I’m not afraid of the dark, and I usually feel much safer out in the wilds than in a busy city. I also try not to waste electricity, so the lights burning thoughout the night in Masafer Yatta seemed to me to be needless extravagance. Once again, I hadn’t thought things through. It look a nighttime visit to Khallet ad-Dabea for me to catch on.
Brief reminder:
On the 26th of February 2023, Zionist vigilantes went on a deadly rampage through the village of Huwara in the North of the West Bank. They burned homes and cars, injured around 400 Palestinians and murdered Sameh Aqtash.
This horror went unchecked by the Israeli Occupation Forces, who stood by, heedless of their obligation to ensure public order and safety in the Territories. In fact, it appears that the acts of terror and destruction were carried out under the protection of the army.
The pretext for this pogrom and lynching was the fatal shooting of two settlers.
Tension in at-Tuwani
When, on the 30th of May, we heard the news about the killing of a settler in Tulkarem, we feared the worst. The events in Huwara had shown the world how dangerous the religious fanatics are, and how much leeway they have.
Tulkarem is in the North of the oPt, but settler and army pressure is intensifying daily in Masafer Yatta. Anything might tip the local Kahanists into acts of collective punishment.
We spent our day as usual, but I was keeping tabs on the cars on the road, bracing myself whenever someone telephoned. Hafez found more gardening tasks for us than usual, so when Aadil, one of the local activists, suggested that he show us around Tuba, his village, it was hard to get away.
There are priorities, and given that the vegetable plot is one of the more exposed and vulnerable spots, Aadil waited patiently for the digging to come to an end before whisking us off on a sunset safari.
The peaches of victory
Our first stop was in an orchard: amongst the omnipresent olive trees and stubbly patches of grazing there was a green and vibrant peach tree. We munched fruit as Aadil told us how his grandfather had fought years of legal battles in the Israeli system to wrest these fields back from zionist appropriation. It is the kind of triumph that motivates and encourages today’s activists, and Aadil’s determination must reflect that of his family.
My pleasure in the productive farmland was marred by the story of the nearby illegal colony: rows of mobile homes, which house fanatic colonists but which also serve as barracks for soldiers between tours of duty. Witness another example of how the terrorists and those who should guarantee order and security are two blades of the same pair of shears.
Sunset Safari
From Umm al-Kheir we drove offroad to Tuba. Aadil was taking us the long way round, between Tuwani and Tuba. The distance is around 2 km as the crow flies, but the Zionist implantations between the two villages force Palestinians to make a 20 kilometer detour. Even the detour isn’t safe, Palestinians passing through the intersection known as Ma’on Junction, where the settlement roads access the highway, are frequently assaulted.
I have impressions of open countryside; tilled and planted hills areas under cultivation – fields much bigger than around Tuwani; nighttime, lights on the skyline tracing towns in the Jordanian highlands; glimpsed a fox, I think, in the headlights; lighthearted fun of discovering the desert, exciting moments, hopping out ready to push, when the laden car stuttered and slithered on a rocky incline.
Tuba – the sheep farm
We were still well out of sight of the farm when Aadil started phoning his brothers, warning them of our arrival. I don’t think he was just being polite. One of them came to meet us with spotlights, ‘cos it was dark by then – you only appreciate the concept of starlight when you’re really in the countryside!
We picked our way between farm machinery, vehicles, a tethered camel and her calf and low sheds to the room where the family spends the evenings.
Farmers are always intrigued about different agricultural systems, so the three brothers and I had an intense discussion about livestock farming techniques. They explained their sheep farm: the extensive grazing system, involving direct grazing of fields sown with barley, and the use of stored rainwater. Age-old techniques integrated into the local ecosystem, in stark contract to the intensive Israeli farms which rely on entrants, electricity and pumped water. (1) The transition from subsistence farming to a commercial export-based business has succeeded. They seem to make a better living from their sales of meat than would a similarly-sized sheep farm in France.
Settler attacks are destroying this livelihood as I write. The terrorists prevent shepherds from accessing grazing lands and they empty and damage water tanks. They also barge into homes, threatening people and breaking or stealing belongings.
