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View of Haifa lower town and Mt. Carmel with Dan Carmel Hotel on top, June 3, 1963. (Fritz Cohen/GPO)

Haifa’s lost Palestinian bourgeoisie

The story of the Boutagy family exemplifies how urban, middle-
class
! Palestinians
" struggled
# to maintain
$ their status in Israel after
the Nakba.

By Himmat Zoubi
January 6, 2022

Much has been written about Israel’s so-called “mixed cities,” a term that,
more than anything, reveals how anomalous they are in a country where
separation is a foundational concept. But the story of the urban, Palestinian
:
 bourgeoisie, the group that Palestinian researcher Sherene Seikaly refers to
as “Men of Capital,” in the years following the Nakba, has yet to be told.

The forgotten story of the Boutagy family, one of the few middle class
Palestinian families that remained in the land after 1948, allows us to
comprehend how this group thrived in the city of Hayfa during the British
Mandate (I use the Arabic-to-English transliteration “Hayfa” to distinguish
between pre-occupation “Hayfa” and “Haifa” after the city was occupied in
1948). This prosperity was made possible also by the ability of its members to
maneuver between contradictions at a time rife with political, social, and
economic changes.

The story of the Boutagy family following the Nakba, during which hundreds
of thousands of Palestinians either fled or were expelled from their homeland
and were forcibly prevented from returning, is the exception that proves the
rule. The efforts the family made to remain, and the reasons it eventually left
Haifa a few years later, illustrate the stark new reality in which the Palestinians
found themselves inside the newly-established State of Israel.

The world of the Palestinians who remained in the city was delineated, on one
side, by new external borders and a disconnect from the Arab world; and on
the other, by internal borders that separated Palestinians between cities and
villages, as well as between Palestinians and Jewish Israelis living in the cities
themselves
:
 Meanwhile, the bourgeois Palestinians faced a new political reality whereby
the Israeli state insisted on a Jewish monopoly over capital and sovereignty,
and also disconnected, using those same new borders, any connection
between Palestinians and the world. In this reality, members of the Palestinian
middle class who tried to maneuver between capitalist aspirations, modernity,
cosmopolitanism, and nationalism did not find a place in the new state.

Hayfa-Haifa constitutes a unique example in the study of cities during the

early state-building years, particularly for the status of Palestinians who
became citizens of Israel, whom I will call here al-mutabaqqun (those who
remain). As opposed to the “seized territories” — referring to the land that
was conquered by Israeli forces in 1948 after it was designated to be part of a
Palestinian Arab state, in accordance with the 1947 UN Partition Plan — Hayfa
was designated by that same plan to be part of the Jewish state.

Palestinians leave Haifa after Zionist forces enter the city, April 21, 1948.
:
 In principle, and according to commitments made by the Zionist leadership in
relation to the Partition Plan, Palestinians in the city were supposed to enjoy
equal rights in the future Jewish state. But an examination of Israeli spatial
policy in the city, alongside the population management policy that targeted
the Palestinians who remained, is indicative, perhaps more than anywhere
else, how the Jewish state imagined and shaped the cities from which
Palestinians had been expelled, and concurrently, how it imagined and shaped
the status of Palestinians within the Jewish state and within the city.

The nineteenth century was one of lightning-fast growth and prosperity

across the Ottoman Empire. This time also saw major economic, social, and
cultural changes as a result of the Tanzimat, a series of Ottoman reforms and
reorganization.” It was a time of renewal and administrative reform, alongside
growing industrialization.

Hayfa benefited greatly from these changes. The city’s location along the
coast, the expansion of its port, and the gradual growth of its trade with
Europe — alongside the construction of the Hijazi Railroad in 1905 — turned
Hayfa into a center of maritime and continental commerce. This development
encouraged merchant families and capitalists from other cities in Palestine,
Syria, and Lebanon to move to the city. The Boutagys, which originally came
from Acre (Akka), was one of those families.

Theophile Seraphim Boutagy, who would go on to establish the family

business T.S. Boutagy & Sons, was born in Hayfa in 1870. Already from the
middle of the 1920s — and thanks, among other things, to the family’s British
citizenship — the Boutagy’s business specialized in importing goods from
Europe. These goods fit the tastes of the locals as well as the Europeans in
the city, including European Jews who settled in it. The business continued to
:
 expand, opening branches in Jaffa and Jerusalem. The family acquired
property, including a beach, the Windsor Hotel in Hayfa, and Jerusalem Hotel
in Jaffa.

During the first half of the 20th century, the freedom of movement and the
open borders in Bilad al-Sham (the Levant) — which includes present-day
Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and Israel-Palestine — was a significant factor in the
economic, social, and cultural prosperity in Palestine’s cities. This freedom of
movement also helped strengthen Arab-Palestinian identity and emboldened
Palestinian national aspirations.

The blossoming of Hayfa al-Jadida (“The New Haifa,” which was actually
designated “The Old City” by the British Mandate authorities) — including its
neighborhoods, public squares, cafes, and markets, alongside the
strengthening of the Arabic-language press, played a central role in this
process. The growing opposition to British colonialism and Zionist settlement
also strengthened Palestinian national aspirations — a process that led to the
height of national and political unrest in 1936, with the outbreak of the Arab
Revolt.
:
:
 An advertisement by T.S. Boutagy & Sons, 1936. (Courtesy of The Ephemera Collection – National Library)

As opposed to Charlie Boutagy, who was a British informer during World War
I, far less is known about the political positions of Emile Bougaty, Theophile’s
other son who succeeded his father in running the family business. For
instance, Emile Bougaty’s stance vis-a-vis the Arab Revolt was, on the face of
it, full of contradictions. The Hebrew-language Do’ar Hayom reported in April
1936 on Emile’s vigorous opposition to the six-month general strike that had
been declared by the Palestinian leadership.

