After the ceasefire in Gaza, West Bank Palestinians face more Israeli barriers, traffic and misery

Palestinians lift their arms while leaving their home for safety as the Israeli army conducts a raid in the Nur Shams refugee camp near Tulkarem in the occupied West Bank on February 9, 2025 (AFP)
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Updated 10 February 2025
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After the ceasefire in Gaza, West Bank Palestinians face more Israeli barriers, traffic and misery

  • Israel intensified its crackdown on the occupied West Bank, ramping up raids against militants in the north of the territory and subjecting Palestinians in the area to the strictest scrutiny

RAMALLAH: Abdullah Fauzi, a banker from the northern West Bank city of Nablus, leaves home at 4 a.m. to reach his job by 8, and he’s often late.
His commute used to take an hour — until Hamas’ attack on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, after which Israel launched its offensive in the Gaza Strip.
The Israeli military also ramped up raids against Palestinian militants in the northern West Bank, and diverted its residents through seven new checkpoints, doubling Fauzi’s time on the road.
Now it’s gotten worse.
Since the ceasefire in Gaza between Israel and Hamas took effect, Fauzi’s drive to the West Bank’s business and administrative hub, Ramallah, has become a convoluted, at least four-hour wiggle through steep lanes and farm roads as Israel further tightens the noose around Palestinian cities in measures it considers essential to guard against militant attacks.
“You can fly to Paris while we’re not reaching our homes,” the 42-year-old said from the Atara checkpoint outside Ramallah last week, as Israeli soldiers searched scores of cars, one by one.
“Whatever this is, they’ve planned it well,” he said. “It’s well-designed to make our life hell.”
A ceasefire begets violence
As the truce between Israel and Hamas took hold on Jan. 19, radical Israeli settlers — incensed over an apparent end to the war and the release of Palestinian prisoners in exchange for Israeli hostages — rampaged through West Bank towns, torching cars and homes.
Two days later, Israeli forces with drones and attack helicopters descended on the northern West Bank city of Jenin, long a center of militant activity.
More checkpoints started going up between Palestinian cities, slicing up the occupied West Bank and creating choke points the Israeli army can shut off on a whim. Crossings that had been open 24/7 started closing during morning and evening rush hours, upturning the lives of hundreds of thousands of people.
New barriers — earthen mounds, iron gates — multiplied, pushing Palestinian cars off well-paved roads and onto rutted paths through open fields. What was once a soldier’s glance and head tilt became international border-like inspections.
Israel says the measures are to prevent Hamas from opening a new front in the West Bank. But many experts suspect the crackdown has more to do with assuaging settler leaders like Bezalel Smotrich, the finance minister and an important ally of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who has threatened to topple the government if Israel does not restart the war in Gaza.
“Israel now has a free hand to pursue what it has wanted to in the West Bank for a long time: settlement expansion, annexation,” said Tahani Mustafa, a senior analyst at the International Crisis Group. “It was considered a potential trade-off.”
Asked why Israel launched the crackdown during the ceasefire, the Israeli military said politicians gave the order in part over concerns that the release of Palestinian prisoners — in swaps for Israeli hostages held by Hamas — could raise tensions in the West Bank.
The checkpoints all over the West Bank, it said, were “to ensure safe movement and expand inspections.”
“Checkpoints are a tool we use in the fight against terror, enabling civilian movement while providing a layer of screening to prevent terrorists from escaping,” said Lt. Col. Nadav Shoshani, an Israeli military spokesman.
Life disrupted
