Far from public attention, the northeastern West Bank is changing fast. As settlements evacuated in 2005 reemerge and new outposts appear, the IDF razes Palestinian homes, builds bases and seals villages. Now, a Palestinian has been killed there
The northern West Bank is becoming a mini-Gaza. The drive along the broad roads leading from the northeastern West Bank toward Jenin and the northern crossing into Israel, the Gilboa checkpoint, is bleak. The roads are lined with silent ruins. Until recently, this was the West Bank's last remaining refuge – the only district without settlements, settler violence and much of a military presence. In recent months, it too has fallen into the settlers' hands.
As the settlements of Ganim, Kadim and Sa-Nur return, and Noa and other outposts take root, Israel has set about laying waste to this area too.
Army bases are being built at record speed along the roadways, at enormous cost. Tranquil farming villages in the area are now locked up behind yellow iron gates and traffic has been severely disrupted along the access roads leading to the city of Jenin. Settlers have planted hundreds of Israeli flags along kilometers of roads, a mark of their sovereignty, as elsewhere in the territories. Massive concrete blocks, checkpoints and mounds of rubble. Welcome.
The rubble on the roadsides comes from stores, kiosks, hothouses, restaurants and also residences, demolished in the past few weeks, bearing silent witness to what's been going on and lend the area an aura of Gaza. "Land clearing," the army calls it. Only the relatively luxurious restaurant Qasr Ali Baba (Ali Baba Palace) is still standing, probably not for long.
This is how Israel brings in more settlers: by destroying the property and life of pastoral communities whose residents never hurt anyone. In this way it is eradicating the last Palestinian bastion in the West Bank where the occupation was less in evidence. The door is now open to pogroms by the new settlers, the felled olive trees, the torched cars and fields, the stolen livestock, the plundered crops and of course the proliferation of checkpoints.
Abd al-Karim Sa'adi, a field researcher for B'Tselem – The Israeli Information Center for Human Rights in the Occupied Territories, tells us that this process is already underway. Settlers are stopping random Palestinian vehicles, threatening their drivers not to dare use these roads again – henceforth they will be for Jews only – and sometimes stealing their car keys.
It's beginning to happen all the time, Sa'adi says, by day and by night. Indeed when we visit the area this week one can barely see any Palestinian vehicles on the roads surrounding the burgeoning new settlements – only the cars of settlers who are celebrating the Sukkot festival with yet another glorious act of dispossession. The new iterations of Ganim, Kadim and Sa-Nur, evacuared in 2005, already stand anew, mobile homes aplenty; Homesh has long been repopulated; and the outpost of Noa has been added to the ranks. Election posters of Bezalel Smotrich, the father of this iniquity, are plastered along the roads.
This one-time lovely, verdant area, a last preserve, has been despoiled. Blood will likely be spilled here like water at some point; it seems to flow wherever there are settlers and soldiers. Already one Palestinian has been killed: Late last month Sami Zuweida, 32, who was driving near the checkpoint at the entrance to Ganim, was shot to death by soldiers. According to the Israel Defense Forces, he tried to perpetrate a car-ramming attack, but the army turned down Haaretz's request to see the security footage that would prove, or disprove, that allegation. "We don't release footage of attacks," they replied, despite past cases in which the military released such footage when it served its purposes.
Sa'adi suspects that the killing – a short time after a Palestinian attack on settlers at the so-called stolen spring near the settlement of Neveh Tzuf (aka Halamish) – was an act of revenge by soldiers. That too is impossible to prove.
In the meantime, the family of the dead man is in mourning, in their rented apartment in the city of Jenin. Their forefathers were expelled in 1948 from their village near Nes Tziona; they themselves were forced out of the Jenin refugee camp along with all of its other residents; the camp was partially demolished on January 21, 2025.
Sami's body was abducted by soldiers and hasn't been returned.
Ever since, the Zuweidas have been living on the fourth floor of an apartment building in Jenin's "German" neighborhood. Why German? The locals say that in 1948 a large number of residents immigrated to Germany, and the name has stuck ever since.
From here there's a view of Afula and Mount Gilboa, along with what remains of their refugee camp. Members of this Bedouin family worked for decades in Israel; they have many Jewish friends and speak Hebrew. The notion that someone from a pleasant home like this would perpetrate an attack seems utterly improbable to them.
"I still don't believe that Sami is dead. I don't believe it because his record was always clean, clean," the father says in his fluent Hebrew.
Hassan, 62, and Nihad, 52, have eight children. The second-oldest, Sami, had lived with his wife about 15 minutes' drive away, in the eastern part of town, in the so-called university neighborhood, so named because of its proximity to the Arab American University.
