‘We left because of the settlers’: The quiet displacement of an entire West Bank Bedouin community

Residents load water containers as they leave the village, in Ras Ein al-Ouja on 27 January 2026

Matan Golan reports in Haaretz on 27 January 27 2026:

The two remaining families in the Jordan Valley’s Ras Ein al-Auja left the village on Sunday. The large Bedouin community of 120 families, which stood steadfast in the face of ethnic cleansing in Area C – the area placed under exclusive Israeli control according to the Oslo Accords – is no more.

Neighboring villagers fled their homes as settler abuse and violence intensified following Hamas’ October 7 attacks, but the community in Ras Ein Al-Auja held onto its land. An anomaly in a region of disintegrating communities.

The community remained partly due to the historic status of the land they settled as Palestinian private property. The continuous presence of activists, led by the Looking the Occupation in the Eye group, also helped.

The community, composed of several Bedouin tribes living together, dispersed rapidly. Families in the western portion of the village fled on January 8, after an illegal outpost was established just meters from their homes and Israeli settlers began plowing nearby plots of land.

Israeli forces arrived after the settlers broke ground and opened an investigation into the land’s ownership, yet the settlers maintained a round-the-clock presence despite heavy rain. After living under the threat of violence for a week, the families concluded they had no choice but to leave.

A senior IDF officer vowed that the safety of the remaining Palestinian residents was assured. However, over the past two weeks, settlers continued to encroach on the families’ homes and subject them to ongoing abuse.

Religious Zionism lawmaker Tzvi Succot interrupted a solidarity protest a week and a half ago, claiming the community had not dispersed due to settler violence but rather because their water had been cut off. However, Ras Ein al-Auja was never connected to the formal water supply.

A shepherd and his flock in Ras Ein al-Ouja, 26 January 2026

The Auja River should have made the village a shepherd’s paradise, yet residents have long been prevented from watering their flocks on its banks because settlers have blocked their access. Since the start of the Israel-Gaza war, the Palestinian herds have lived in pens as the settlers’ flocks roam freely.

On Sunday, as families abandoned the village, settlers chose to graze their sheep between the vacant houses despite the lush, extensive pastures surrounding the area.

Dogs, clothes, mattresses, and metal sheets were loaded onto trucks as men dismantled the last remaining structures. In the background, pillars of smoke rose from what remained, which residents burned before departing. On some of the shacks, the words “The third Nakba 2026” were written in Arabic.

“We left because our patience ran out. Every day, the settlers brought their herds into our homes, blocked our access to water, and closed off the road. They cut the electricity cables. They emptied the water tanks and poured it onto the ground. We filed many complaints with police, but nothing helped.”

Residents asked the Palestinian agency tasked with liaising with the Israeli military to provide the Israeli authorities with videos they had recorded of settler abuse, “but nothing changed.”

The residents’ flight caught the IDF by surprise; although they had been subjected to daily harassment, no “serious” acts of violence were recorded. Ras Ein al-Auja serves as a prime example of the “soft” violence employed by the so-called farm outposts to force Palestinians off their land. Violence in the West Bank is not always characterized by high-profile incidents like arson; instead, settlers often rely on a steady pattern of threats, harassment, trespassing, and looting.

The scene at Ras Ein al-Auja became a pattern played out repeatedly. Neglected-looking boys sat for hours pestering residents outside their homes, emptying water tanks, approaching doorways, and standing guard in an ever-repeating playbook of harassment.

“The community infrastructure is gone. There’s no more school, the power is out, the road isn’t safe and their sheep are constantly here. Dismantling your home with your own hands under duress – in what world can that happen? This is our third deportation: 1948, 1967, and now, 2026. What can you do? That’s it. Our strength is gone.”  Ghawanmeh said with regret that his children didn’t want to leave. “The heart aches, the children are in bad shape. They grew up here. I also grew up here.” He said that the families cannot stay in the area.

In the face of Ghawanmeh’s regret, the salute for the “settler pioneers” in the Knesset hall last week is hard to watch. The audience applauded when the Bedouin community’s flight was mentioned. “I didn’t think we would leave,” adds Ghawanmeh, “but we left because of the settlers. If you touch a settler, you’re arrested. If you push a settler’s flock, you’re arrested. But a settler is allowed to do whatever he wants, and he is not arrested for anything. Security serves one side – the settlers’ side.”

This article is reproduced in its entirety