Tag: Masafer Yatta

diary · israel

The dawn will come

levtaylor

My soul looks to God as a nightguard watches for the morning. – Psalm 130:6

I used to think the night guard was watching for the dawn with eagerness, excitement, and trepidation.

I just did a night shift watching out for army vans and settlers in the village of Umm al-Khair.

Now I know that the night guard simply greets the dawn with a weary sigh.

The last time I was here, we came to see the ruins of their destroyed homes. After we left, settlers and military shot at them.

In the short time since, the settlers have ramped up their aggression. They come in large, fanatical groups to terrorise the neighbourhood.

Night is a time when they feel most at risk. They also now have the added fear that the army, which is now entirely comprised of military reservists from the Hebron settlements, will come and carry out late night arrests.

So the locals stay awake, watching. They say they cannot sleep anyway. If they shut their eyes, fear is waiting in the dark.

The Talmud teaches that there is a state that is neither asleep nor awake. A rabbinic colleague once compared this to breastfeeding a newborn in the night. Now I know another version of this non-sleep. Fear.

I could not sleep either. We were supposed to sleep in shifts of a few hours. I lay down for about four hours.

A local boy stayed up with us to practise his English through the night. He wants to go to university. He hopes he will have passed his exams, but he’s worried, because he was distracted during the maths test, as his house had just been bulldozed.

We watched for every vehicle, every sign of activity, praying that the night would be “boring.”

When dawn broke, the children flooded into the playground where we had been camping out. I spun them round on the merry-go-round and pushed them on the swings.

A five-year-old came up with a cheeky grin and wanted to tell one of the international activists something. She took out an app on her phone that translated for hi.: “Gaza is my family, they are being bombed by Israel.”

In the light of day, I could see the human impact of the occupation. Kids – normal, sweet kids – who already know they are under siege.

Destroyed homes. Murals on walls professing the village’s resilience. Women cooking breakfast and men pouring cups of tea for activists who stayed the night.

Dawn will come to this sacred scrubland.

I know that morning will one day come, after decades upon decades of occupation and war.

But daybreak will not be the moment when all is set right. It will simply be when we take stock of what happened in the night.

In the daylight, we will see all the bodies of repeated catastrophes and finally be able to mourn them.

When dawn comes, we will see all that has been destroyed, and we will realise how much work has to be done to heal and repair.

I will wait for morning to come to Palestine-Israel just like the night guard waits for the first rays of daylight: restlessly, anxiously, hoping there will be enough remaining to begin the processes of reconciliation and rebuilding.

Dawn will surely come, but that will only be the beginning.

Wait, O Israel, for God, for God holds love and redemption. It is God who will redeem Israel from all their sins. – Psalm 130:7-8

diary · israel

We need you here

levtaylor

Last night, Eid Alhad’lin spoke on Zoom to Rabbis for Human Rights from Masafer Yatta, and explained what was happening to his village.

The settlers have cut off water and electricity, demolished homes, and shot people.

I met them last week. Their leader gave a talk to European diplomats in Arabic, then a younger man explained the situation in English. An elderly woman clutched her cane and talked to the women about the sexual harassment she has experienced from settlers.

Not long after we left, the settlers shot them, apparently as reprisal for talking to internationals. The problem, however, was not that we had been there.

It was that we had left.

There was a time when the villagers in Umm al-Khair could call the police for support or rely on the army to stand in their way. Now, if the police come, they will fit the residents for crimes and arrest them. If the army come, it is more likely that they will shoot the villagers. The settlers, too, now have guns and military uniforms.

After the settlers had shot the Palestinians, it seems the army came back to shoot them some more. When ambulances came, settlers prevented them reaching the wounded. It was a wonder the ambulance came at all. Everything in the south Hebron Hills is now geared towards expanding Jewish territory and displacing Palestinians.

The only thing that is preventing greater violence and deeper ethnic cleansing is the presence of internationals and Israelis. While they are being watched, the settlers and the army hold back.

It is, by no means, a solution, but it is the only thing in the power of ordinary individuals.

In order for it to work, however, it needs 24/7 presence from human rights activists in every village. My time here has been quiet, mostly because the village we are supporting has that constant support, predominantly from retired Israelis.

Masafer Yatta has retained a strong international presence, but in the moments where they have been left unsupported, they have experienced dire crisis.

So where are all the internationals? When I talked to Saleh in Sheikh Jarrah, he shared what an outpouring of support they had received around 2008-2009 (when I first became politicised on the issue). But where are they now?

In theory, the entire area should be swamped by radicals and peaceniks. There are millions of tweets about the issue every day, and thousands of demonstrations worldwide. If even a fraction of the people who shared links on the Internet or marched in the big cities would come and do protective presence work, the situation here would look very different.

Come with Rabbis for Human Rights. You don’t have to be a rabbi. You just have to believe in human rights.

There are so many organisations doing this too, and all are struggling to recruit. Join women’s groups supporting the olive harvest. Come with the ISM. Come with the Jewish Centre for Non-Violence. Or Tzedek Torah. I don’t care. Find the group that works for you and get out here.

You can be any age. Plenty of the activists are either university students or retired people.

You don’t have to speak Hebrew or Arabic (though I recommend learning a little).

And, yes, it is dangerous, obviously. Not long before I came out, two Israeli activists were shot. You need to be realistic with yourself about what risks you can take and what it means to you.

But we really do need people.

The settlers have realised that, with fascists in the coalition government and the window of the war in Gaza, they have an unprecedented opportunity to destroy villages and get away with it.

You have the power to reverse that tide.

Get out here.


The Eternal One is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?
God is with me as my helper. I will see the downfall of those who hate. – Psalm 118