My Arabic is still too limited to really engage, but once we got to the food aspects of the subject, I coped better. The grandmother joined in too and we got onto cheese-making.
Over a scrumptious meal of tea and stuffed vegetables, she explained her Lebne to me. She curdles skimmed milk over an entire month, using lots of salt as a preservative, before preparing her batch of cheese. The curds are rolled in a flat dish to give them their typical pear shape. She then dries the individual cheeses in the sun. The cheeses keep for over a year and the salt they exude is rubbed off during maturation.
This traditional technique uses acidity and salt for conservation, the energy-intensive refrigeration processes used in European cheesemaking are out of place here. Proudly, she told us that she has a good market for the lebne, which is even exported to Jordan where it is a vital ingredient in the emblematic mutton speciality, Mansaf. Once our hostess realised my interest, she whipped a blanket off a big wooden chest behind us and we all got to taste the final product. As you have gathered, dried lebne (lebne jameed) is basically concentrated, soured and salted milk. It is very much an acquired taste. I found it a delicious contrast to the sweetened tea.
My companions, who had docilely and politely sat through this earthy discussion, were offered cheese too. After the fishash experience, I knew what to expect and, on a few hand signals, they discreetly passed their pieces of cheese to me.
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Up close - I earned a new scar
Then I took a notion to see the baby camel I’d noticed coming in. The camels aren’t really useful, so to speak, but the family gets good money from breeding them, and they sell them to Jordan and even as far as Saudi Arabia, I gathered.
The bosses happily agreed to my request. I’d never been that close to a camel and was amazed at the size of the calf. The mother accepted a few caresses to her muzzle, then someone said “photo”. I was closest to the camel, and could feel her getting restless. But her owner was saying “yeah, stand there”… I felt a blow to my head, but it seemed to come out of nowhere. “ Oh, she pulled your hair!” one of the girls exclaimed. Dazed, I put my hand to my numb eyebrow. I could feel tenderness. The bleeding started almost immediately. It was only when they saw my hands covered in blood that everyone realised that, quick as a snake, the camel had bitten me.
They told me I had been lucky, that beast had already scalped a man and brained a toddler. I got off lightly – my black eye was only visible for around a week.
While we were still mopping up my blood, came the phone call I had been dreading. Guys in Khallet ad-Dabea had seen an unknown car driving around. Probably settlers. We set off – fast. Aadil bashing the hell out of his suspension; we three passengers bracing ourselves against the bumps and jolts; myself surreptitiously swiping away the blood still trickling down my face.
Aadil kept in touch with his mates as he drove. Fast. In the dark. On rough winding roads. It was better to suppose that he knew them well. Soon, we could see headlights up ahead, but no way of knowing if this was the suspicious vehicle, or not.
Spotlights against guns
Arriving in Khallet ad-Dabea, we were dazzled by the beams the watchers shone at us. It was now around 11 at night, and there were just three men standing guard. We joined them on the terrace in front of the communal space, where they had a good view over the valley. The outlying houses and farm buildings were identified by lights, left burning as a precaution, or even, as a defense.
“For Palestinians living under Israeli occupation in the West Bank,
self-defense against Jewish violence is a criminal offense
subject to arrest, trial, imprisonment and heavy fines – or death” (2)
We sat with the watchers, sipping coffee from professional catering-sized flasks. We understood that the villagers had been keeping a close eye on movement in the area all day. Fortunately, there had been no attacks. Aadil was clearly concerned about his friends, their intention was to keep watch all night, but, what should we do? Everything seemed calm. The inevitable attack might, in fact, come at any time.
Eventually, we went back to the guesthouse. I carried with me a stomachknotting feeling of fragility and of fatality. At some moment, the army and the settlers will demolish everything we had seen that evening. And the local people will stand against them, determination and righteousness their only weapons.
1. Settlement water is pumped in from desalination plants but Palestianians' water use is severely restricted https://www.972mag.com/water-apartheid-heat-masafer-yatta/
2. Amira Hass
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