Two years later, in July 1938, the Hebrew Davar newspaper reported about a
flyer, signed by Emile, that called for donations for the “Arab heroes” of the
revolt. Emile himself donated 50 pounds to the rebels. One can assume both
reports were accurate, and that he wanted to maintain the ability to move with
ease between his capitalistic aspirations and his good relations with the
British on the one hand, and the growing Palestinian national aspirations on
the other, at a time of conflict and risks.

The British Mandate authorities left Hayfa in June 1948. From that moment,
the spatial, economic, and social reality in the city changed drastically,
particularly during “Operation Shikmona” — an Israeli military operation
launched to demolish Hayfa’s Old City following the war. Contrary to popular
belief in both the academic literature and the accepted narrative, the
operation was initiated by local officials from the city’s “Emergency
Committee,” an institution that included the top institutions of Ha-Yishuv Ha-
Ivri (The Jewish settlement in Palestine) in the city. With the end of British
rule, the committee declared itself the supreme civilian body in the city. Israeli
Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion supported the operation wholeheartedly.

Despite opposition and protest by Palestinians, it was reported that in

:
 December 1948, the great majority of the 3,200 Palestinians who remained in
Haifa had already been moved to the “ghetto” in the neighborhood of Wadi al-
Nisnas, where their freedom of movement was restricted.

Zionist forces walk the streets during the Battle of Haifa, April 22,1948. (The Archive of the IDF and the
Defense Establishment)

Like many other Palestinian residents of Haifa, the Boutagy family tried as
hard as they could to maintain at least part of their previous lives. For
example, on June 30, 1948, as the British prepared to leave the city, Emile
Boutagy sent a letter addressed to the Haifa police in the name of T.S.
Boutagy & Sons, in which he wrote:

As you are aware the Army cordoned our premises at No 30 Jaffa

Road and prevented us from conducting our normal trade. With
evacuation, we have every hope that conditions will revert to normal
and that you will now open the road to the public and allow us to
:
 resume our normal business relation with the public.

That same day, Boutagy sent a similar letter to Moshe Shertok (Sharett), the
Foreign Affairs Minister, regarding his family store in Jaffa:

I am anxious to visit my branch in Jaffa facing the CID headquarters

and all endeavors and applications made so far for a pass have been
fruitless. One Dignitary tossed me to the other with the result that I
am still in mid air unable to undertake this visit […]. I most
respectfully venture to approach you for your kind help in the
matter.

Would it be possible for you to let me have a letter of

recommendation or some certificate to enable me to visit Tel-Aviv
and from thence endeavor to have a glimpse of my branch in Jaffa to
salvage whatever is possible?

Two weeks later, Boutagy sent another letter to Atty. Yaakov Salomon, the
liaison officer with the British:

I attempted to visit my farm at Tal Emile today and was stopped at

the block road at the end of the asphalted road Ahuza and was asked
to obtain a permit from you. I respectfully apply for a permit to
enable me to visit my farm three times weekly. As you are aware I
have a little farm at Tal Emile and also my quarries are between Isifia
and Daliat al Carmel.

In an attempt to remove the restrictions imposed on his business and prevent

the transfer of his family to the ghetto, Boutagy once again tried to use his
ability to maneuver between conflicts. Carefully and under a cloak of secrecy,
he tried to elicit members of the new regime to meet his demands, while
implying that in return he would be willing to collaborate with them.
:
 Unlike other letters, he marked a letter he sent in June 1948 to Harry Beilin, a
representative of the Jewish Agency’s liaison officer to the British army in
Haifa, as personal and confidential. In the letter, he detailed demands relating
mainly to his business operations, as well as requests to protect his family
and employees. He also wrote in the letter that “in order to encourage non-
Jewish elements to collaborate with you it is essential to have concrete
evidence of your goodwill and good intentions before one can take the plunge
and offer his collaboration in the political domain.”

Flag bearers on jeeps opening the Israeli Independence Day Parade at the foot of Mt. Carmel at the entrance
to Haifa, April 20, 1953 (Hans Pinn/GPO).

In July, Boutagy sent an additional confidential letter, this time to Minister of

Labor and Construction Mordechai Bentov, which included a request not to
move him and his family to the ghetto. In the letter, Boutagy expresses his
loyalty to the “valiant and Noble race” to which Bentov belongs, and noted
:
 that “In fact I have lived almost all my life amongst you so that I feel an integral
part of you and in the present calamity I should like to do my humble bit to be
helpful and useful in every possible way.” Boutagy also emphasized his
Christian background, and encouraged Bentov to win the friendship of the
“CHRISTIANS,” both Arab and non-Arab. Boutagy also recommended Bentov
contact “the great BITHOP MUBARAK OF BEIRUT who is a very strong
supporter of the JEWISH STATE,” and offered his help in doing so.

Order No. 12 issued by the Hayfa headquarters of the Haganah [the most
prominent Zionist pre-state paramilitary group], which was published in April
1948, determined the areas in which Palestinian Arabs were allowed to live in
the city. Al-mutabaqqun, including Boutagy, knew that the order to transfer
people to the ghetto was given only to Arabs.

