Israeli settlers and military systematically made life unbearable for the Bedouin community living in the West Bank's Ein Samiya region. On May 22 they were forced to leave their lands and were displaced for the fourth time since 1969.
Children from the Kaabaneh community gather around the hills of al-Mughayyir following their expulsion by Israeli forces and settlers from Ein Samiya a day earlier. (Photo: Majd Darwish/Mondoweiss. May 25, 2023)
The spring is wedged between Kufr Malek and the illegal Jewish-only colony of Kohav HaShahar and the nearby illegal outpost of Moaz Ester. The Bedouin community, part of the Ka’abneh clan, has lived in that area for more than three decades, comprising 16 families living as herders and working in agriculture.
On Wednesday evening, May 24, the Ka’abneh clan finished moving the last of their belongings to a new location a few hundred meters away from their former homes. It was a forced resettlement following weeks of settler and police harassment that made life unbearable for the community.
“What happened yesterday was a neo-Nakba,” Abu Najeh Ka’abneh, 81, told Mondoweiss on Thursday evening outside of the village of al-Mughayyir, where the community had relocated.
“Record, record,” Abu Najeh said firmly. “Don’t get the information wrong. I’ll speak slower, but focus and write.”
Sitting among a circle of men from his community as children dart in and out of the main sitting tent, Abu Najeh spoke with frustration and fear as he recounted the harrowing experience of the past week.
“The attack on Monday, May 22, was preceded by several days of continuous harassment,” Abu Najeh told Mondoweiss. “On May 16, settlers came and stole 37 sheep from our community in Ein Samiya, and I called the Red Cross to help us,” he said.
Abu Najeh had reached out to the Red Cross because the Israeli police had assaulted a 51-year-old herder from the community on May 16, claiming that his sheep belonged to one of the settlers of the Kohav HaShachar settlement.
“When the herder, Ata, wanted to say something, the police handcuffed him,” Abu Najeh said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “And when the herder — he’s the owner of the sheep — used his phone to try and call one of us, the police took it from him.”
The community’s youth eventually saw the altercation with the police and spread the news about the incident until it reached Abu Najeh. “This is a kidnapping, no?”
According to the community members, Ata was released at around 9:00 p.m. on Tuesday, the 16th. “He was fined 1500 shekels, and his 37 sheep were never returned,” Abu Najeh testified. “The price of a single sheep is between 1200-2000 shekels. Do the math,” Abu Najeh said, repeating once more the number of sheep stolen: “Thirty-seven.” The man’s entire livelihood depended on the livestock, with a family of 20 dependent on him for their daily needs.
A few days later, Abu Najeh and 170 others in his community were forced to pack up what they could manage to carry from their homes and belongings.
“As Palestinians, who must protect us? Shouldn’t it be our representatives?” Khader Ka’abneh, another member of the Bedouin community, told Mondoweiss. Standing up from his seated position, Khader began to release his pent-up indignation. “Unfortunately, during the Oslo Accords, our issues were not discussed, and what we experienced days ago is an even bigger Nakba.”
For the Bedouin communities across Palestine, the herding lifestyle they uphold allows them to travel around Palestine’s landscape, further solidifying the presence of Palestinians in various areas around Jericho, the Jordan Valley, and the Mua’arajat — all at risk of Israeli annexation. Yet the burdens of surviving, coupled with the internalization of a feeling of duty towards protecting the land from settler theft, weigh heavily on Palestinian Bedouins.
“That was the only home my family has known,” Umm Najeh, Abu Najeh’s wife, told Mondoweiss as she sat on a plastic chair in a newly erected Bedouin tent less than 12 hours after the expulsion. “I have given birth to all eight of my children on that land.”
Umm Najeh’s eldest son is 32 years old, and her youngest is 12. Neither knows a home outside of the hills they have wandered with their sheep near Kufr Malek their entire lives.
“The children are constantly afraid of them,” Umm Najeh said as Jamal, 12, passed the tent where she and other women from the community sat, rebuilding their homes and arranging what little remained of their belongings.
Children of the community exploring the hills of their new location following their displacement on May 24th. (Photo: Majd Darwish/Mondoweiss. May 25, 2023)
