A Conversation with Tareq Hathaleen
Waiting for the bulldozers
The rooster crows at the break of dawn, and out of reflex we spring to attention and nervously survey the rocky hillsides of South Hebron looking for Israeli military jeeps. The picturesque nature of the landscape eludes us as we struggle to discern whether a home demolition will occur here today, or if we might catch an hour more of sleep. This is how mornings begin in the embattled Palestinian village of Um al-Khair — the act of enduring home demolitions thirteen times over the last few years has a way of stoking a sense of paranoia that is not easily escaped.
This paranoia is not just rooted in the trauma of having Israeli armed personnel invade and close off the entranceway into the village, or watching helplessly as they toss your few belongings out and bulldozers prepare to rip apart entire swaths of your village. Though this trauma is real and understandably affects the lives of these village residents, the paranoia in Um al-Khair is rooted in more than this ominous history.
“Sometimes I think the worst part of the home demolition isn’t the demolition itself. It’s the waiting,” said Tareq Hathaleen, 22 from the village of Um al-Khair. “They gave us a demolition order in the beginning of May this year. So since May, we go to bed at night wondering if this will be the last night we get to sleep in our homes and we wake up every morning wondering if we must quickly prepare for a demolition. Sometimes we just pray that they would come to destroy the homes — so we can just get it over with.”
Living with this trauma has layers of effects on an individual’s life. It can influence a person and alter the possibilities of their life. But when the trauma impacts a whole community and the entirety of the local family structure, the impact is dramatic.
I’ve known Tareq for about a decade. When we first met, he was about 12 years old and could barely speak English. Now, he is finishing up his degree in English Teaching Methods at Hebron University.
“I am a Bedouin. My family, which is part of the Jahalin tribe was forcibly evicted from al-Arad inside of Israel in 1948 — a land that we had lived on for generations. When we came here to Um al-Khair, my grandfather bought this land for 100 camels — basically everything he owned at the time. When we came here, and after Israel occupied this land with their military, that basically ended the way of our life,” said Tareq. “We, as Bedouins, are people who move place to place with our herds and live off the land. Now, we can’t go anywhere because of all the barriers. Now, when I talk to other Bedouins, they laugh at me when I tell them we don’t own camels and I don’t know how to handle one.”
Tareq talks at length about the ways his community has changed as a result of living under military rule. He says that he took it upon himself to pursue a degree in English not only so that he could tell the story of his village and talk about the injustice of living under a military occupation, but also to empower his community.
“We are a simple people. For generations, we’ve lived in tents and lived off the land. But now, I am going to school so I can teach others in our community to speak English so they can share their stories of living under Israeli military rule,” Tareq continued. “We had to leave behind a big part of our culture, just so we could pursue justice.”
Although the Israeli Civil Administration legally acknowledges the purchase of land by his grandfather, the fact of living next to an Israeli settlement — a settlement deemed illegal under both International and US law — essentially means that Tareq’s family has no legal right to develop their land.
“While our tribe has had many troubles and faced a lot since the Israeli army attacked us and drove us from our land, our family has had a really difficult time from about 1980 onward,” Tareq explained. “In 1980, that is when the Israelis confiscated this land next to us and started to build the illegal settlement of Carmel. At first, it was nothing. Now, look at it — it is a city. They even have their own chicken factory next door. Since the settlement was developed, our homes have been destroyed multiple times, we’ve been continually harassed by the military while shepherding our goats and sheep, and my brother is permanently disabled because he was attacked by a soldier and hit over the head.”
Tareq points out the disparity in the quality of life between the Israeli settler community and his own Palestinian community in Um al-Khair. The illegal settlement of Carmel enjoys electricity, clean running water, paved roads, access to public transportation, security services and access to the internet.
“For us, it is hard. We wonder where the justice is. Even their chickens next door enjoy air conditioning and fresh water, while for us if we try to dig a well — it could be demolished by the Israeli military,” he said.
Tareq admits that it is difficult to live life and deal with this imbalance. While he has dreams of employment and marriage, what he wants most is for those who come to his land to listen to his story and take action.
“For us, we are a simple people. We pray and are grateful for what the God has given us. The only thing that we want in this community is for those people who come here is to retell this story and stand up for justice in the best way they know,” said Tareq. “We don’t even expect them to be victorious. Because we know how hard it is to find justice. We only want them to try.”
I’ve been working on and off in the Holy Land since 2005. I’ve worked with ICAHD, DCI-Palestine, and HIRN and the Holy Land Trust. If you like my work and would like to contribute, and have an extra 10 dollars a month? Make a small contribution. You can also email me back at codyorourke@gmail.com.