In an attempt to increase the chances that his request to avoid that fate would
be granted, Boutagy did not content himself solely with declaring his
allegiance to the Jewish state as a Christian, but also denied that he was even
an Arab. “[…] First of all I am not an Arab as my family hails from MALTA and
have been living in ISRAEL for a considerable number of years. Secondly, we
have never lived in Arab quarters in all our lives as we have all along lived in
Jewish Suburbs […],” he noted in his letter to Bentov.

The documents in our possession do not provide an indication as to whether

Boutagy’s request was granted. However, we do know that he claims that the
import license granted to him after 1948 was limited, and that the terms of
the license were much more restricted than the terms of those granted to
other Israeli-Jewish merchants at the time. This reality led Boutagy to send
another letter to the Minority Affairs Minister Bechor-Shalom Sheetrit on April
1, 1949, about a year after the Nakba, in which he asked for help leaving the
:
 country. This request was seen by Sheetrit as a “pure personal affair,” one
that did not concern his office.

It is evident that the reality did not improve for the Boutagy family in the
following years. In 1952, Emile Boutagy published an ad in the British press,
including the Jewish Chronicle, the British Jewish community’s most
prominent newspaper, seeking to sell his property. In an interview with the
Israeli Maariv newspaper in April 1952, Emile noted that he had been robbed
of his import licenses, that the beach under his ownership had been taken
from him, and that his requests to bring back his skilled workers from
Lebanon had been rejected. He summed up the interview as follows: “I feel
imprisoned in Israel.” Sometime after the interview with Maariv, Emile left the
country, apparently for Lebanon. A few years later, the family settled in
Australia.

An interview with Emile Boutagy in the Maariv daily, April 18, 1952. (Courtesy of The Ephemera Collection –
National Library)

For al-mutabaqqun, those who remained, the creation of Haifa marked the
:
 outset of the devastation of Hayfa: the city’s urban cosmopolitanism was
decimated by cutting Palestinians off from the Levant, eliminating the
channels for prosperity and economic and cultural networks. Israel’s spatial
policies isolated the urban mutabaqqun from the world, including the Arab
region, as well as from surrounding Palestinian villages and even from the city
itself. Israel’s population management was characterized by the separation of
Arabs and Jews, and the persecution and persistent rejection of Palestinian
national identity — along with blocking the access of non-Jews to exclusively-
Jewish sovereignty.

The flexibility and ability of the Palestinian urban bourgeoisie to maneuver

between different elements of identity, both national and religious, and the
multiplicity of channels that connected them with the world — which, among
other things, helped to bolster their prosperity — had now been replaced by a
rigid Jewish ethnicity, a Jewish monopoly on capital, and the blocking of al-
mutabaqqun from their surroundings. In this reality, there remained no place
in Haifa for these “men of capital.”

The Boutagy family therefore had no place in Haifa, and its story had no place
in Palestinian or Zionist historiography. Their story presents the absurdity and
complexity of the life of al-mutabaqqun immediately following the Nakba, and
also challenges the binary of heroism and weakness, of complicity and
resistance.

At the same time, it is a story that exposes the deception of “coexistence” in

Israel’s “mixed cities,” as well as the falsehood that Israel has brought
democracy, progress, and economic prosperity to the Palestinians that
remained. With that, it further challenges the binary narrative that identifies
Israeliness with “modernity” and “the West,” as opposed to Palestinian, Arab,
:
 and Mizrahi identities that are so often identified as “anti-modern.”

A version of this article was originally published on the Social History

Workshop’s blog, published on Haaretz’s Hebrew site.

Nakba | Haifa | capitalism

Dr. Himmat Zoubi is a sociologist and research fellow at Europe in the Middle East—The
Middle East in Europe (EUME) and a postdoctoral fellow at Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung in
Berlin.

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More About Nakba

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 Confession without consequence
By Seth Anziska | July 26, 2022

How threats of a second Nakba went mainstream

By Meron Rapoport and Ameer Fakhoury | June 23, 2022
:
 The Israeli le! has broken the Nakba taboo. Will the right
of return be next?
By Ben Reiff | June 23, 2022

Come work with us: +972 Magazine is

hiring an editor
:
 Apply to join our editorial team!

By +972 Magazine
January 4, 2022

About us
+972 Magazine is an English-language, independent, online news and
political magazine that publishes on-the-ground reporting, investigative and
in-depth features, analysis, and commentary on Israel-Palestine. We reach
millions of readers across the globe, and are known for our high journalistic
standards and for our impact reporting. The site is committed to fair
journalism, equity, justice, and an end to occupation and apartheid.

+972 Magazine is published by the non-profit organization “972 —

Advancement of Citizen Journalism,” which is owned and run by Palestinian
and Israeli journalists. We do not represent nor are we aligned with any other
organization, political party, or special interests.

We are committed to diversity in our team, and especially welcome

applications from women and non-binary candidates, Palestinians, and
members of the LGBTQ community. Not sure if you meet all the requirements
for the position? We still highly encourage you to apply.
:
 We’re looking for a professional journalist to join our team of editors. The
requirements can be found below.

Job description
+972 Magazine is a growing, dynamic, and collaborative workplace. The
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the new editor will have an ongoing role in helping shape the editorial focus of
+972.

