In Spring 2025, a Sheffield activist went to Palestine for a month. For part of this trip he spent time in Massafer Yatta with doing ‘protective presence’ – non-violent support for Palestinian people in Palestine – with the International Solidarity Movement.
These are his letters back home about his time in Palestine.
1st letter, 2nd letter, 3rd letter, 4th letter, 5th letter
1st Letter: April 3rd
The occupation is everywhere. Geographically, structurally and mentally. And the resistance is everywhere too.
On my way to Palestine I had a day in Amman. Walking to the Roman Theatre I was ushered into an art gallery by a woman with a mauve hijab. She started talking to me about the art. Some good to look at, and some not. I stopped her and apologised saying I only came in to buy a postcard. I then noticed the Palestinian goods and commented on Handala and the keys.
There then followed a lovely conversation about her family who had left in 48 , how they had lived in tents and yearned to go back. ‘We will one day’, she said. “We are the seeds, we are seeds’ in her fluent English and pointed to a watercolour on paper of a watermelon and patterned seeds spelling Palestine. I said how many people around the world and especially in Sheffield supported her. I will not forget how that made her smile. She gave me this painting. I had not even got to Palestine!
I was met in Palestine and taken on a drive to Al Quds. On the way we went to Beit Hanina split in two by the Apartheid Wall. It is such a violent structure. Brutal concrete scything the earth and carving up villages. The wall stretches in the distance pleading to be an epic achievement but instead the graffiti shows its true purpose. I have known about the wall for many years of course but there is no substitute for seeing it in its poisonous and shocking presence.
The next day was Eid and we went on a picnic. Climbing up the beautiful hills north of Ramallah on the road to Salfit is a small village called Farkha. It is a communist village and has some graffiti dotted around showing its political heritage.
We walked down the hill taking in the spring colours and sat by a pipe with a tap. This was a water outlet from the village’s aquifer. It was a thin stream and one of the group related how they were allowed to dig only two metres these days and how Israeli settlements took most of the water anyway. He turned round and pointed out an industrial settlement on a hill southeast of us and another, an agricultural settlement just to the south. He pointed then at his olive trees just down the hill and said he could not harvest in 2023 because of settler harassment but that last year a group of 15 went together and gathered them as quickly as they could.
This conversation you understand is interwoven with amazing food, gossip and jokes and serves as a constant background noise to Palestinian people’s lives. The day grew longer and the wonderful hospitality continued unabated but it soon became time to go. It would be dark soon. And said, one of the group, the road is not safe. Meaning the army or settlers could stop us at any point. It is a mosquito of anxiety that threatens the type of activity we take for granted.
The next day I am closer to the place where I am to take part in protective presence. This is where internationals stand with farmers or home owners where there is a threat from settlers, army or demolition. We are preparing by having a legal briefing.
It is given by a tall man with a kind face and the gravelly voice of a long term smoker. He has come from a refugee camp to be with us. He is calm in spite of a frustrating journey.
In the briefing we are told how the army can hold us for three hours then they must hand us over to the Police at the nearest police station. It is different for Palestinians, he says. They can take you anywhere for up to two years. Except now they’re hiding people for two years, not two days. We look shocked and outraged. He has such a kind and gentle manner – ‘it is OK’ he reassures us, ‘we will manage.’
And then he relates a story, about how long some people have been in prison and his first time in prison before the first intifada. He was sentenced for six years. He was angry and lashing out. His cellmates said ‘why are you sad and angry’. He replies ‘I have been given 6 years!’ ‘Ah’ they said. ‘That’s nice – you are leaving soon!’
Shockingly some of these comrades are still in prison. From this story I knew that, in spite of the daily difficulties and the constant reminders of the occupation, neither he nor the people he spent time with in prison, nor my picnic companions nor the art seller in Amman, were occupied in their minds and never would be.
