Ahmed shows off a wooden ladder in the backyard of his property like a naughty child. She admits to being photographed in exchange for hiding her real name, so that the Israeli army does not discover the secret that allowed her to leave the house for weeks without using the front door. It faces a road where you can see more soldiers than locals, more abandoned dogs than cars driving and an endless row of lowered commercial shutters. All shops there (about 500) have been closed by military order since the beginning of October. “The staircase saved me two problems: that the soldiers would not allow me to walk on the sidewalk and that a settler would attack me,” he says next to one of the numerous automobile workshops whose sign, in Hebrew and Arabic, he recalls that, before resembling a ghost city, Huwara was synonymous with commerce, as a place of passage. The road that Ahmed's house faces crosses the West Bank vertically, daily serving both locals and Israeli settlers, who in this area are particularly distinguished by their ideological-religious fervor.
In a West Bank based on separation (segregated roads, barriers to movement…), the main road of Huwara – south of the city of Nablus and with 7,500 inhabitants – is a strange point of confluence. In calmer times, both Jews and Arabs repaired their cars here because it was cheaper. It is now a hot spot in the conflict, even before the war in Gaza spilled over into the West Bank, unleashing three daily deaths of Palestinians, mass arrests, raids, riots, demands by Hamas and more restrictions on movement. Already in August, two Israelis were murdered in a car wash. The army arrested the alleged attacker last month (he has not yet been tried) and demolished his family home on Tuesday.
On October 5, just two days before the massive attack by Hamas, a far-right Israeli deputy stood – hyper-protected by soldiers – on that same road to set up one of the tabernacles for the Jewish holiday of Sukkot, while other ultra-nationalist settlers attacked businesses and They organized a Torah class. The provocation, in retaliation for an attack hours before, ended with people throwing stones at each other and a Palestinian being shot dead by a settler.
As on previous occasions, the army's response was collective punishment of Huwara. He ordered the closure of all businesses on the highway: gas stations, bakeries, workshops, grocery stores, restaurants. shawarma [sándwich típico de Oriente Próximo]…Also the shops to recharge your mobile card or purchase stone from a nearby quarry. “Our lives matter more than the freedom of movement (and trade) of Palestinians. We will continue telling this truth and working for its materialization,” said the ultranationalist Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben Gvir.
Already in February, dozens of radical settlers had recorded themselves praying with flames in the background after killing a Palestinian and setting fire to dozens of his houses and vehicles. Another minister of religious Zionism, Bezalel Smotrich (Finance), immediately defended “deleting Huwara”. But at the hands of soldiers, not civilians, he later clarified.
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Today, the 1,200 deaths from the Hamas attack on October 7 are felt on the nerves of the soldiers. It takes them no more than two minutes to break up any conversation on the sidewalk. You can still see the ruins of a pizzeria demolished for illustrating a Facebook ad with the image of an elderly Israeli woman who the militants had just taken hostage.
Ahmed, however, is happy, because it is Friday (the most important Muslim prayer day) and, for the first time since September, he can go to the mosque in the other part of the town. The prohibition on crossing the road has been lifted, although the blocking of almost all access from the side streets continues. The army maintains security barriers, large cement blocks or mounds of sand that force its inhabitants to take long detours that turn a journey of a few minutes into a journey.
His son Alaa returns from Nablus carrying plastic bags of diapers and food. He makes his purchases there – where the Palestinian National Authority (PNA) governs and there are plenty of open shops – taking advantage of the fact that he has permission to cross the military checkpoint because he works as a nurse at the city hospital. His children poke their heads through the bars of the windows. “They haven't been able to go out for weeks. It's not life. It affects their mood. And the same soldier as before [del 7 de octubre] “He played with them, now he points the rifle at them,” he says.
The military allows a school minibus to cross for the first time in weeks. They search him at the checkpoint, while in the other direction (towards Jerusalem) cars with yellow license plates (Israeli) and passengers dressed as the ultra-nationalist settlers who prevail in the area circulate without problems. As the West Bank is occupied territory since the Six-Day War of 1967, Palestinians are subject to military legislation and Israelis to their country's civil legislation.
The Armed Forces have opened their hand a little (50 shops on the road will be able to reopen) because the Minister of Transport, Miri Regev, inaugurated on November 12 a road only for Israelis, which stands on a roundabout guarded by soldiers. The settler leadership pushed for its construction for years due to the increase in attacks, to be able to circulate without encountering Palestinians. It serves the 8,000 inhabitants of four settlements associated with cases of violence against Palestinian civilians. The cost to the public treasury is 43,000 shekels (almost 11,000 euros) per settler, according to Israel's main peace NGO, Shalom Ajshav (Peace Now).
Now that they can use a first section, the settlers insist on using both. One of its activists, Rabbi Menachem Ben Shahar (who described in a video as “ethical and legitimate” to destroy all the houses in Huwara), believes that giving up the old road would give “a clear victory to the Nazi terrorists” in the town. . The army gave in after “strong pressure” under the authority of the representative of settlers in the area, Yossi Dagan, according to national television channel 14.
“They want to show presence, to show that they can go through this and keep the stores closed,” protests the mayor, Moin Dmeidi. He, on the other hand, had to coordinate for weeks with the Israeli military authorities to be able to move or for the baker to bring bags of pita bread to the homes. He measures his words because his situation is delicate: Huwara is in the West Bank area (B) with security under Israeli control and the day-to-day administrative activities of the ANP, according to the division established in the Oslo Accords (1993), as well who doesn't want to blow up the bridges.
“Now in theory we can move, but see? People don't go out. He is afraid. More from the settlers than from the soldiers, who also protect them. Also from the soldiers, who before you could even talk to and now you fear that they will shoot you,” says Murad Raziq Sharab, a 33-year-old mechanic who has lost his clients. All, he says, were Israelis. As he speaks, a group of soldiers approach in an SUV to make it clear that the talk cannot attract more people and that a group is formed.
These days, the dimensions of the carrot and the stick sometimes depend on the mood of the military guarding Huwara. “I could go downtown by car, but I don't dare. Sometimes they don't let me in and I'm always afraid that they won't let me go home,” says Alaa.
The situation destroys Huwara's pockets. It's noon and no one has yet entered the shop of sisters Jitam and Itab Ahmad Udi, they say without a trace of self-pity. “People barely have any money left for the things we sell,” says Jitam. They are cosmetics and plastic or paper gifts. Cheap, but expendable. Something similar happens to Suleiman Rami Odi, 28 years old. He shows a long list of names written in pen on white cardboard. “They are all the ones I trusted today. They'll give it to me. I can't charge them. These are people who earned about 2,000 shekels [unos 400 euros] and now he is not working.”
About three meters save the grocery store run by Karim Ahmed, 21 years old. He is on the “good side” of Huwara (the one not required to close), almost touching a yellow steel barrier that soldiers can climb to make way for the road. It hasn't happened since October 7th. The shelves are half empty and there is no tobacco left, as coveted among Palestinians as hummus itself with pita bread. “The suppliers don't dare come closer,” he justifies. “And the soldiers are not here today. When three or four are placed here next door, the customers don't come either.” Before the war in Gaza, he estimates, he made a cash amount of 4,000 to 5,000 shekels (1,000 to 1,200 euros); Now it is around 1,000 (250 euros).
Ahmed shows images from his security cameras on his cell phone. Three soldiers are seen entering the store, stealing some lighters from the counter and leaving kicking things. “Sometimes they take the tobacco without paying and you notice that it is not for the money. It’s because they can,” he says. “To show that they can.”
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