Responsibilities
Editing news articles, features, op-eds, and analyses;
Identifying, commissioning, and publishing stories;
Seeking out and developing relationships with journalists to work with
+972;
Monitoring local and international media to inform +972 stories;
Writing reports, op-eds, and analyses;
Connecting with communities in struggle on the ground;
Helping to produce and edit The +972 Podcast;
Translation from Arabic and Hebrew to English;
Helping manage the website and its social media presence;
Working as a part of the editorial team on a day-to-day basis and
participating in weekly editorial meetings.

Requirements
Proven experience editing and producing high-quality journalism in
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 English;
Close familiarity with the political landscape of Israel-Palestine and the
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A commitment to the basic values of the site: fair journalism, equity,
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Experience in distribution and audience engagement on social media — a
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Experience in podcasting — a plus;
Experience in political/community organizing — a plus.

Language requirements
English — mother-tongue or equivalent;
Arabic — mother-tongue or fluency, for purposes of news gathering and
reporting, translation, media monitoring, and coordination of guest
writers;
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Terms of position
Full-time, competitive salary, and full social benefits;
Most of the work is done remotely. Work in our Tel Aviv-Jaffa or Haifa
offices is optional;
Allows fairly flexible hours;
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 A friendly, supportive, and empowering work environment.

To submit an application please fill out this form and attach a CV, cover
letter, two references, and an English-language writing or editing sample
by January 23, 2022.

We will respond to all applications shortly after the deadline.

Work is expected to begin in early March.

For questions: [email protected]

Since you’re here…

A lot of work goes into creating articles like the one you just read. +972
Magazine is nonprofit journalism based on the ground in Israel-Palestine. In
order to safeguard our independent voice, we are proud to count you, our
readers, as our most important supporters.
Become a member of +972 Magazine with a monthly contribution, so that
we can keep our journalism as a strong, independent, and sustainable
force changing the global discourse on Israel-Palestine.

BECOME A MEMBER
:
 Palestinians bathe in the Mediterranean Sea during the last day of the Eid al-Fitr holiday as the sun sets in
Jaffa, July 19, 2015. (Oren Ziv)

What my son is learning about being

Palestinian in the Jewish state
At three Mahmoud realized that Jewish children are given
preference, at 13 he understood Arabic was inferior, at 17 he
knew he could not live in security. Now he's 18, and my heart
trembles whenever he leaves the house.

By Ayat Abou Shmeiss

January 3, 2022

This article was published in partnership with Local Call.

My son, Mahmoud, celebrated his 18th birthday a week ago. Alongside the
:
 joy, the day brought back memories of the countless moments he
experienced throughout those years as a Palestinian child growing up in Jaffa,
a citizen of this state.

Already from the age of three or four, Mahmoud understood this state
differentiates between people — a hierarchy determined according to skin
color, religion, and nationality. Mahmoud understood that Jewish children are
deemed more important. He understood this because there was no
playground near our house, and even when one was built later it was pitiful,
despite the fact that there were many small children in the neighborhood. If
Mahmoud wanted to play in any sort of park, we were forced to drive north to
an area where there were white children. In those areas, Mahmoud had more
than two old swings, and he did not have to pull down his shirtsleeves to hold
onto the swing’s handle because here it was smooth, unlike the one near our
house which was rusty and sharp.

At the age of 12, Mahmoud understood that the resources provided to the
Arab education system were less than those of the Jewish system. He
understood this when he saw the difference in quality between the Arabic and
Hebrew schools here in Jaffa, which forced us to transfer him to a Hebrew
school. There, unfortunately, he lost his Arabic and was forced to take tests
during the holy month of Ramadan. The staff in the school are wonderful and
tried their best to enable Mahmoud to succeed and feel comfortable, but
:
 some things are beyond their control.

Around the age of 13, Mahmoud realized that his language was a particularly
problematic matter. When he needed a psycho-didactic diagnosis, the clinic
suggested that we travel to the Triangle area in central Israel-Palestine to
meet with someone who would speak to him in his mother tongue for a
subsidized price. But at the same time, the clinic offered another boy in
Mahmoud’s class, who lives nearby, to meet with a diagnoser close to home
who speaks Hebrew — also for the subsidized price. Thus, in order to get a
diagnosis in Arabic and close to our home, I had to pay full price. Only after a
long wait and a battle did the clinic agree to reimburse me.

Shortly before the age of 14, Mahmoud understood that not only was he less
important than a Jewish child, he is a suspect by definition, exposed to police
bullying and violence.

A mounted Israeli policeman looks on as Palestinians enjoy an evening on the beach on the border of Tel Aviv
:
 and Jaffa during the second day of Eid al-Fitr, July 7, 2016. (Oren Ziv)

On the eve of Rosh Hashanah, Mahmoud was hanging out with a friend on the
Jaffa promenade. Riot police stopped him and asked him to identify himself.
But why do it like human beings when it can be done with threats and
bullying? Mahmoud understood that the police who were meant to protect
him were the same police that attacked and threatened him. Naively, I
complained to the Police Internal Investigations Department. If I once had any
hope in fair treatment, it faded when that case was closed. This is how my son
understood that the so-called justice system is light years away from real
justice.

At the age of 17, Mahmoud understood that he had no basic right to personal
security, and that bullets fly left and right in his neighborhood, with no one to
stop it. After 10 murders in Jaffa in the past two years, only one of which has
been solved, Mahmoud was fortunate enough not to be present at a
completely routine shooting incident near a friend’s house in Jaffa. Photos of
the bullet-pierced vehicle made it totally clear: Mahmoud has no personal
security.