2nd letter: April 10th
I am sitting in a beautiful courtyard looking out to Yatta. Beans and spring onions growing from a container that was once a fridge , pink roses spilling from a wall and chrysanthemums overflowing near the slope down to the garden. The man of the house comes out and I say in my pathetically halting arabic how beautiful it is, ‘jemil jedan’, and in spreading my arms feel a muscle twist in my back. Possibly this is due to built up tension from yesterday.
I have been here a week now and have got in to the rhythm of uncertainty . Nothing is predictable – not the car that ferries us around , the actions of police and military , nor of the animals. Only the welcome we receive in peolles homes. How terrible at one level to have to have strangers there every night and needing to be make extra food, of which there is not much anyway and try to be good humoured.
After our legal briefing (which I wrote about last week) we make off to our base just south of Yatta.
As soon as we arrive at the flat there are three old hands – that is they have been here for a fortnight – who give us a quick run down of what happens. It is complicated and multi dimensional. The geography impacts the logistics, the politics impacts the prioritised families, the occupation and the sudden whims of the military impact our ability to get around.
Eventually a rota for the night is cobbled together and I am to stay in a remote farm in the firing zone. This is isolated and the people vulnerable. The military stop cars travelling on the approach road so we go after dark and leave before first light.
Unusually for this location, I am told, we slept inside. The protocol is to get in bed as soon as we arrive. As soon as we get there we offered drink. Music is playing on a phone. One of the men is speaking to a friend. I am conscious above all of the intense poverty. It is hard to know how the people maintain a sense of dignity. But they do.
Finally we get into bed and I doze for a couple of hours. I hear loud booms and realise I am listening to bombs falling on Gaza only 24 miles away. It was the night of the schools being bombed. I am furious and cannot sleep. I am trying to make sense of the killing just a few miles away and get up and write a rap.
I get up at 4.30 and walk to where we will be picked up. In the half light it is easy to miss our road. The sun starts to lift above the horizon and we see the South Hebron Hills in all their splendour. The calm and quiet washes away my fury in a dry whisper.
Two days after, we get a potted history of the area from the local coordinator of our group.
The gradual stealing of land using Ottoman and British Imperial and sometimes Jordananian laws, the establishment of settlements after Oslo and then the declaration of a firing zone and the increased settler pressure. These have brought about an emptying of the land – from fear, from economic pressure, by house demolitions, and this feeds into the law that land left uncultivated for 3 years passes to the state – Israel. Though actually we need to recall that as Israel is the occupying power, if it is the State then it has annexed the West Bank.
Our host was a significant figure in ensuring there was a resistance committee, targeted arrested and beaten. His guest house is due for demolition. He tells us how important it is we are to document what is happening.
That night i go to the house of a beautiful coupe with their seven children. E, the mother is strong and elegant while K has piercing smiling aways that overflow with energy. His keffyeh is wrapped round his head nd he cuts a dminant figure as he strides arojnd his courtyard.
I wake up and ushered by One of the children – whose names I do not know yet- to come to the sheep pen and we separate ewes for milking.
It is a school day so the kids up wandering around doing chores. They scuttle across the courtyard carrying water, or jugs of milk or eggs. There us a bit of time and I play a funny version of hockey with olive tree sticks and a football.
And all the while troop choppers taking troops or supplies over head .
Eventually we are called to go out with the sheep and take a slow walk eat towards the next neighbour.
The valley we look on is lost to Palestinians now – K tells just how they used to grow wheat and olives and fruit. They would wander through it as families and have a picnic in the fields.
As we approach half way there is an enclosure and a settler is there with about 40 sheep. He is young and unconcerned. Quite what fuels his confidence is hard to know. There is no shame in his walk no turning of the head to see what we’re up to. It is the walk of someone who despises K.
We film him as he gets nearer and Khalil keeps his sheep back. I assume he does not want the flocks to mix. There is no desire to have a confrontation and also we are waiting for the police.
They come and talk with the settlers for maybe 20 minutes. We hang back with K who by now has his papers. We see his M walk down to sort his papers too.
The police come to us, there are two police and an army reservist who is so young he may not have been bamitzvah!
