As I write this, a small child is jumping on the table next to me pretending that he is a police officer and is arresting me. Some days I play along, feigning dead when he holds his toy gun to my temple. With his short life containing constant uncertainties at the hands of police and army, I can see why he would want to possess the power and control these authority figures seem to have over his life. Today, however, I am in a less cheerful mood, so I try to tell him I don’t like police. Here, some of the first words I learned were: police, army, settler, checkpoint, etc. so this conversation is very easy for me.
I returned to Masafer Yatta just before the weekend. The police agreed my ban from the entire West Bank was extreme and reduced it to just the village I was arrested in. So, I settler in at another village in the region, waiting until I can return to my ‘home’ village. In some ways, it is a very exciting time here. Three villagers (one bringing his parents and brother) have travelled to Los Angeles to attend the Academy Awards ceremony. Additionally, it is the holy month of Ramadan and this too brings joy and excitement.
The village council has funded food baskets for every family in the village during Ramadan. The families are very happy and thankful as we haul giant bags of flour and massive jugs of oil out of the car. I experience my first two Iftars (the meal that breaks the fast after sunset). The first night we eat maqluba and the second night we eat mansaf. Both are traditional dishes that require love and labour to create. I watch the women in the kitchen work to prepare the Iftar meal as they continue their fast and their children demand their attention. The second day of Ramadan, I fast as well. The smells of fresh bread and meat wafting towards me as I prepare the salad (the only task I was allowed to help with) challenges my dedication to the fast.
But joy here is always interspersed by pain and hardship. Not long after the Iftar meal in the village I am banned from, groups of settlers come to attack several families. They throw stones and break cars. We hear screams of frightened little girls as we listen to voice-notes from the activists in the village. I feel guilty that I am not there. I anxiously watch real time updates of smashed windows on homes and cars. But before this incident is over, something happens at the village where I am staying. As this four year old swipes through Tik Toks on my phone, we hear the dogs suddenly begin to bark. The boy asks if something is happening, but we shrug it off. After all, the dogs are always barking at something.
A minute or so later, I receive a call that the army is here and jump up to go respond. There are 60 or so officers walking around the village. They eventually move to the newly erected olive grove of the nearby settlement, which has surrounded the village and pushes up against the community centre. They start a bonfire and begin preparing food. But before they eat, they begin to pray. In a volume far louder than needed to reach God, they begin chanting what I had until that moment felt was sacred text.
For many years, I cringed at the term Jewish supremacy. I didn’t like the idea of myself and my identity as a supremacist. But watching those soldiers pray, I find myself realizing there is no other phrase that so aptly describes the weaponization of Judaism for cruel and fascistic purposes. I tried to keep my indignation quiet as we filmed the soldiers and made it known we were watching them. One of the villagers asked me to go sit with the young boy who had first suspected that something was afoot. “He is scared and no one is with him.” I nodded and hustled over to join him on the couch.
With his mom’s phone in his hands and Youtube playing truck cartoons, it was hard for me to imagine this child was scared. He tilted the phone to show me what he was watching before yanking it away and hiding it so only he can watch. He let out a loud giggle as I complained that I wanted to watch too. Mesmerized by the cartoon, he didn’t seem to notice as the army started marching through the town. Or perhaps he chose not to notice and instead focus on the red truck on the phone.
As the soldiers crossed the gate that separates the settlement from the village, a collective sigh of relief filled the air. Coffee and sweets were brought into the room and laughter staved off the fear that permeated the air just minutes earlier. A few hours later, I decided to retire for the night. As I slept, No Other Land, a documentary about Masafer Yatta directed by two of the residents here (and two Israelis) won the academy award for best documentary. I awoke to the news and was momentarily stunned. Then elated. Then indifferent. I watched Basel’s acceptance speech where he spoke about his desire to give his daughter a different life. I thought of the child last night, on the night of the Oscars, and how this was no life for children.
After my arrest, I had remarked to someone that I regretted not wearing a bra during the incident. After discussing the importance of sleeping in a bra in Masafer Yatta. I was then told the story of a young Basel, who slept in his sneakers for a period of time. One night, he had been detained in a raid on his village. He had been barefoot at the time and was freezing as he waited outside with the other men. For a stretch of time after this incident, Basel would not go to sleep without his sneakers on, fearing another incident. We laughed when this story was told, but this morning as I watched his speech, I cried remembering it.
Every time I come to Masafer Yatta, I am reminded that an innocent childhood is a luxury not afforded to the children here. I watch ten year old boys act like men and I am reminded that it is my people, my religion, my tax dollars, that are going to destroying the souls of these children. Here in Masafer Yatta, there is so much love. Families spend the entire day together and children have an entire cadre of playmates living right next door. Babies are passed to uncles, cousins, and sisters who lovingly dote on them before passing them off to the next relative.
Today is a strange day. I hear the Oscar speech and subsequent interviews blaring on every phone today. We discuss the reaction of Israeli newspapers and laugh at words like “mockumentary” and “alternative reality”. Today, many of the people here are happy and proud. But I am sad as I try to square the realities of last night with this Oscar winning film. I worry that the settlers will retaliate for the choices that Hollywood made. I worry that Basel’s daughter will not have a childhood different from his.
Read this piece from Basel Adra on the impacts of the film and this piece by Hamdan Ballal that was just published. Donate to support communities in Masafer Yatta and to help families in Gaza make it through Ramadan