When Jews in masks attack
Life in a small Palestinian town under assault, part 2
Warning: Scene of violence against animals and humans are described in this post.
Here’s how the Jewish terrorism in the West Bank works: A group of heavily armed men establish an “outpost” right at the edge of a Palestinian village. From there, they try to force the residents to abandon their homes by launching daily assaults in the community. Over time, additional outposts are built encircling the village and more Jewish terrorists are recruited to live in them. Entire Jewish terrorist families eventually move in. The attacks continue and intensify. Murders in broad daylight are committed. No one from the police or the military steps in, and none of the terrorists are prosecuted or even arrested.
There’s only so much that the villagers can endure.
These so-called settler “outposts” are more like un-permitted encampments – a group of houses and outbuildings that can be even more solidly built than the villagers’. Sometimes they’re pre-fab trailers. The terrorists live there under the protection of the Israeli police and IDF soldiers with their herds of goats, sheep, donkeys, and camels. Nominally, they are herders just like the Bedouins, but they only use their herding activities as a way to disrupt village life and support the spurious claim that their encampment is a farm. Regardless, the outposts are illegal under both Israeli and international law.
For years now activists have been challenging these settler outposts by showing up and bearing witness as they do in Ras. Twice a day, in the strange rhythm of this place, a bizarre scene unfolds in which the terrorist settlers wielding machine guns and clubs emerge from their outpost and drive their flocks toward Palestinian homes. They are closely followed by activists who photograph and film their every move. The settlers will often film the activists as they’re being filmed. It’s all a bit surreal.
When they’re not filming or simply observing, the activists are trying to physically contain the settlers and their flocks as best they can. This technique is called “interpositioning”.
One of the UCPiP team members attempting to move a flock while the settlers film and other activists film the settlers
From what I’ve seen and heard, it does appear that the terrorists refrain from violence when they are being filmed. This doesn’t keep them from invading Palestinian properties during the day, but it does deter physical violence and that’s not nothing.
Depending on the day, between six and ten people will chase the terrorists around the village in this way between the hours of 8am and sunset.
Nighttime is another matter.
In the afternoon on school days, some of the children show up at Mistaclim’s madhafa and hang out for a while. They run through the usual questions with me in English (“What is your name? How are you? Where are you from? How old are you?) and then I ask them (through an Arabic-speaking UCPiP team member) what they know about the archeological site in the village.
Over the last few days, teams of archeologists and volunteers have been showing up to work at the site at the top of the hill. They are from Ariel University, a settler institution located in the West Bank. Ariel University is the largest public college in Israel/Palestine and it is located in an illegal settlement by the same name. It started as Ariel University Centre of Samaria before it was upgraded to a full-fledged university. Samaria is the name (along with Judea) that Jewish supporters of the occupation use for the West Bank. Makes the whole place sound more… Jewish.
The archeological dig site in Ras, controlled by faculty, students and volunteers associated with Ariel University. In the middle of the image, a woman in a purple shirt that reads “Hazor Excavations” teaches some students who are visiting for the day.
Ancient stone path leading up to the site from the village.
There was a time when I was young when I was really charmed by the idea of being an archeologist. This was partly inspired by Raiders of the Lost Ark, to be perfectly honest. I remember even as a teenager looking into opportunities to volunteer on a dig for the summer. Never did I imagine how political the work of an archeological site could be.
Here in the West Bank, historic sites are routinely excavated with an eye toward telling the Biblical history of the land (to the exclusion of all other histories). Sites are then declared as being Israeli state land, which automatically means that Palestinians must be excluded from the area. Once the field work is complete, these sites are commonly handed over to settlers to operate as tourism enterprises. It’s essentially a form of eminent domain, funded by settler interests, that serves to ethnically cleanse the area in a way that doesn’t require clubs or machine guns. It also has the veneer of being a legitimate cultural heritage initiative, grounded in academic research.
The children are aware of the site and they’ve noticed the archeologists hanging around.
“It’s very old! Very, very old.”
The site dates from the Byzantine period (4th to 7th centuries CE), an era marked by massive Christianization of the population. I ask the children what they know about the work of archeologists. Yes, they know what archeologists do, they dig in the ground and find old things.
“What do you think about going up to the site and seeing what they do?,” I ask. “Would it be fun to try being an archeologist? Would that be interesting to you?”
One girl responds quickly. She is attentive and sharp, but she’s quiet unless addressed directly.
“سيكون حلمي أن أصبح عالم آثار.”
I ask my colleague to translate.
“She said it would be her dream to be an archeologist.”
I had seen the masked men earlier in the day. They drove up to the entrance of the madhafa while I was on duty there, swerving in toward the gate to drop off a black trash bag with no explanation. I took a picture of their vehicle. It was impossible from the image to identify the men behind the masks.