The police ask for ID. I give them a copy of my passport and visa and he complains I should have my passport. I don’t answer when he asks if I have it. He asks for my phone number and I start to give him my UK number. Then they give up. They are bit harder on my buddy who has to give her number by calling one of the police.
The older policeman leaves to talk on his phone and we have bearded policeman and the baby asking questions. This is led by the baby. He asks me and my buddy what she is doing here and how we met. We are walking and seeing this beautiful country. We only just met. I am looking to go somewhere for passover and will visit yad vashem. I ask him if he is looking forward to passover. He is a bit non plussed. I want to ask him when his bamitzvah is but think better of it.
They back off and an ATV approaches with two people. One of them is well known settler called Amichai and is armed with a machine gun. He has a reputation and I start to feel this might not end well then pull myself together. He is just a gunslinger and nothing is happening to encourage heat.
The police and Amichai start to have a lovely chin wag. I don’t know what about but perhaps the merits or otherwise of allowing the settler to carry on shepherding on K’s land.
Meanwhile Khallil has shown his papers.
They chat for about another 20 minutes. Then the police go having taken no action. I cannot understand why. Presenting papers of ownership means they should be moving the settler and his sheep on.
So we are left with an armed settler and a shepherd and a mate of his. Amicahi brings his truck round down and blocks out path home and my heart misses a beat but he is just taking the piss and picks up the shepherds mate and goes.
Meanwhile the shepherd stays in the enclosure.
After a while, I spot K seated by a rock crouched up, processing what has just happened. He seems temporarily downhearted.
We stay out into the hot midday sun and more. The settler is still there holding his head in his hands. Finally we see E stride proudly across the hill with some food. We sit by the well and take in the spectacular midday feast. The sight of us sitting and eating gets him off his feet and hectares his sheep round the valley and away. E and the kids wave him off. She is especially happy. I know it is transient. Tomorrow he will be back but today Palestinian sumud is the victor.
K has had arguments with people from a nearby village who left. They have now come back having won a supreme court order that they can rebuild their village. He is cross because he has had his house raided by settlers and been beaten up. But will stay. This land is for his children too he says. It is not his place to abandon it.
3rd letter: April 16th
Once again a big thank you to everyone for sharing the blog and the link to the fundraiser. Please keep this going. So nearly there – £9945 – so just £55 to go.
I have just returned from a protest held under the shadow of an Israeli settlement near where I am staying. Its wealthy buildings contrast rudely with the simple spaces available for Palestinians. Entry to the road by the settlement is constantly disturbed by army checkpoints – and now there are even more as it is the eve of Passover.
We were stood on a promontory, about 500 metres down from the settlement. Soufian, the organiser, sweeps his arm across and tells me:
“See that green sign just before the settlement entrance? All from there to there is Palestinian land.” But it’s all Palestinian land I quip, trying to be clever clever.
“Of course, but this is what was agreed at Oslo and look… I am no politician ‘
I take this as a polite way of throwing scorn on what happened.
He then says that across all this land settlers rampage, harassing, bringing sheep on to Palestinian land, damaging trees. “Enough,” he says, “it has to stop.” He tells me how the day before on the other side of the road settlers brought their sheep, mixed the herds and stole Palestinian sheep. The Palestinians tried to retrieve their sheep, the police were called and of course Palestinians were arrested. “Blaming the victim as always,” he says.
The protest goes on without a sign of police, army or settlers and we are thankful for that. It becomes a joyful social assembly instead, with activists from outside Palestine mixing and meeting Palestinians.
The activist groups are varied. Each has a set of places and farmers they support. But, depending on their numbers, at any time they might ask for others to do a shift (often staying overnight or shepherding in the morning or harvesting or all three).
There is a constant spin of messages on different channels- what’s happening on the ground (checkpoints, settlers etc), coordinating support rotas or local news.
