Residents of Masafer Yatta, a collection of villages nestled in the arid south Hebron hills of the occupied West Bank, face an escalating threat of expulsion as Israel’s military presence intensifies. Since 1981, this land has been used as a military training area known as firing zone 918. Since then, the government has repeatedly attempted to force out the nearly 1,200 residents who call it home. Two decades of litigation have not yet been able to save a single home from the wrecking ball. Recent administrative decisions have placed the community’s future in even greater jeopardy.
Besides the expansive military zones, Masafer Yatta is largely composed of limestone mountains that have long sheltered Palestinian families. The Israeli government’s choice to declare this land a military zone has been controversial for years. Humanitarian organizations have long contended that these firing zones are a convenient cover for the Israeli government to push out Palestinians and continue to expand Israeli settlements. Today, more than 18% of Area C—territories under full Israeli control—are declared by Israel as Closed Military Zones, preventing any civilian presence and infrastructure development.
In a shocking move in recent weeks, an Israeli professional body just directed. This is seen as the final step to remove all legal obstacles to evicting home demolition in Masafer Yatta. Legal experts and activists say this directive is a way to go around established legal precedent, which could hasten the bulldozing of entire communities. Residents walk defensively, immersed in the warning whir of cars speeding their way. Alongside community members, they learn to scan the horizon for Israeli bulldozers—harbingers of their impending displacement.
“Just mentally we are preparing for more demolitions,” said Ali Awad, a resident of Masafer Yatta. “There’s nothing more on the ground we can do, besides putting our words in the media so they can reach farther than we can scream.”
The fear of expulsion is further heightened by the violence they face from armed Israeli settlers who live within throwing distance of their homes. Residents take rotating shifts keeping guard at night, fearful that settlers will come to kill them when darkness falls. In late January, settlers burned Awad’s car. This vehicle proved indispensable in getting children to school and getting residents to legal hearings.
During the night of June 25th, settlers began targeting Nasser Shreiteh’s home in Susiya. It did start a fire that almost burned down his kitchen and a bedroom.
“When we saw the masked settler, we knew he wanted violence,” Awad recounted.
Now, residents are waging a desperate, last-ditch battle to remain on their land. They have been trying to overturn their military designation in Israeli courts since the day it was put in place. So far, their efforts have not produced positive results. In May 2022, Israel’s high court legalized the expulsion and dispossession of the residents. The court claimed that these people did not qualify as permanent residents prior to the firing zone’s creation, thus permitting the removal of people from their home so it could be converted to military use.
“We tried for many years to supply different documents and proofs and plans to the courts,” said Nidal Younis. “But after years of this, a commander in the army says no and that’s enough.”
The Israeli government’s conduct has prompted bipartisan condemnation from scores of humanitarian organizations and activists. Their defense includes claims that these measures are specifically intended to create systematic Palestinian erasure. Sarit Michaeli, a longtime expert on Israeli policy toward Palestinians with the group B’Tselem, said she was shocked by what’s happening.
“We don’t see any possibility of internal change within Israel to protect these communities,” Michaeli stated. “The only way to stop this is whether there is clear international action to clarify to Israeli policymakers that actions have consequences.”
The latest order from the Israeli civil military-run coordinating body has left these residents feeling cornered and without any alternative. It effectively eliminates avenues for legal construction or development within Masafer Yatta, making it easier for the authorities to demolish entire villages without regard for the community’s needs or rights.
“This decision was a clear way of cutting the last nerve of life that these people had,” Awad emphasized.
Today, residents hold out in their family houses while constantly looking over their shoulders at the threat of demolition soon arriving. Yet despite that crushing push to go, they don’t give up on staying.
“They want to evict everyone; they want everyone to disappear,” Shreiteh declared defiantly. “But I am here; if they burn my house down, I will stay here. I have no other place to go.”