At the age of 17-and-a-half, when Mahmoud finished studying citizenship and

democracy, he understood that in practice, these concepts have nothing to
do with the reality of his life. He understood that he does not really have the
right to protest or demonstrate, and that if he did, he would be considered a
“rioting Arab.”
:
 A young Palestinian rides his bike in Jaffa as Israeli police disperse Palestinians protesting against the Tel Aviv
municipality’s plan to build a homeless shelter and commercial space over an 18th-century Muslim cemetery,
July 18, 2020. (Oren Ziv)

The events of May 2021 illustrated this nicely: I reached a point where I had to
deprive my son of his freedom of movement and stop him from participating
in the protests because I was worried about him. Because I was afraid that he
would get hurt, like the others. Because I was afraid he would be struck in the
face by a stun grenade. Because that’s what the police here did and continue
to do. This is what we tell our sons — on the one hand to be proud of who you
are and stand up for yourself, to not be afraid to protest legally; and on the
other, to sit quietly at home so that the police won’t hurt them.

Now, weeks after his 18th birthday, Mahmoud is setting out on his own path.
He is no longer a minor, and yet I worry whenever he leaves home. The
amount of violence that exists in this country, the proliferation of illegal
weapons that the police do nothing to stop, the amount of violence from
:
 police officers themselves — it all terrifies me.

In spite of all this, I will continue to support him and encourage him to study,
work, develop a career, fulfill his dreams and contribute to society, and of
course continue to be proud of who he is — in the hope that he will learn
something about equality, justice and fairness in the state of which he is a
citizen.

This article was first published in Hebrew on Local Call. Read it here.
Palestinian Citizens of Israel | Israeli Police | Local Call

Ayat Abou Shmeiss is a poet and blogger from Jaffa.

Since you’re here…

A lot of work goes into creating articles like the one you just read. +972
Magazine is nonprofit journalism based on the ground in Israel-Palestine. In
order to safeguard our independent voice, we are proud to count you, our
readers, as our most important supporters.
Become a member of +972 Magazine with a monthly contribution, so that
we can keep our journalism as a strong, independent, and sustainable
force changing the global discourse on Israel-Palestine.

BECOME A MEMBER

More About Palestinian Citizens of Israel

:
 More About Palestinian Citizens of Israel

The Israeli le! has broken the Nakba taboo. Will the right
of return be next?
By Ben Reiff | June 23, 2022

FILM: Palestinians in ‘mixed cities’ recount the horrors of

May 2021
By +972 Magazine | May 19, 2022
:
 The misguided promise of assassinating Hamas leaders

By Menachem Klein | May 12, 2022

Family and friends attend the funeral of Yehuda Dimentman in the outpost of Homesh, West Bank, December
17, 2021. (Sraya Diamant/Flash90)
:
 An evacuated settlement becomes a
symbol of Jewish extremism
Amid tensions over the fate of the West Bank outpost of Homesh,
settler attacks on Palestinians have surged — often abetted by
Israeli security forces.

By Oren Ziv January 3, 2022

This article was published in partnership with Local Call.

The murder of Yehuda Dimentman by Palestinians two weeks ago has brought
Homesh, the West Bank settlement outpost he called his home, back into the
Israeli public consciousness. The outpost was built on the ruins of another
settlement of the same name just north of Nablus, which was evacuated as
part of the 2005 Gaza “disengagement.” For Palestinians in the area, the
outpost has for years been a symbol and source of daily settler violence.

The Israeli logic behind originally dismantling Homesh, which was one of four
West Bank settlements evacuated during the disengagement, was that it was
an isolated community surrounded by Palestinian villages and cities which
required more resources than it was strategically worth. Yet, despite the 2005
Disengagement Law, which forbids Israelis from entering areas that were
evacuated in that operation, settlers began returning to the location and
established a new outpost.
:
 Today, a few dozen Jewish students attend the yeshiva built on the site, and
several families sleep in a number of tents and shacks that make up the
outpost. The Israeli authorities demolish the makeshift structures every few
months, yet do not prevent the settlers from returning or rebuilding.

Homesh is located north of the Palestinian village of Burqa on Route 60, the
central road going through the occupied West Bank, in the section that
connects Nablus to Jenin. To reach the outpost, settlers travel about 7.5 miles
between Palestinian villages with hardly any soldier or settler presence. Had
the army wanted to prevent settlers from reaching the outpost, it could have
easily placed a number of soldiers on the road leading to the area.
:
 Settlers walk by the water tower on the ruins of the evacuated settlement of Homesh on August 27, 2019.
(Hillel Maeir/Flash90)

In the years since the disengagement, Palestinian landowners have filed

lawsuits to allow the military to access the area, and even protect them from
settler violence. In 2011, the landowners petitioned the Israeli High Court,
demanding the revocation of a military order issued in the 1970s to seize the
land. The High Court accepted the petition in 2013.

The Palestinian landowners arrived in the area with tractors to begin

reworking the land they had lost more than three decades earlier. Yet eight
years later, Israel still makes access to the site difficult for Palestinians. In
2017, the Israeli army issued a demarcation order banning anyone from
entering the area, claiming it was preparing to evacuate the outpost. The
order did not exclude the Palestinian landowners, and thus barred them, too,
from reaching their plots.
:
 Following another petition to the High Court in 2019, the army said the
demarcation order would no longer prevent Palestinians from entering the
area. Yet when the residents tried to reach their land, soldiers were there to
prevent their entry; on a number of occasions, settlers also chased away
Palestinians.