I love the Italians – their group is called the Doves in English. They are so friendly, joyful and ebullient – but serious when they have to be. They are so well dressed, their flat has a kitchen to die for and they eat very well! I tell this to NB, an Israeli activist. ‘Oh he says – of course you like them. Who doesn’t like Italians?’ It is a nice moment of humour.
In addition, there are activists not attached to groups, staying around and about. One night I was given a hair-raising lift to a remote farm in the military firing zone (I was here last week too) by an American woman who had driven her Subaru as if it was a Jeep. She has a codename potatobug (everyone uses something other than their legal name) which makes us all laugh.
My codename is shimshun. It is my Hebrew name and I want to use it with pride. We had a very good laugh at one family when I found myself renamed mishmish. This means apricot! Or more colloquially ‘it will never happen’ – presumably because the season is so short.
As we approached Passover, we wondered how the situation would pan out. All advice was more tension and it is true there were more roadblocks and flying checkpoints. But we had no idea how the violence might increase and where. This put us in a quandary about our rota and how to manage it. But we concluded that we will never have enough resources and we cannot dash from one place to another. That is not our role.
As it turned out, while there seemed to be more army and police around there were not the violent confrontations we had feared – or not so far: Passover has a few more days to run as I write this. Instead the seemingly never ending cycle of harassment and intimidation, geographical restrictions and legal impediments, police ignorance and military arrogance remain.
One evening we are staying at one of the more remote farms (where we encountered the settler Amichai last week). When we arrive we look for M and find him in a cave he is digging out. I want to find out more, but immediately there is a settler we need to track. This is frustrating work. We do not engage and we watch and record as they wander with their sheep close by across M’s land. The police are called, they don’t come. While we have no faith in any action they would take, it is a ritual we just go through. Eventually the settler goes.
Later, just as we are falling asleep – a distant buzzing sound gets nearer. My buddy is quicker off the mark and realises what is happening. He opens the window and sees a drone spotlighting the farm. For about 10 minutes it zips in and out, spraying its light and generally disturbing the peace. The farmer is up too in shirtsleeves in spite of the cold night, and he says this is the first time it has happened. Eventually the drone flies off to the settler outpost, and we see in the pool of light cast by the powerful spotlight two people collecting it.
I crouch down and watch. My eyes are as tense as they can be but the rest of me is surprisingly calm. I wonder if we will get an attack. I wonder if we should be visible. I wonder what the settlers across the valley think they are doing.
After about 30 minutes of watching we are fairly sure no attack is coming tonight. We go back to bed. This time I set my shoes in a position so I can just slip into them as needed and arrange my phone and glasses for easy pick up. Finally I fall asleep only to jerk upright and as alert as you can be. I manage to pick up my phone and slip on my shoes. There is an ATV coming along the road. I see it on the dip as I go to the door. I climb upwards to the edge of the farm as I am concerned it will turn off the road and come down along the perimeter fence (mostly destroyed by settlers anyway). As I do so I lose sight of the road and the ATV. This time my heart is racing. I am expecting a shadow to descend across my path. But as I get to the top of the farm there is no sign of it nor any shadows. It is a lesson in harassed and precarious living. I notice that our host is still in bed asleep. Maybe he did not hear or maybe he did and knew something we did not.
I wake up early and the hill is a curtain of tightly drawn mist. I stand and watch the greyness enjoy the welcome of one of the watch dogs. As the sun comes higher the mist lifts and reveals a soothing rocky green. And also how close the settlers are.
Two days later I get some heartening news from home. A bus load of people from Sheffield is going down to the Israeli arms company, Elbit, at Shenstone to protest. It feels important, to me at any rate, to tell people here. To let them know wherever we are, we are fighting in different ways for Palestinian liberation; it is one struggle. We do what we can do.
the Panther Party in the States, puts a short video together. And someone else, an Acorn International member, puts a long statement together which is a speech really. There is lots in there which I really value, and some of it is copied below.
“We all know we will not see change without a push; we must work together in our different ways to force change – activists supporting Palestinian resistance on the West Bank and you in England campaigning and demonstrating for change in government policy and in your neighbourhood.