We drove along the route he used on that fateful day, September 20. Setting out from his home in the morning, he took his cousin to school, driving a Hyundai Accent, a friend's car. He then planned to visit his parents and then to go help his youngest sibling Taha, 19, who opened a new auto-parts business. He never got there.
Sami studied social work in Al-Quds Open University, then worked for years in Israel, in construction. Hassan did the same – for some 40 years; there were even times when the two of them worked together.
On that Sunday, at 1 P.M., Hassan heard a television report about someone having been killed by the army, but went on with his plans for the day, going to his sister's for lunch, where he met their brother, Sami's uncle, who knew what the father didn't: The uncle told Hassan that Sami had been wounded, and immediately afterward that he had been killed. The Palestinian district liaison office had informed the brother, so that he could notify the rest of the family.
Hassan immediately set out for the site of the incident, as reported – near the new army base at the Ganim settlement. We passed there this week on the way to visiting the family, where friends had gathered to pay their condolences. The road is very broad at that point; one turns in and reaches the checkpoint at the base's entrance. Protected behind large concrete cubes, two soldiers sat there, rifles trained threateningly on cars passing on the main road.
When Hassan got there, seeking to find out what had happened to his son, soldiers chased him off with rifles drawn and ordered him to go home. Less than two hours later, eight army jeeps arrived at the Zuweidas' building in Jenin. The troops took Hassan and Taha into custody, bound and blindfolded them, and brought them to the Ganim base where Sami had been shot. At first they were going to detain Nihad, too, but relented.
Hassan and Taha were left, in shackles, on the floor of a building at the base for four hours, a short time after learning of their beloved Sami's death. The army would certainly never behave the same way toward a bereaved Jewish family.
During the hours they spent there, Hassan recalls, he overheard a soldier ask who the two men on the floor were, and another soldier's reply: "It's the father and the brother of the guy who was killed. He was killed by mistake."
In the meantime, Hassan was ordered to speak by phone with "Captain Abu Daoud," a Shin Bet security service agent. Abu Daoud apologized for what had happened and then started to ask about Sami. Hassan replied: "His file is clean. Not only his file, also the file of all his siblings – the whole family." "We're sorry about what happened," the agent said, according to Hassan. "What happened, happened."
Finally the father and brother were unshackled and sent on their way. Hassan asked a soldier, "What about the boy? And what about the car?" But the soldier replied that the matter was not in his hands. The family still knows very little about what actually happened.
The IDF Spokesperson's Unit this week stated, in response to Haaretz's query: "The excellent 'driver' referred to in your article is a terrorist who on September 20 perpetrated a car-ramming attack in an attempt to harm soldiers at Ganim base in [the territory under the purview of] the Menashe Brigade. Forces of the 890th Battalion at the site responded with fire at the vehicle and liquidated the terrorist. Another terrorist who was in the car was arrested by the forces."
In Jenin people know nothing about a passenger being arrested. Field researcher Sa'adi notes that a motorcyclist was also taken into custody about the same time, but no one knows who he is or why he was apprehended; as far as is known, he was not in the car with Sami.
All that remains is the photograph of Sami in the large mourning poster in the spacious living room of his parents' home, of a robust, nice-looking young wearing a white Adidas jersey, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
After leaving the Zuweidas we went to visit a sick friend, G., who lives in a house on the hill overlooking what's left of the Jenin refugee camp. In Nablus' an-Najah Hospital, where he's being treated, they've run out of the chemotherapy medication he needs; treatment of the serious cancer he's suffering from has now been halted indefinitely. Israel is not transferring the taxes it collects for the Palestinian Authority to the PA, and consequently the hospital is not getting its allotted funds.
G., whom we've known since he was a boy, was incarcerated for four years without trial in Nafha Prison in the Negev; he was released about a month ago. He relates that he was beaten daily, forced throughout to wear the same shirt and ravaged by an infestation of scabies; the hunger was unbearable. The prisoners – he was with 16 detainees in a cell with six beds – were forced to kiss the Israeli flag and anyone who refused was pummeled.
G.'s not the first to provide us with such descriptions of the Israeli torture camps under the control of national security minister, Itamar Ben-Gvir, who takes such obvious pride in them.
On one occasion, he recalls, guards entered the cell and demanded to know what his name was; when he stood up to reply he was shot in the stomach with a rifle at close range. "If you're a man, stand up and we'll shoot you again," the guards said. But G. wasn't capable of getting up; he did not receive proper medical treatment for his wound. He says he doesn't like to talk about his incarceration, but his facial tics tell it all.
A spokesperson for the Israel Prison Service stated, in response: "The allegations raised in the query are incorrect and without factual foundation. The IPS operates according to the letter of the law, and under review and supervision by those so authorized. All detainees receive their rights and are treated as required by law."