My Final Attack
Why we can't have nice things in Masafer Yatta
I hoped to spend the weekend just hanging out in the village. Getting in the last of our time together before I leave. But of course, the settlers had other plans. The day started out as normal as can be. I awoke at 6 to go out shepherding with one of the villagers. At around 8:30, we saw settlers with their cows in the distance. Our shepherd got nervous that they might come our way and cause problems, so we decided to finish and bring the sheep in.
Still barely awake, I decided to take a nap. But, as soon as I fell asleep, I was awoken by one of the teenagers in the village. He said, “I’m sorry but there are settlers here”. Barely coherent, I hopped out of bed and grabbed my passport and a pair of socks before sliding into my shoes and running up a hillside to another house.
As I arrived, there was a group of Palestinians telling a group of four settler boys and their sheep to leave. I looked around and it seemed like the whole village was there. These four boys with their sheep were shouting obscenities at us in Hebrew and aggressively getting in people’s faces. Noticing they were unmasked, I felt better knowing they were unprepared for a straight up attack on us.
I began filming and putting my body between the settlers and the Palestinians. I felt angry and upset at these young men who were harassing and intimidating these women and children. At one point, a young girl, most famous for her brief cameo in No Other Land, when she tells her father to make Hamdan and Yuval stop arguing, moved in front to shout at the boys to leave. I called her crazy and told her to move back. She turned to me and began shouting at me. She said “I am not crazy, they are crazy. This is my land. This is my home. I can be wherever I want to be. They are the ones who should move”.
I was taken aback. A ten year old had never said such a thing to me before. I considered what she said and realized she was right. Who am I to tell her where to be on her own ancestral lands? She turned around and shouted something very similar at these boys twice her height and age. The smaller children had bottles filled with rocks they were shaking to scare away the sheep.
Eventually, the settlers moved away from the house. We see a car with a yellow license plate approaching another house. We cannot decide if it’s activists or settlers. Myself and a villager ran to his house. Out of breath upon arriving, I realized the car was full of activists and the settlers were walking past the house and back to their settlement. As I caught my breath, the rest of the village walked over. Suddenly, the matriarch of the home appeared from nowhere with a giant stack of chairs. We set them up and were promptly served tea and cold water.
Just as we were all winding down from the event, a group of ambassadors from Europe arrived and promptly were offered tea and a tale about our morning. As myself and a few other activists sought refuge from the sun under some olive trees, we recounted the vile insults the settlers had spewed. They had told me that they refuse to talk to lesbians. This seemed mild compared to the way they had described another activists potentially intact foreskin before calling him gay. This too was mild compared to the “your mother’s pussy” a settler said to the teenager who woke me up as the settler pushed him.
Shortly into our debrief, the settlers returned. This time, we prevented their sheep from entering the land we were on (sheep scare easily with loud noise). So, the settlers continued on from the outskirts of the village to the main part of the village. The now large group of activists followed, filming and trying to prevent them from entering the village.
Maybe because it is my last week, maybe because I didn’t get enough sleep, or maybe because after only three months of what Palestinians in Masafer Yatta endure their whole life, I had enough. Whatever the reason, I snapped and started hurling insults at the settlers. I insulted their clothing, their hair, their families, their sexuality, and even their lack of parents. I put my middle fingers in front of their cameras and mustered all the Hebrew I knew to insult them in their mother tongue. I got so heated, an Israeli activists came to stand between me and this boy.
The army pulled up and watched as the settlers continued. Eventually, they got out of their car to stand around and hold guns on us. The settlers continued to lead their flock into the village. At this point, the Israeli activists also became enraged. Unlike me, they could actually yell at the army in Hebrew. They yelled at them about how they were standing there doing nothing. About the things the settlers had said to them. About the incompetence of the soldiers. I had never seen this side of them.
Eventually the police arrived too. They spoke to the Palestinian land owner and several of the Palestinian activists who speak Hebrew. They talked to the settler boys after shaking hands and patting them on the back. They came back and argued more with the Palestinians. Finally, the settlers and their sheep left again. They told us in Hebrew that they would be back tonight to finish what we started. I felt villagers immediately on edge.
Again, exhausted and full of adrenaline, we gathered outside another house. Again, chairs mysteriously appeared from every corner of the yard. Coffee and tea were brought out as we chain smoked and discussed what we had just been through. The teenager asked to see the footage I had captured. I handed him my unlocked phone and he and his mom and brother started watching all the videos (I haven’t watched them yet).
Afterwards, he told his mother about how I had been holding up my middle finger in front of the settlers’ cameras. He told her how I swore at them and what I said. He took this moment to gratuitously swear and make lewd gestures in front of his mother. I felt so embarrassed as she looked at my and laughed at this behaviour. This happened several times over the next few days.
As I sipped coffee and tried to regain my cool, we received word that the same settlers were now harassing people in their homes at the other end of the village. Already exhausted both mentally and physically, I’m grateful when some Israeli activists decide to go alone and later assure us they don’t need backup.
I continued to lay around and drink coffee. We discussed how the ambassadors had arrived at such a perfect time. They received a true experience of the village.Eventually we received word that the stylers had left. But then, I got a call telling me that the same settlers were harassing a family who is isolated and directly across a valley from a settler outpost. I put on my shoes, but so exhausted already, I let the Palestinians run ahead as I trudged along behind them.
Again we arrived to the same settler boys and their sheep doing the same thing they had been doing to the villagers all day. Again, the same soldiers and police officers were standing around observing the scene. They finally moved, only to ask me for my passport and sweat me about why I am here.
Finally, the Matak (border police) arrived. These are the only Israeli authorities who can actually declare a place Palestinian land and force the settlers to move. They are also the most elusive response unit and often take hours to come. In this instance, we had been waiting since morning for their arrival. Finally, after a lot of back and forth between the police, border police, army, settlers, and Palestinians, the military came over to me and the other international activist to take pictures of our faces and passports before telling us that this area had been declared a closed military zone this morning.
They further told us that because it is a closed military zone, no one but the Palestinian landowners were allowed within. Anyone disobeying orders would be arrested and charged. A CMZ order must be timestamped and presented with an actual packet of papers, which includes a map of the area. Often, these orders are just a bluff to force activists to leave.
My comrade promptly asked to see the military order. The soldier pulled out a phone and my comrade again clarified that paper was needed. Our Palestinian host gestured at us to leave it be. No more demands to see the order were made. As my comrade asked the soldier what the order encompassed, my host pulled me aside. He told me to grab my comrade and start walking. To not look back and not stop until we reached his house.
I nodded and began creating distance between me and the mass of uniformed people before texting that we should go. Still engaged in a conversation with the soldier, I started to walk away and called him. I told him to stop talking to the soldier and follow me. I thought of my last arrest and didn’t want a repeat. I did end up looking back quite a few times to make sure that he was following me.
Eventually we reached our hosts house and my comrade told me that almost the entire village was encapsulated in the CMZ. We discussed where we would go should the army arrive within the main part of the village. Eventually the Palestinians arrived back too. We sat and ate dinner and laughed off the frustrations of the day.