The family that shepherds together, stays together

Spring comes to Masafer Yatta

This is the blog post that I’ve been meaning to write for weeks, but I haven’t. It isn’t about a specific event and there are no due dates on this blog, so it has been easy to not write. I’ve been busy doing other things like sitting on my neighbours couch watching Tik Toks and writing my dissertation. This blog post is not about an attack or injustice, but just about what life in like on a quiet Spring day in Masafer Yatta

Farm life is very different from city life. Farmers do not have 9-5 jobs. Farmers do not go into the office. It is very strange to me that people stay at home all day, but when you live on a farm this is where you work. Despite never worrying about clocking in late, these farmers often wake up very early to take their sheep out. When the days get hotter, they wake up earlier to take their sheep out before the scorching sun hits them.

Now that Ramadan is over, these field trips often end with a meal. Some of the shepherds here take their animals out several times a day, when possible. With the high cost of feed, the danger of encountering settlers, and the livelihood of these shepherd dependent on a happy flock, more time is almost always better. As Spring comes to Palestine and the rain gives way to lush hilltops, the activists here spend more of their time shepherding too. For all the reasons above, shepherding with activists is very important for many of the shepherds in Masafer Yatta.

While our presence does not always halt settler violence or arbitrary detainment by the army, our documentation makes them nervous. Often times, I find myself in very silly stand-offs with settlers and soldiers, where we each try to intimidate the other by filming, while pretending we personally are not intimidated. Here in Masafer Yatta, walking outside your home and into a field can be very dangerous. But people are often attacked in their homes as well. In this way, shepherding and maintaining this traditional way of life is a strong and steadfast act of resistance. Even the sheep participate.

In speaking to my friends from Gaza, I tell them of my time here on the farm. They hear the goats and geese in the background of the call. I explain how I have milked the goats and bottle-fed the babies. They break out in laughter. Even for Palestinian city folk, this way of life is something from the past or in the distance. Palestinians who fled to cities in 1948, 1967, and those part of the slow trickle of ethnic cleansing cannot keep sheep in their apartments. In the 1988 Eddie Murphy comedy, Coming to America, a wealthy African prince goes to America to find anonymity and true love.

In the film, Murphy tells a girl he likes that he works as part of his family business, as a goat herder. Later, when she tells another person about Murphy’s occupation, the person responds by laughing and deriding Murphy. As an educated, white-collar worker himself, he cannot see Murphy as anything but a backwards and uncultivated plebeian. This scene often comes into my head as I am in the field with the goats and sheep. Indeed, my life in the West has not prepared me for ever meeting goats and goatkeepers outside of a petting zoo.

For children growing up in Masafer Yatta, their entire life is a petting zoo. As toddlers they love to watch the animals and imitate the noises. As children, they accompany their parents whenever they can, playing in the fields and pretending to herd the sheep. As they reach their teens, their parents often send them out for a short afternoon shift with the flock. Similar to Indigenous nations on Turtle Island, people are trained their whole childhood to follow in the footsteps of previous generations while celebrating heritage, culture, and modesty.

When I see young settlers out with a flock, they are often unable to manage their animals. It is difficult to get sheep to all come or go or stay. These young people have not been trained to shepherd because this is not their real task. The task is to take the land and intimidate the Palestinians. And this plan is working. Still, we often find dark humour in laughing at the ineptitude of the settler shepherds. These youth contrast sharply with the Palestinian shepherds.

Every shepherd has their own style. But what they have in common is a love for the land and a love for shepherding. My favourite shepherd lives in my village. Across some hills and valleys, his family is very isolated. They are also exposed to the main road that leads to the nearby settlement. For this, they have suffered numerous and violent attacks. The two little girls are incredibly sweet and loving, but sometimes their ongoing trauma pokes through and I am reminded they are small children subjected to unbelievable conditions. The older girl becomes visibly upset when cars with Israeli license plates slow down in front of her house. I can’t blame her.

Yet, on most days they still run around the flock and play as their mother and father shepherd. Sometimes they pick up large sticks and tubes of rubber, seeking to imitate the carved staff that many of the shepherd have made for themselves. When their dad goes shepherding alone, it feels like a moment of solitude for him from the three women in his house. Out there with his sheep, he looks on and directs them as though they are remote controlled. When not on his phone, he stands contemplatively over the flock. He speaks no English, so I am only able to image what he feels and thinks when shepherding. On some days, it is quiet and we are left in peace. On others, he will quickly begin to duck and run while shouting at us to follow. Palestinians here can spot a settler from miles away. Their lives depend on it.

I often think that this is the most idyllic place in the world. No one worries about rent or whether their boss will fire them. They spend almost all day together as a family unit. Surely this is the utopia those of us “on the grind” dream of. And yet, what stops this place from being wonderful is the Israeli state and its soldiers and citizens (not all citizens of course). I cannot imagine what it would have been like to spend my childhood entirely with my family. To spend my days playing almost exclusively with my cousins and sibling. Of course, my parents worked and I didn’t live in a village, so I’ll never know. And yet, despite the perplexity I feel at wondering why these families and siblings don’t fight more, I find something very beautiful about this type of love and intimacy between a family. This is what they are fighting for. For the same dream that you have. To be happy in your home and with your family.