“When we are asked to justify why we are here in the West Bank, we simply ask people to consider how they would feel if this situation were their own and if they were here, would they like support.
“We ask them to consider what their home is to them. These homes may not look like your home, but they are homes just like yours. A place of sanctuary and rest, where you wash your dishes and do the laundry. A place where you argue and laugh and grow. A place to raise a family.
“As a Palestinian, If you are lucky enough to survive this genocide, unfortunately, you will find that not only has Israel killed your countrymen, but it has taken away any chance of education, erased your history and is currently doing its best to snub out your future.
“Do not think that the fight for sovereignty and existence here is separate from your own. It is the same people who are exploiting our planet and exploiting our labour who are conducting and condoning a genocide in Palestine. If we continue to allow this barbarism to go on uncontested, we will see it happening again and closer to what you call home.
“We have a long way to go, keep up the fight.
“Solidarity”
4th letter: April 18th
Dreadfully a Palestinian farmer has been shot near where I have been staying. I went to support him the other day and the police took no notice. But tonight, awfully, this same farmer has been shot severely in the knee. He will of course be disabled and unable to go about his life. [Video of the aftermath of the shooting- viewer discretion]
Staggeringly, his son has been arrested, and not the perpetrator! The shooter is a settler called Budi (pictured left). It’s not the first time he has attacked Palestinians. In the past he has been to K’s house – where I am staying tonight (April 17). He wrecked it and beat-up K. See videos of the past damage here and here. K is such a lovely man. And his family is so sweet, generous and welcoming. He is scared tonight I know.
We will be going shepherding tomorrow with extra caution.
Update after the shooting:
The boy who was arrested is at the police station and has been interrogated, they accused him of assaulting soldiers – not true and they cannot prove it – he will probably be released in the morning (April 18) on bail. His father is in surgery in Sokora Hospital just across the 1948 border. The rest of the family are very scared – with the shot farmer in hospital and his son in jail it will be just women and kids at home. They are the priority for a protective presence over the next few days…
The shot farmer is in a military hospital. He is under military guard and lies sedated in bed. We were not allowed to see him, nor could we get information on his condition. But we were joined by a friend who knew people working at the hospital and they were able to help. Apparently, he is stable but the damage to the artery in his leg is severe and the doctors decided to amputate. The son is still under arrest.
A message of solidarity was sent from Sheffield supporters to the family. I was told via another an Italian activist how much they appreciated this.
5th letter: April 25th
Dear friends and comrades. This is my last update from Palestine. A very big thank you to all those who have read what i have to say, shared it and helped get the fundraiser over the £10k mark. (not too late to share more!) I especially want to thank as well the people helping distribute the updates. Hils,Jawad and Jo. Magnificent support. Without them this would not be available. And there others too – my family and friends – without whose support I wouldn’t have got here. I am very lucky to have you.
I have now left Massafa Yatta and am sad to leave. And confused about how best to spend my time. I think I would like to have stayed longer, but I have a schedule and people to meet in Bethlehem which is also about solidarity.
I was given a lift to the service bus which would take me to Al Khalil/Hebron. We are accompanied by E who wants to make sure I’m not overcharged. She’s fierce, and the driver looks at me wondering how I have managed to deserve the defences of this strong woman. And it’s possible the situation is highly unconventional. I don’t know.
I want to say something fitting as a goodbye and especially to thank her for allowing me to make bread for her family, but Google Translate is too unreliable. So I simply put my hand to my heart and said shukran [thank you]. It was easier with K, E’s husband, as we embraced before I left.
In Al Khalil, I find my place of stay and meet more comrades who have been working there coordinating between various resistance and civil groups. I get a clear sense, which has been hovering for a while, that the occupation is a multi dimensional presence. It has many intensities – from place to place, from day to day – and this is as exhausting as anything else. It is hard to keep up and understand.
