West Bank: Walls, Warnings, and a Long Wait

 



The West Bank isn’t just another disputed patch of earth on a map.
For Palestinians, it’s the core of what their state would be. For a lot of Israelis on the political right, it’s something else entirely — an inheritance from scripture, not to be given up.

That difference plays out in everyday scenes. In Hebron, soldiers closed an entire market so a group of Orthodox Jews and settlers could walk to a holy site. Screens went up. Doors shut. Locals stood aside. One man muttered that the last time something like this happened, a boy ended up dead.


Military Areas That Appear Overnight

Hebron is technically “Area A” under the Oslo Accords, meaning the Palestinian Authority should be in charge. On the ground, the picture is different. Soldiers are everywhere. Settlers too.

And now, since the October 7 Hamas attacks, iron gates have sprung up like weeds. In Al-Maggaya, I saw soldiers fitting another one. No explanation, just: “Military territory. Turn around. Camera off.” That was it.

Once that phrase is used, you’re done.


Land That Slips Away

The story repeats itself all over: a flag, a tent, a few caravans. Months later, there’s a permanent settlement connected to Israel by roads Palestinians can’t use.

Muhammad Robin knows the routine. His family planted olive trees here in 1952. One morning settlers moved in, and now he can only look at the groves from a far hilltop. Walking straight to them isn’t an option. You risk running into armed men who won’t say who they are.


Two Narratives, Same Ground

In another part of the West Bank, I met Daniel Winston, originally from Chicago, now more than 25 years here. He calls it Judea and Samaria.

“There was never a Palestinian state,” he told me. “And letting one exist here would put us in danger.”

For Daniel, the land is theirs by ancient right. For Palestinians, that position erases their existence.


A Funeral Under Orders

In Umar Alia, 35-year-old Auda Athleene was shot dead, allegedly by a settler. People gathered to mourn. Soldiers declared a closed military zone. Ten minutes to leave or face arrest.

Israeli activist Yehuda Sha was blunt:

“Rights for one group of people here — that’s apartheid. Without real consequences, this will escalate.”

Two activists ended up in handcuffs before the cordon widened again.


Fences and Fire

In Sinjel, population 8,000, a five-metre fence now seals off one side. Since October 7, the main gate has stayed locked. Cameras watch constantly.

Mayor Mutaz Toua showed me a video: settlers raiding a farm, torching the building, then herding away livestock.

“If you walk toward them, they’ll come for you,” he said.

Further north in the Jordan Valley, you find the same picture — burned-out Palestinian villages, abandoned after attacks.


The Map Keeps Changing

Britain has hinted at recognizing Palestine as a state. Former Israeli minister Yossi Beilin, who helped design the original peace plan, says a two-state solution is still the only road out.

“Otherwise, we’re doomed. It’s the only way for Palestinians to achieve self-determination and for Israel to stay Jewish and democratic.”

But the ground tells a different story: more fences, more gates, more land gone.

The West Bank’s hills and valleys haven’t changed. The rules for who can walk them have.


Credit: Based on reporting by Sky News — “Armed settlers and segregation: Inside the West Bank” (YouTube link).

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