To spend rush hour at an Israeli checkpoint is to hear of the problems it has brought — Palestinian families divided, money lost, trade disrupted, sick people kept from doctors.
Ahmed Jibril said not even his position as manager of emergency services for the Palestinian Red Crescent protects him.
“We’re treated like any other private car,” he said, describing dozens of cases in which Israeli soldiers forced ambulances to wait for inspection when they were responding to emergency calls.
In one case, on Jan. 21, the Palestinian Health Ministry reported that a 46-year-old woman who had suffered a heart attack in the southern city of Hebron died while waiting to cross a checkpoint.
The Israeli military said it was not aware of that specific incident. But citing Hamas’ use of civilian infrastructure like hospitals to conceal fighters, the army acknowledged subjecting medical teams to security checks “while trying to reduce the delay as much as possible in order to mitigate harm.”
The UN humanitarian agency, or OCHA, reported that, as of last Nov. 28, Israel had 793 checkpoints and roadblocks in the West Bank, 228 more than before the war in Gaza.
The agency hasn’t updated the tally since the ceasefire, but its latest report noted a surge in “suffocating restrictions” that are “tearing communities apart and largely paralyzing daily life.”
A bubble bursts
With its upscale restaurants and yoga studios, Ramallah gained a reputation in past conflicts for being something of a well-to-do bubble where cafe-hopping residents can feel immune to the harsh realities of the occupation.
Now its residents, struck in numbingly long lines to run simple errands, feel under siege.
“All we want to do is go home,” said Mary Elia, 70, stalled with her husband for nearly two hours at the Ein Senia checkpoint north of Ramallah last week, as they made their way home to east Jerusalem from their daughter’s house. “Are we meant to never see our grandchildren?”
Suddenly, her face contorted in discomfort. She had to urinate, she said, and there were hours to go before they crossed.
A national obsession
Roll down the window at a bottlenecked checkpoint and the same soothing female voice can be heard emanating from countless car radios, reeling off every Israeli checkpoint, followed by “salik” — Arabic for open — or “mughlaq,” closed, based on the conditions of the moment.
These reports recently beat out weather broadcasts for top slot on the West Bank radio lineup.
Almost every Palestinian driver seems able to expound on the latest checkpoint operating hours, the minutiae of soldiers’ mood changes and fiercely defended opinions about the most efficient detours.
“I didn’t ask for a Ph.D. in this,” said Yasin Fityani, 30, an engineer stuck in line to leave Ramallah for work, scrolling through new checkpoint-dedicated WhatsApp groups filled with footage of soldiers installing cement barriers and fistfights erupting over someone cutting the line.
Lost time, lost money
It was the second time in as many weeks that his boss at the Jerusalem bus company called off his morning shift because he was late.
Worse still for Nidal Al-Maghribi, 34, it was too dangerous to back out of the queue of frustrated motorists waiting to pass Jaba checkpoint, which severs his east Jerusalem neighborhood from the rest of the city. Another full day’s work wasted in his car.
“What am I supposed to tell my wife?” he asked, pausing to keep his composure. “This job is how I feed my kids.”
Palestinian trucks, packed with perishable food and construction materials, are not spared the scrutiny. Soldiers often ask truckers to pull over and unload their cargo for inspection. Fruit rots. Textiles and electronics get damaged.
The delays raise prices, further choking a Palestinian economy that shrank 28 percent last year as a result of punitive Israeli policies imposed after Hamas’ attack, said Palestinian Economy Minister Mohammad Alamour. Israel’s ban on most Palestinian workers has left 30 percent of the West Bank’s workforce jobless.
“These barriers do everything except their stated purpose of providing security,” Alamour said.
“They pressure the Palestinian people and the Palestinian economy. They make people want to leave their country.”