As an example of this multi located ‘frontline’ they (my new companions) had just been to a demonstration following following a public call:
“to attend Friday prayers on land threatened by confiscation in Dura and surrounding villages. The prayer is a show of solidarity with the landowners against the unjust decision to confiscate the land by the settlers. Today, citizens gathering in the area were violently suppressed, and demonstrators were attacked with live ammunition and stun grenades.”
When they joined this local prayer protest, they learned settlers had been trying to steal the land of ten Palestinian families in this neighborhood. This is the first time settlers have come to that specific area in the Anab area of Dhahiriya, southwest of Al Khalil/Hebron. A settler claimed he was sold the land, and set up a tent on the land – the first step towards the development of a future settlement – despite the Palestinian owners having never met the man.
Once again, as with the arrest of the shot farmer’s son in Al Rakiz three nights before, the victims were the ones to be arrested. Three Palestinians were put in zip-tie handcuffs by Israeli Occupation Forces and taken away, only to be released hours later. Ma, who was recounting this story, said:
“as one of them was taken away, he was smiling. A few comrades and I were also briefly detained by the soldiers, who photographed our passports. When they released us, the son of one of the Palestinians who was still detained came running to me to talk, smiling and laughing, even though his father was still being held by the IOF. They are used to this, as this is daily life under the occupation.”
The occupation works on so many fronts, and has many guises requiring different strategies and mechanisms to combat it.
There is a surreal feeling as I travel from Al Khalil to Bethlehem. The sudden removal from the intensity of Masafer Yatta is a relief but equally other modes of life feel unimportant. As we motor up the road to Bethlehem, I can see the occupation parading itself in different ways : a flag hoisted here, barrier stopping traffic there, a random checkpoint holding up the traffic. The war is not in every place but the occupation and its impact most certainly is.
Before I left Masafer Yatta, at my last time at M’s where I had spent a few eventful nights (as I wrote last week), we met some older Israeli activists. They were gentle and striking looking, and were welcomed with great affection by M and his family. They all spoke good Arabic. I found they had been visiting for over 20 years, and that they were there as a part of a project of a woman who was unable to be there that day. There is a lot of trust Yair told me. Their work is documented on film here – https://ukjewishfilm.org/film/the-human-turbine/
They contrast strongly with the younger Israeli activists I’ve met. Angry and determined, they spend as much time as possible in Masafer Yatta. They are urgent. When speaking with N, who is calm but very serious, I asked how her family viewed her activities. They don’t speak about it. This is not simply an humanitarian endeavour to bring much needed utilities, laudable as this work has been, to Masafer Yatta communities, but a political struggle for fundamental change, she says.
And they both contrast with an encounter with the army (Jaysh). I cannot pretend to be minding my own business, except of course combatting the injustice is my business. Settler boy shepherds were encroaching close to a farm. Our job was to observe, document and report – and by being there hope they took a more cautious approach.
Surprisingly the army turned up. Maybe the boys had radioed back to the settlement outpost or maybe the soldiers were simply cruising around. The army were also boys, and strode over quickly, their guns still shouldered, cameras at the ready. They took our photos. Inspected and photographed our IDs.
One of them asks what are you doing here. I ask – because I cannot resist – “What are you doing here?.” The cameraman looks at me with contempt. “Have you not heard of October 7th? It is Jewish versus Arab.” This is wrong on so many levels. It is hard to respond with a reasonable quip. This man’s aggression has been justified by a complete misrepresentation of being Jewish and denying Palestinians their identity. I had no words and that is probably just as well, but I am so pleased, looking back, to have found Israelis who would deny this view and who fight against it strongly.
Even so, not all Palestinians welcome Israeli activists. One told me that if you want to change things, go to the points of occupation – the settlements, or the places of power in Israel – and change things there. Then come here and help. I find this a challenging view – not least because it has implications for the time I spent in Masafer Yatta – but one I respect.
In Bethlehem at Easter I am struck by how empty Manger Square, the birthplace of Jesus, is. Just as in Masafer Yatta where the Palestinian economy should be thriving fuelled by walkers, cheese lovers and even climbers, the squeeze in Bethlehem on the Palestinian economy is palpable. There are no tourists and this is Easter. This is another stranglehold of the occupation.
