It is easy to overlook the Palestinian town of Yanoun, southeast of Nablus in the occupied West Bank. With a population only nine families, roughly one-hundred inhabitants and a small cluster of old houses in the middle of a deep valley, it is not hard to miss. Yet town has a rich history and breathtaking beauty. Perhaps that’s why settlers have chosen to set up on the hilltops surrounding the village and attempted to force the residents out.
Starting in 1996, Yanoun came under attack from the fundamentalist Jewish settlers, whose buildings are now visible from most points in the village. The illegal settlement is known as Itamar. Its inhabitants are armed and make it clear they want the villagers out. The residents of Yanoun have suffered a number of violations, such as destruction of the town generator, having their land and animals stolen, beatings and harassment, the poisoning of livestock, destruction of olive trees, and having their homes broken into.
In 2002, the residents of Yanoun reached their breaking point, and the entire village packed up and fled to the nearby town of Aqraba . This was the first instance in which an entire Palestinian town was emptied due to settler violence. With the help of international and Israeli peace activists, who also moved to Yanoun for extended periods, the villagers eventually moved back.
I take a taxi from Huwarra checkpoint to Yanoun, passing through Aqraba on the way. When we finally reached the village, I become aware of how truly small the village is, giving me an almost overwhelming feeling of isolation.
International volunteers from abroad maintain a constant presence in the village’s international house. Currently, it is occupied by members of the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel (EAPPI). EAPPI sends a group of three to four people to Yanoun for a three-month stay in the village.
My stay, however, is for a much shorter period, four days. Upon arrival, I am quickly ushered into the international house. It consists of a room set up with four cots for sleeping, a common area, a bathroom and a kitchen. Supplies, like soap, cheese and olive oil are bought from the local villagers, helping to support the local economy.
Every morning the internationals take walks through the village as a way to increase their visibility. They walk down the one dusty road that connects lower and upper Yanoun. On my first day there, it is raining, but despite the weather, I head off for the morning walk with another volunteer. Walking through the wide-open fields and lush surroundings, it feels deceptively serene, making it easy to forget the violent threat lingering so close by.
This serenity quickly dissipates, however. Halfway done with our walk, we get a call from Johanna, the EAPPI volunteer in Jerusalem. She informs us that one of the settlers from Itamar settlement has been shot. Immediately, I am struck with a feeling of fear and anxiety. No one from Yanoun was involved, but I know that the settlers still may enter the village.
I begin to understand what life is like here, it’s not so much what happens on a daily basis, but the threat of what could happen. Johanna tells us to be extra alert and I tell her not to worry.
When I return back to the house for the afternoon, there is a knock at the door.
A small woman appears at the doorstep and is speaking very quickly in Arabic. The only word I recognize is ‘shai’, which means tea. We are being invited next door where three elderly women live and sell some basic items like milk and olive oil. They sit us down around a small fire for warmth. I try to speak to them in my broken Arabic and they seem amused, but not really sure what it is I’m saying.
A short time later, two children show up at our door, all they say is, “tomorrow at three” and point to their house just down the hill. It is clear that the villagers are grateful that the international community has cared enough to take action in Yanoun, even when the action is just to be there.
The next day, I, along with the other volunteers, show up at the house for tea. We are quickly brought inside. The house is very damp and the rooms are large, without any furniture. The living area has mats on the floor and a TV. The girl who had come to our house the previous day sits down and speaks English relatively well. She says she is in seventh grade and attends school in Aqraba. Her mother lives in the house too, but her father recently passed away. She tells us of instances in which the Israeli military forced her family out of their house and settlers threatened them. For a young girl living under such circumstances, she has a very cheerful demeanor.
Dinner is brought to us, rice, bread, tomatoes and olives. I try to learn everyone’s name, but I find them difficult to remember, as I have never heard them before.
In the morning, I see men herding their sheep through the town. I am told that a lot of farmers have trouble accessing their land and may need accompaniment.
Later in the day, I make a visit to the school. It is an old building, but has four computers, 15 children and two teachers. The school goes up to grade six, which is composed of two kids. The children peer at us from around the corner, eventually warming up and showing us their notebooks used to practice math and spelling. When I say I’m from Canada , the boys point it out to me on a map hanging next to the black board.
That evening I’m again reminded of the threat the settlers pose as they flash their searchlights into the valley. Stepping outside to get a better look, I see a car head down the mountain. Again, I am struck with fear for of the possibilities. The car disappears into the night and things remain quiet.
The power the settlers have over the village is as much about the perceived threat as it is about any actual harm or violence. Despite the picturesque nature of Yanoun, the tension and sadness is palpable. Given what they have endured, the warm nature of people living here is amazing.
Leaving Yanoun, I feel a strange mix of emotions. I’m glad to be leaving an area so remote and isolated, I’ve never been one for country living. Yet, I am touched by the warmth of the people who live in Yanoun. The villagers live under a state of constant threat, but they here have their homes, their land and their history; a history that now includes a violent struggle to keep their home.
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