Between 2017 and 2021, the Israeli anti-occupation NGO Yesh Din, which filed
repeated petitions to the High Court on behalf of the residents, documented
27 settler attacks in the Homesh area, including both physical bodily violence
and property damage. In August this year, settlers from the outpost abducted
and tortured a Palestinian teenager, burning his legs and hanging him from a
tree, until he was found by the army and returned to his family.

In November, as Palestinian farmers attempted once again to reach their land,

settlers from the outpost attacked them by opening fire, throwing stones, and
spraying pepper spray, wounding a number of Palestinians. These figures do
not include the violent attacks that have taken place since Dimentman’s killing
earlier this month, which saw settlers throwing stones, attacking homes, and
destroying tombstones in nearby Palestinian villages.
:
 Israeli soldiers arrest a Palestinian man outside the West Bank settlement of Shavei Shomron, December 17,
2021, following the shooting attack near Homesh. (Sraya Diamant/Flash90)

According to Yesh Din, only nine of the many Palestinians who were attacked
over the last four years lodged a complaint with the Israeli police. One of
those complaints is still under investigation; the other eight were closed
without indictments. In addition to these complaints, Yesh Din has contacted
the Israeli authorities over many other cases of settler violence in the area
over the past few years. These include complaints against Rabbi Elishama,
the head of Homesh’s yeshiva, and others for breaching military orders;
demands to stop construction at the outpost; and calls to investigate other
forms of violence.

Since Dimentman’s murder, the leadership of the settlement movement, along

with right-wing Knesset members, have tried to pressure the Israeli
government not only to refrain from evacuating the outpost, but to go even
:
 further by legalizing it. The public campaign for Homesh culminated last
Thursday, when about 10,000 settlers and right-wing activists, including MKs
and young yeshiva students, marched to the outpost. Several groups in the
crowd sang racist, anti-Arab songs as they marched by the nearby village of
Burqa. In the days that followed, a number of young settlers were
documented hanging an Israeli flag on a building in Burqa.

The army, which did not give official approval for the march, nonetheless
allowed settlers to walk or take buses to Homesh — even though it is still
meant to be off-limits to Israelis under the Disengagement Law. While the
settlers marched freely, soldiers restricted Palestinian movement in the area,
closing the main road from Nablus to Jenin to Palestinian traffic, and using
dirt mounds to block entrances to villages like Burqa and Sebastia.

Following the murder, Palestinians faced days of violence from both settlers
and soldiers. “There is no Palestinian police here, there is nothing. It’s just us
against the army and the settlers,” said Khaled, a 22-year-old resident of
Burqa. “We have a WhatsApp group for the young people here,” said Ahmad
Ashkar, 25. “Settlers come down from Homesh, and we run over to drive them
away. Then the army arrives and fires tear gas or rubber-coated bullets.” This,
Ashkar says, has happened nearly every day since the murder.
:
 Palestinians in the West Bank village of Burqa sling rocks at Israeli soldiers after the latter entered the village
following a massive nearby march by settlers, December 23, 2021. (Nasser Ishtayeh/Flash90)

Maha, like other Palestinians who live on the side of Burqa closest to Homesh,
fled her home as the violence spiraled. “At night, settlers tried to break into
our home — they kicked down the door and shattered the windows. It was
terrifying. At the last minute, young Palestinians arrived, and the settlers ran
off. I haven’t gone back since,” she said.

Meanwhile, the army set up its own base at the Homesh site, which includes
tents, caravans, electrical equipment, and water tanks. Since Dimentman’s
murder, the army has taken down a number of structures erected at the
outpost, but has refrained from demolishing the yeshiva or removing the
settlers.

Homesh is considered one of the most violent settlement outposts in the

occupied West Bank, and the explosion of unrest around it is taking place
:
 during a year of rising settler attacks. Public Security Minister Omer Barlev, a
member of the Labor party, has made the fight against settler violence one of
his top priorities, often earning him the wrath of the Israeli right.

While Palestinian violence against Israeli civilians, soldiers, and settlers is

officially documented by the state, Israeli authorities do not always publish
official data on settler violence in the West Bank. And when the numbers are
published, there is often a discrepancy between the data put out by the
military and the police.

Yesh Din researchers, meanwhile, have documented 540 incidents of settler

violence in the last 3.5 years alone. In 238 of those cases, the organization
represented Palestinians who chose to file a complaint with the police; of
those cases, only 12 ended in indictments, 53 are still under investigation, and
173 were closed without indictments. According to Yesh Din, the Israeli police
have failed to investigate 86 percent of the cases, closing them after
investigators failed to locate the suspects or even gather evidence.
:
 Settlers wave an Israeli flag during a march near the settler outpost of Homesh, following the murder of a
settler there, December 23, 2021. (Oren Ziv)

The focus on “settler violence,” however, often overshadows the larger reality
of the everyday violence of the Israeli occupation. The very fact that settlers
live in the West Bank is a direct product of mass land confiscation and military
brutality perpetuated by the Israeli state against Palestinians, while it
simultaneously supports Israelis in settling on Palestinian land throughout the
territories. A recent report by the Israeli NGO B’Tselem describes how settler
violence actively aids the state in taking over Palestinian land, and how 150
settler outposts were established with government support despite the fact
that they are deemed “illegal” according to Israeli law.