I am meeting D, who is a student with Sheffield Palestine Women’s Scholarship Fund. We have been hoping she would be coming to a Sheffield event small park Big Run this year. So I was delighted to hear she has her visa, has booked her flight and will be happy to speak both about her experience in education (an aspect of our theme this year) and to perform some rap in the evening!
D is a very impressive young woman with a clear purpose. She works with children who have been arrested by the Israeli forces, helping them to overcome their trauma. She tells me many have nightmares after release, but counselling helps to relieve their pain. In spite of this, it’s clear many young men have trouble rekindling their lives after release. She told me of one person who had been unable to complete his final school year due to his arrest. He tried to catch up – but couldn’t not pass his exams. His anger, she said, is a ‘burning fire’. Israeli soldiers had told him he would not succeed – and this has burrowed a deep impression onto his mind.
She then told me about a young man, in prison for two weeks, who had been in a cell with another child who tragically died. The news had not been clear about who had died. The mother of the boy who was released was distraught, she had thought it was her child who had died. Her feelings of relief on discovering his survival were of course terribly marred by the fact another mother was now grieving for her own son, Walid. Yet another dimension of the occupation – creating division and inequality even in grief.
I meet up with some comrades who are taking a break and we drive over to Beit Jala passed the Israeli Occupation army base and down a small country lane. We are in a beautiful valley, terraced hills festooned with olives, apricots and apples . A patch of poppies are a splash of red in the distance. Winding dirt roads across the hills give access to remote land.
We stop at a place that should be teaming with Easter Monday holiday makers, Jayla Jungle. It is an organic farm and cafe. A battered piano, a huge stove, cloth draped from the ceiling, dark wooden bar and a cool shady garden. We look across the valley and see , where another Palestinian restaurant of great repute used to be, a drooping Israeli flag. The land is now stolen and settlers overlook the valley.
Two days after I arrive in Bethlehem I go south again – just a small way – to meet Mahmoud, who I am proud to consider a friend as well as a comrade. I love listening to him because he is a poet of the land. His incantation for Palestine is infused with images and metaphors connected with his life. And also the politics is clear.
Israel is trying to fragment us, so we must build community. Israel is trying to take our land and crowd us into cities; so we must cultivate it, work it, live on it, refuse to sell it.
He tells me of a plan to create a cooperative and, with international support, cultivate 132 dunums (30 acres approx). This currently rests at the bottom of a steep valley overlooked by Efrat to the South and Zayot to the North. Leaving this uncultivated would leave it open for settlers to claim and have a contiguous illegal slab of land. This is grassroots action and building of sumud, strengthening ties across families, deepening their attachment to the land.
As Mahmoud finishes ploughing he turns to me and says ‘smell the richness in that soil’. I can see it powers his heart and feeds his mind. What he tells me, and other Palestinians have told me, and what the Israelis don’t get, is they will never leave.
Furrows for liberation
(for Mahmoud)
You are ploughing on a precipice
Walking towards the sun, private words only your mule knows.
Chains rattle, the share cracks against stone.
Carefull, you round the olive trees and let them caress your legs.
The valley yawns steep and wide, gulping the last sun.
The barley bends easily to the wind; the sheep take their time.
There is passionate Rizaq’s land. Each neat furrow
A prayer, a promise, a cup of sweat.
Up on the hill, Efrat invades the view , crowbars neighbours
Off the edge, to the city, by cash or gun.
Not you. A red kefiiyeh bandages your head,
Your feet are rocks sunk deep, drawing strength, demanding justice.
Following my last update there is little news on the farmer who was shot by a settler resulting in the amputation of his leg. But I have heard that he has now been released from hospital – where he had been under arrest.
He had been involved in Massafer Yatta resistance for a long time helping to erect buildings. A solid community minded person steadfastly remaining on his land.
The settlers are after his land because he has access to a spring.