Demolitions - Military order 1797

Ra-ta-ta-ta-tà.
The loud sound of a drill.
The first wall falls down.
The machine flakes against the next wall.
Ra-ta-ta-ta-tà.
Boom.
The concrete falls down with a thud.
Now a bed is clearly visible inside the rubble.
There are clothes which are waving on the terrace still upright.
A lot of clothes and tools some meters from the house.
Soldiers.

Every year, hundreds of Palestinian children are victims of the same situation.
Raids at home, also in the middle of the night, arrests, intimidations. Blindfolded and handcuffed, they are transferred to the police station for the interrogation, often subjected to violence along the way. Interrogated – some of them after a long transit, others without foods or water for hours, others sleep-deprived. Alone, without an adult they trust near them, and without the possibility to consult a lawyer. Often the children give a confession after verbal abuse, threatens, physical and psychological violence.

Beit Ijza – Living in a cage

Suleiman is silent while he is drinking his coffee, sitting on the steps of his house. He is looking at the cameras that monitor every centimetre of his house. The surveillance cameras point at the small corridor connecting the house to the iron gate, on the fence, and on the 6-meter wall which delimits the few dunums left to him. He looks at the cameras, oriented at those 2 meters distance between the fence and the settlement. Just 2 meters, which Israel wanted to reduce further to 60 centimetres, and that Suleiman has conquered, day after day.
He gazes at the houses of the settlement. The structures built continue to increase, becoming every day bigger. Or maybe it’s how he sees it: overwhelming, suffocating, all around what he calls home, but that seems more like a prison. Last night again, the settlers didn’t give them a break. They have launched some buckets of water on the freshly washed clothes off the line. It happens every day, the fence which divides them has very wide mesh, while the walls are low.

Ein Hajla – Stories of resistance

Mahmoud sits on the deck chair. Hafez prepares baba ganush and dinner with the few kitchenware they brought with them. As evening approaches, a little breeze rises. Mahmoud looks at the fire, deep in thought. That uninhabited place is the treasure chest of a history of resistance.
“The smoke bombs, the violence, the lined-up soldiers, the screams, the evictions. Do you remember Hafez?
But what days have been! You could feel it in the air that people were tired, ready for something big. What a crowd, and what dreams we had. Entire families had settled here, from all over the West Bank. All here. To claim the end of the occupation.
Do you remember how we took the soldiers by surprise? We set up tents not far from a military base. And we lived there for almost a week, hundreds of people. They succeeded to chase us, but we resisted with all our strength.
What does remain of those days? Where is the spirit that led us to fight here, united? "