Moreover, the conversation on settler violence, while crucial, should not

overshadow the fact that most of the violence in the West Bank is meted out
by the Israeli army, often in service of the settlers. A +972 and Local Call
:
 report earlier this year, for example, revealed how Israeli soldiers and settlers
carried out a number of attacks against Palestinians in May; in many cases,
soldiers were documented escorting and protecting settlers who assaulted,
and in some cases killed, Palestinians. B’Tselem told +972 that the military
has killed 77 Palestinians in the West Bank and East Jerusalem this year, while
settlers have killed two Palestinians.

Yuval Abraham contributed reporting to this article.

Israeli outposts | Settler violence

Oren Ziv is a photojournalist and a founding member of the

Activestills photography collective.
"

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Magazine is nonprofit journalism based on the ground in Israel-Palestine. In
order to safeguard our independent voice, we are proud to count you, our
readers, as our most important supporters.
Become a member of +972 Magazine with a monthly contribution, so that
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:
 More About Israeli outposts

This Israeli forbids Palestinians from building. He lives in

an illegal outpost
By Yuval Abraham | July 28, 2022

Classified document reveals IDF ‘firing zones’ built to give

land to settlers
By Yuval Abraham | July 11, 2022
:
 A!er blocking West Bank road, settlers open fire and
wound Palestinians
By Basil Adra | April 27, 2022
:
 Members of the Palestinian women's carpentry workshop Rweisat for Wood Art at work, in al-Walaja, West
Bank. (Courtesy from their Facebook page)

Carving sumud out of wood

A carpentry workshop is providing Palestinian women in al-
Walaja a creative outlet in an agricultural community stifled by
Israel’s separation wall.

By Natalie Alz
December 31, 2021

The Palestinian agricultural village of al-Walaja straddles a suffocating

boundary between occupied East Jerusalem and the rest of the West Bank.
Nearly totally surrounded by the Israeli separation wall, it also lies in the
shadow of settlements guarded by armed personnel and security cameras
that monitor every movement in the area.

And yet, in the midst of it all, six Palestinian women have found a creative
outlet to bring hope to their community: a carpentry workshop producing
beautiful pieces of art made out of wood.

The workshop, called “Rweisat for Wood Art,” features a range of carefully
crafted, hand-made items designed out of recycled wooden objects like
wooden terraces and old tables. From these objects, women residents have
been carving out key chains, shelves, chandeliers, and other ornaments
engraved with images and calligraphy.
:
 The name of the workshop, taken from the nearby mountain, reflects the
residents’ deep roots in their natural environment, which has long been an
integral feature of the village’s way of life. “It was a way for us to show our
strong connection to the land and to the mountain,” says Samya. Our
agriculture belongs to the people of the village, which now is being
threatened to be taken by the occupation.”

Items produced by the Palestinian women’s carpentry workshop Rweisat for Wood Art, in al-Walaja, West
Bank. (Courtesy from their Facebook page)
:
 The origin of the Rweisat workshop began with an idea in 2016 when Samya,
a resident of al-Walaja, had the opportunity to pitch a project to the German
association KURVE Wustrow to support Palestinian women in the village to
establish ‘recycling gardens’ in the backyards of their homes, turning
discarded materials such as car tires or plastics into planters. The foundation
first funded a small pilot group of five women, and after witnessing its
success, expanded and supported 19 gardens.

“Our goal was to create a safe place for women to hang out in their own yards
and enjoy a bit of an outlet,” says Lubna, one of the project’s participants,
who also manages tours for visitors.

The physical work with the gardens sparked further thoughts among the
women about transitioning to larger projects, especially carpentry. “It was a
natural development,” says Samya. “We enjoyed working with the wood of the
plants, and it was clear to us all that we wanted to evolve with it.”
:
 Members of the Palestinian women’s carpentry workshop Rweisat for Wood Art, in al-Walaja, West Bank.
(Natalie Alz)

Through their German and local sponsors, five of the women acquired training
in carpentry and heavy equipment over two years, eventually opening up their
own workshop and training other women in al-Walaja in the trade. The women
also took up training in storytelling, which they have integrated into their
public tours and social media outreach. The participants take turns playing
different roles in managing the project and producing different items, giving
the women a diverse experience with all facets of the workshop.

The personal impact felt by the women was profound. “All of a sudden, I
realized that I love working with wood,” says Reem, one of the first members
who joined the new project. “And at that time, I didn’t know I could be
responsible with managing money. It was an opportunity that refined our
character.”
:
 The workshop, however, was initially met with skepticism and ridicule from
many of the community. “It wasn’t easy,” says Samya. “Our struggle was with
everyone. Nobody believed in us. People started making jokes and looking at
us mockingly. But today, they are proud [of our work], and some have even
embraced our ideas and pursued it as individuals. We see more initiative from
both men and women.”

Members of the Palestinian women’s carpentry workshop Rweisat for Wood Art at work, in al-Walaja, West
Bank. (Courtesy from their Facebook page)

Reem recalls the judgmental attitudes during the early phase of their
experiment. “The first time I went to buy tools and supplies, it was a new
experience for me; it wasn’t ‘ordinary’ for a woman to be in this kind of store.
When I went back to the store after forgetting something, I saw all the men
there laughing at me. I understood how they really see me. It’s not ordinary
here for a woman to be in this kind of store or to deal with all these tools.”
:
 Lubna experienced similar responses even during the recycling project. “I’ve
been called names,” she says. “In the beginning, all my neighbors saw me
collecting trash and garbage from the street to recycle them and use it for my
recycling garden. They mocked me and laughed. But after witnessing the
benefits, they saw it differently. It wasn’t just the benefit of recycling
materials; it helped remove the garbage from the street. In a way, we showed
everyone that things could be different.”