The night before, Jewish terrorists in Ras had left a badly injured (tortured) donkey right behind some Palestinian homes before driving off. The donkey had been dragged behind their vehicle and its legs were basically shredded. When the activists found it, blood was also coming from its snout. The Palestinian children in the home had seen the settlers drive up and leave the animal there. I heard what had happened from some of the other activists but I couldn’t bring myself to look at the images that they posted in our WhatsApp group at the time.
After dark, I volunteer to guard the donkey from predators with two other Jewish Israeli activists. We wait in a car about 30 feet away. There’s an Israeli farmer on the way who has volunteered to rescue the animal. All told, the donkey watch shift took about two hours.
During that time, we gave the donkey some hay and some water. It never lay down and I don’t think it even could. It did munch on some of the hay, amazingly, which gave us hope. When the rescue team arrived, the donkey was loaded with much pain and difficulty into the back of a trailer, along with well wishes from all of us for its new life.
We are one hour into the night shift and my fellow activists have just returned from patrol. They didn’t see anything unusual. The next patrol will be in two hours.
We notice some headlights on the road, heading in our direction. It’s the same ATV I saw earlier, carrying the masked men. We all get up to film them as they approach. When they arrive at the gate of our compound they stop their vehicle. The lead team member for UCPiP starts to announce their movements for the purposes of narrating the video footage.
“We have masker settler out of vehicle. Walking up.”
The masked men come into view and we can see that there are at least two.
“We have two masked settlers, one with [unintelligible]. Call field!”
The two settlers step over the gate and enter the compound. This has never happened before. A third masked man appears behind them with a club. The closest man is about 20 feet away from me.
“Call field! Help! HELP! HEEEEELLLLLLLP!”
I stand in my place and face the man approaching me. There’s no time to run away. I see the club in his hand and I think, “Ok, now is when I get beaten with a club.” I feel calm and clear and I continue to film.
The three other activists are all screaming now. The terrorist raises his hand toward my face and I hear a spraying sound. By the time I turn around and start running back toward the madhafa, the terrorists have also turned around and they start walking slowly and confidently back toward their vehicle.
My glasses may have shielded my eyes from the worst but they are still stinging. Pepper spray. My hair, hands, and jacket are all covered.
“Three settlers just attacked a female activist! With impunity. Pepper sprayed the back of my head and are driving off now in an ATV.” She coughs in the video recording. I start coughing, too.
The other protectors who had been sleeping on site in the UCPiP madhafa are roused and informed about the attack. A call is issued to the Mistaclim community for more backup ASAP.
I call the Israeli police. They are the governing authority in this area of the West Bank.
The on-site team commits to continuous vigil all the way through to the morning. We check in with each other and talk through our anxiety. Someone makes some tea.
It has been 90 minutes since my call and the police have still not arrived. I call them back.
The activists tell me that it’s unlikely that the police will come. They openly consort with the terrorists and they have yet to arrest any of them for any of their crimes. The police car does come, but they don’t seem to be interested in pursuing the perpetrators. They tell us the settler police will take care of it. They drive off into the night.
Two Jewish Israeli activists show up from Jerusalem. After removing my tainted outerwear and showering off, I lie down to get some rest. I dream of being on a religious pilgrimage. The effects of the pepper spray wear off sometime during the night.
I leave Ras the next day, as planned. My plan is to go to the Police department in Jerusalem to file a report about the attack. I consult with a human rights lawyer who serves the activist community. He reminds me that I may get deported and banned from re-entry just for speaking up. I explain that I am willing to take that chance.
The fact that this attack did not require medical attention means that the lawyers won’t be able to follow up on the case once it’s closed by the police. The organization’s time and resources are very limited, and there are attacks like this happening all over the West Bank on a daily basis. I am advised to file the report in Jerusalem (rather than at the local office in the Jordan Valley) in the hopes that they will be more sympathetic to my case.
When I finally get in to speak to an investigator, she is young and doesn’t speak much English. We stick to the essentials, and the essentials she understands.
On my way out, I thank her sincerely for her time and attention. She is genuine in her compassion.
“I hope they find the man who did this to you.”
I am released back into the streets of Jerusalem.
Terrible. There was a story in The New York Times last week about this general strategy by the settlers, so at least some news is getting out about it. And yet Bret Stephens will likely still deny or minimize what they’re doing—it’s his shtick to deflect and point elsewhere when he runs out of excuses. I’m glad you and your fellow volunteers got through that encounter all right.
Finally getting a chance to catch up on reading these.
Thank you, as always, for the way that you share.
My hands are on your back. Loving you from Montana.