‘Slow death’ in the West Bank: Israel’s destruction leaves Jenin refugee camp uninhabitable

The Jenin refugee camp, late March 2025

Deiaa Haj Yahia reports in Haaretz  on 26 March 2025:

Just two roads separate the reality of Jenin city residents from that of the adjacent refugee camp. In the city, shoppers crowd the main street ahead of the Eid al-Fitr holiday, and the City Center Jenin mall on Haifa Street bustles with activity. Dozens of people move between market stalls, restaurants, candy shops and cafés with shopping bags in hand, while excited children run about.

Less than a kilometer away, the winding road to the Jenin refugee camp leads to an entirely different world. Paved roads give way to dirt paths, festive display windows are replaced by iron bars and there’s no trace of the shopping center’s bright neon lights. Since Israel launched its military operation in the camp in January, the streets have become deserted. Most businesses remain closed, and a heavy silence hangs in the air. The once-vibrant camp now feels like a ghost town.

Bullet-riddled walls stand beside the shells of bulldozed buildings. Water from burst pipes flows across the ground, mixing with sewage to form gray puddles.

At the entrance to the camp, the army’s destruction is striking. Bullet-riddled walls stand beside the shells of bulldozed buildings. Water from burst pipes flows across the ground, mixing with sewage to form gray puddles. Some damaged houses still stand but remain empty, their residents prohibited from returning. More buildings will soon disappear, as the army announced last week its plans to demolish 95 buildings in the camp to alter its topography and make roads accessible to armored vehicles.

The army has operated in the camp since January, when the cabinet expanded its war goals to include the West Bank. Consequently, military operations have intensified across West Bank refugee camps, airstrikes have increased, new checkpoints have appeared on numerous roads and at least 30,000 people have been ordered to leave the refugee camps. According to Akram Rajoub, head of the Jenin refugee camp’s popular committee (its local governing body), 800 of the camp’s 1,050 buildings have been partially or completely destroyed. This figure doesn’t include the planned demolitions.

No one protecting
This week, three camp residents stood by the northern entrance beside an army-made dirt road, silently gazing toward where their homes once stood. Occasionally, they looked down, then glanced up again at the road beyond the makeshift checkpoint. Sporadic gunfire sounded nearby, perhaps meant as a deterrent or in response to earlier shooting. The men appeared tense but not surprised. “What’s going on there?” we asked one. “The army is firing at anyone who approaches,” he replied tersely, almost whispering, without shifting his gaze.

Israeli forces were stationed barely 200 meters (650 feet) away. Abu Ahmed, a camp resident in his 50s, placed his hand on his chest and sighed deeply. “I live 50 meters from here,” he said, pointing to one of the ruined streets. “My house is going to be demolished, and I want to retrieve some things that my daughters and I need, but I can’t. Two days ago, I tried to get in but came out empty-handed. The army simply won’t let us in.

“I saw my house on their published list. It’s among the 95 slated for demolition,” Abu Ahmed says, his voice trembling slightly. “I was stunned. I still can’t believe it. I’ve been renting for 60 days already and don’t have money to get through the month. My financial situation is dire, and now they won’t let me retrieve my belongings. My entire life is in there.”

Samer al-Hindi, a 38-year-old local resident, gazes from afar at the neighborhood where he grew up and can no longer visit. “For days, I’ve wanted to go to my neighborhood,” he says despondently, “but I can’t. I can’t bear this. This is no way to live. It’s impossible to continue living under these conditions. Every week, every month brings another army invasion and more destruction. It never ends.”

Al-Hindi’s house isn’t on the demolition list, but he and his family were forced to leave over two months ago. “My house may still be standing, but I’m not there, ” he says. “I’m displaced, like thousands of others. A relative of mine was shot and killed trying to cross the road – shot by the occupation army in the camp. We’re completely vulnerable; there’s no one to protect us. ”

Al-Hindi takes a deep breath, looks toward the ruined street where he once lived, and continues more forcefully: “This is what they want, [National Security Minister Itamar] Ben-Gvir and [Finance Minister Bezalel] Smotrich’s people. To drive all Palestinians from their homes, demolish them, make the camp uninhabitable and make us give up. But we won’t surrender. This is our home. We’ll stay even if we must pay in blood.”

Leaving under fire
Since the military operation in the Jenin refugee camp began, hundreds have fled their homes under fire. Mahmoud Barakat, 46, says even those obeying army orders face danger. “We fled under live fire, with massive shooting from every direction,” he says. “The army used loudspeakers ordering us to leave. We had no choice. Minutes after the announcement, the shooting started.”

Barakat describes difficulty fleeing under these conditions, given the camp’s state. “The streets were completely destroyed, ” he says. We called an ambulance for my mother – she’s ill and can’t walk – but it couldn’t reach us. The army had already completely encircled the camp. We tried leaving through one of the intact streets, but then they fired at us.”

Jumaa Salameh, 72, tells a similar story. He left his home on foot despite his exhaustion. “The soldiers ordered us to evacuate, ” he says. “I saw elderly people, women, and children fleeing their homes under impossible conditions. ” He adds there’s no way to know what’s happening in the neighborhoods that have been surrounded by the army, but that gunfire and explosions continuously echo from there.

Another resident, 41-year-old Younes Bawakneh, emphasizes that he has no connection to any armed militants. “I don’t belong to any group and don’t engage in violence,” he says. The army still raided his family’s building and ordered them to leave a few weeks ago.

“Initially they kept us – 10 people – confined in a small room for two hours, then ordered us to leave so the army could use the building as a base. That lasted 18 days,” he says. The family, who lived in a four-story building, had to temporarily move in with relatives. When the army permitted their return a week ago, it wasn’t feasible due to extensive damage to the building.

“The soldiers destroyed part of the house, vandalized it and left behind their trash and the security forces’ dogs’ waste,” Bawakneh says. “The doors were broken, windows shattered, tables ruined. Even our personal photos were destroyed.” He pauses briefly, then adds quietly, “In the West Bank, it’s not like Gaza. There, you die all at once. Here, it’s a slow death.”

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