Palestinian citizens in Israel demand more security from violence

Updated 58 min 11 sec ago
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Palestinian citizens in Israel demand more security from violence

  • Protests and strikes are sweeping Israel over record levels of violence targeting the country’s Palestinian citizens
  • At least 26 people were killed in January alone, adding to a record-breaking toll of more than 250 last year

KAFR YASIF, Israel: Nabil Safiya had taken a break from studying for a biology exam to meet a cousin at a pizza parlor when a gunman on a motorcycle rode past and fired, killing the 15-year-old as he sat in a black Renault.
The shooting — which police later said was a case of mistaken identity — stunned his hometown of Kafr Yasif, long besieged, like many Palestinian towns in Israel, by a wave of gang violence and family feuds.
“There is no set time for the gunfire anymore,” said Nabil’s father, Ashraf Safiya. “They can kill you in school, they can kill you in the street, they can kill you in the football stadium.”
The violence plaguing Israel’s Arab minority has become an inescapable part of daily life. Activists have long accused authorities of failing to address the issue and say that sense has deepened under Israel’s current far-right government.
One out of every five citizens in Israel is Palestinian. The rate of crime-related killings among them is more than 22 times higher than that for Jewish Israelis, while arrest and indictment rates for those crimes are far lower. Critics cite the disparities as evidence of entrenched discrimination and neglect.
A growing number of demonstrations are sweeping Israel. Thousands marched in Tel Aviv late Saturday to demand action, while Arab communities have gone on strike, closing shops and schools.
In November, after Nabil was gunned down, residents marched through the streets, students boycotted their classes and the Safiya family turned their home into a shrine with pictures and posters of Nabil.
The outrage had as much to do with what happened as with how often it keeps happening.
“There’s a law for the Jewish society and a different law for Palestinian society,” Ghassan Munayyer, a political activist from Lod, a mixed city with a large Palestinian population, said at a recent protest.
An epidemic of violence
Some Palestinian citizens have reached the highest echelons of business and politics in Israel. Yet many feel forsaken by authorities, with their communities marked by underinvestment and high unemployment that fuels frustration and distrust toward the state.
Nabil was one of a record 252 Palestinian citizens to be killed in Israel last year, according to data from Abraham Initiatives, an Israeli nongovernmental organization that promotes coexistence and safer communities. The toll continues to climb, with at least 26 additional crime-related killings in January.
Walid Haddad, a criminologist who teaches at Ono Academic College and who previously worked in Israel’s national security ministry, said that organized crime thrives off weapons trafficking and loan‑sharking in places where people lack access to credit. Gangs also extort residents and business owners for “protection,” he said.
Based on interviews with gang members in prisons and courts, he said they can earn anywhere from thousands to hundreds of thousands of dollars, depending on whether the job is torching cars, shooting at buildings or assassinating rival leaders.
“If they fire at homes or people once or twice a month, they can buy cars, go on trips. It’s easy money,” Haddad said, noting a widespread sense of impunity.
The violence has stifled the rhythm of life in many Palestinian communities. In Kafr Yasif, a northern Israel town of 10,000, streets empty by nightfall, and it’s not uncommon for those trying to sleep to hear gunshots ringing through their neighborhoods.
Prosecutions lag
Last year, only 8 percent of killings of Palestinian citizens led to charges filed against suspects, compared with 55 percent in Jewish communities, according to Abraham Initiatives.
Lama Yassin, the Abraham Initiatives’ director of shared cities and regions, said strained relations with police long discouraged Palestinian citizens from calling for new police stations or more police officers in their communities.
Not anymore.
“In recent years, because people are so depressed and feel like they’re not able to practice day-to-day life ... Arabs are saying, ‘Do whatever it takes, even if it means more police in our towns,’” Yassin said.
The killings have become a rallying cry for Palestinian-led political parties after successive governments pledged to curb the bloodshed with little results. Politicians and activists see the spate of violence as a reflection of selective enforcement and police apathy.
“We’ve been talking about this for 10 years,” said Knesset member Aida Touma-Suleiman.
She labeled policing in Palestinian communities “collective punishment,” noting that when Jews are victims of violence, police often set up roadblocks in neighboring Palestinian towns, flood areas with officers and arrest suspects en masse.
“The only side that can be able to smash a mafia is the state and the state is doing nothing except letting (organized crime) understand that they are free to do whatever they want,” Touma-Suleiman said.
Many communities feel impunity has gotten worse, she added, under National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir, who with authority over the police has launched aggressive and visible campaigns against other crimes, targeting protests and pushing for tougher operations in east Jerusalem and the occupied West Bank.
Israeli police reject allegations of skewed priorities, saying that killings in these communities are a top priority. Police also have said investigations are challenging because witnesses don’t always cooperate.
“Investigative decisions are guided by evidence, operational considerations, and due process, not by indifference or lack of prioritization,” police said in a statement.
Unanswered demands
In Kafr Yasif, Ashraf Safiya vowed his son wouldn’t become just another statistic.
He had just gotten home from his work as a dentist and off the phone with Nabil when he learned about the shooting. He raced to the scene to find the car window shattered as Nabil was being rushed to the hospital. Doctors there pronounced him dead.
“The idea was that the blood of this boy would not be wasted,” Safiya said of protests he helped organize. “If people stop caring about these cases, we’re going to just have another case and another case.”
Authorities said last month they were preparing to file an indictment against a 23-year-old arrested in a neighboring town in connection with the shooting. They said the intended target was a relative, referring to the cousin with Nabil that night.
And they described Nabil as a victim of what they called “blood feuds within Arab society.”
At a late January demonstration in Kafr Yasif, marchers carried portraits of Nabil and Nidal Mosaedah, another local boy killed in the violence. Police broke up the protest, saying it lasted longer than authorized, and arrested its leaders, including the former head of the town council.
The show of force, residents said, may have quashed one protest, but did nothing to halt the killings.