‘This is our way to tell our story, to resist’

Before 1948, the community of al-Walaja originally resided in homes less than
two kilometers away on what is today the Israeli side of the Green Line.
However, the village was destroyed by Zionist forces during the Nakba; its
lands are today used as a picnic site for Israelis. The Palestinian families re-
established their homes on lands belonging to the village on the Jordanian
side of the armistice line, before the area was occupied by Israel in the 1967
war.
:
 Items produced by the Palestinian women’s carpentry workshop Rweisat for Wood Art, in al-Walaja, West
Bank. (Courtesy from their Facebook page)

When Israel annexed East Jerusalem following the war, in violation of

international law, the expansion of its municipal boundaries sliced al-Walaja in
two: half of it lay under the city’s official purview, and the other half fell under
what is today Area C of the West Bank. Like with other villages in Area C,
which is under the full control of the military, Israel has systematically
prevented the Palestinian residents from working on most of their lands and
from building new houses and structures, which require permits that are
rarely if ever granted. Israeli settlements such as Har Gilo, meanwhile, are
allowed to expand on lands confiscated by the state from al-Walaja.

In the mid-2000s, the Israeli army confiscated more lands and effectively
created a chokehold around the village by erecting the separation barrier,
:
 destroying homes and uprooting orchards in the process. To this day, the
authorities are continuing to demolish homes in the village under the pretext
that they are “illegal” structures, while pursuing plans to expand the
settlement neighborhoods of “Greater Jerusalem.”

Today’s al-Walaja, Samya says, feels like a “small jail.” There is only one
entrance to the village, which has been closed off by the separation wall and
settlements. The occupation authorities are now threatening to confiscate
and plunder hundreds of more acres of the village’s land and to demolish
dozens of homes. A High Court hearing regarding the state’s plans, which
was due to be held this month, has been postponed. Several of the women
describe al-Walaja as a microcosm of what is happening throughout
Palestine, just like Silwan and Sheikh Jarrah.
:
 Members of the Palestinian women’s carpentry workshop Rweisat for Wood Art at work, in al-Walaja, West
Bank. (Courtesy from their Facebook page)

It is this sense of being encaged, says Lubna, that has made the wood art
project especially valuable to the women involved. Their experience in
Germany in particular helped them to gain a fresh perspective on what they
could achieve for their occupied hometown. “The most remarkable moment
was when we realized what freedom is,” she explained. “For the first time in
our lives, we knew what freedom feels like, how it is to grow in such an
:
 environment, and the effect it has on the kids.”

Palestinian children, Lubna notes, “grow up with fear, are jailed, are unable to
visit a place that is 10 feet away without approval [from the Israelis] or without
going through checkpoints. We felt sad for ourselves and for our kids, that we
don’t get these chances.” These worries weigh heavily on many of the
participants. “We love our children and want them to live and enjoy life,” says
Alia. “We have to fight this prejudice.”

“We live in an absurd situation where my grandson looks from the window and
sees Jerusalem’s ‘Biblical Zoo,’ which is right in front of the village, and asks if
we can go there,” says Taghreed, one of the newest members of the project,
who has used the workshop as a way to take a day for herself every week. “I
tell him that it’s far away, but he points and says it’s only a few meters away
over the hill. He’s right: it’s so close we can see it. But because of our
situation, we can’t cross or move without going through the checkpoints. It’s
not easy to see the disappointment in their eyes.”
:
 Items produced by the Palestinian women’s carpentry workshop Rweisat for Wood Art, in al-Walaja, West
Bank. (Courtesy from their Facebook page)

In the face of these difficulties, though, the Rweisat workshop has provided
these women with a space for catharsis. “For me it was a great experience,”
says Elham, the newest member of the project. “Yesterday I had my first tour
group that I guided all by myself. I overcame my shyness and proved to myself
that I can do it.”

Tohfa mentions that there has been a growing demand by other members of
the community to join the wood art project, with more and more families
seeing the positive effect it has had. “Everybody has embraced it,” says
Samya, adding that once a month, they organize family gatherings to invite
spouses, children, and friends to enjoy their activities.
:
 “We are not here to take the men’s place,” says Taghreed. “We are here to
walk alongside them — there’s no monopoly for one gender,” adds Reem.
Samya echoes this sentiment. “We love and care for our village. This is our
own way to tell our story, to resist, and to keep fighting for our lives here. We
see it as sumud [steadfastness].”

al-Walaja | art | Palestinian women | Area C

Natalie Alz is a content creator, a yoga instructor, and traveler who blogs in her free time.
Facebook and Instagram: NatalieAlz; Twitter: Natalie_Alz.

Since you’re here…

A lot of work goes into creating articles like the one you just read. +972
Magazine is nonprofit journalism based on the ground in Israel-Palestine. In
order to safeguard our independent voice, we are proud to count you, our
readers, as our most important supporters.
Become a member of +972 Magazine with a monthly contribution, so that
we can keep our journalism as a strong, independent, and sustainable
force changing the global discourse on Israel-Palestine.

BECOME A MEMBER

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