West Bank who works as a technical writer in Boulder, CO. She went to the West Bank in August for three weeks to visit family and to learn more about the effect of the wall on the lives of ordinary people. She is the author of "Picking Olives and Removing Roadblocks as Acts of Resistance: An Interview with Ghassan Andoni" Counterpunch, 28 October 2002 and "Narratives of Siege: Eyewitness Testimonies from Jenin, Bethlehem, and Nablus," Journal of Palestine Studies, no. 124 (Summer 2002).