BY EMMANUEL OGBONNA
The sense of fear in the Palestinian village of Turmus Ayya hangs over every harvested tree and every cautious step. Farmers hurry through their groves, glancing constantly toward the hillsides, afraid of what could happen if they linger. They avoid certain roads entirely. At any moment, they say, armed Israeli settlers could appear without warning.
“In minutes, they make their calls, gather, and ambush you,” said Yasser Alkam, a Palestinian-American lawyer and farmer from the village. “They hide between the trees. They surprise people and beat them severely.”
According to Alkam, Turmus Ayya has endured near-daily attacks in recent months. Much of the tension sharpened after settlers created a new outpost, which the monitoring group Peace Now says was built on village land. Alkam says he now cannot safely reach his own fields. One attack he witnessed left a Palestinian grandmother unconscious after a settler struck her repeatedly with a spiked club.
A Surge in Violence Across the West Bank
The fear felt in Turmus Ayya is echoed throughout the West Bank. During October’s olive harvest, settler assaults surged to an average of eight per day—the highest level recorded since the United Nations humanitarian office began collecting data in 2006. The violence persisted into November, with at least 136 additional attacks documented by the end of the month.
Settlers have burned vehicles, vandalized mosques, ransacked workshops and industrial buildings, and destroyed wide stretches of farmland. Despite growing condemnation from international observers, Israeli authorities have done little beyond issuing occasional statements criticizing the violence.
Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has insisted that the attackers represent only a small minority of the settler population. Yet the continued expansion of outposts, many erected in public view and with scant legal consequences, has deepened the sense of vulnerability for Palestinian communities living beside them.
A Brutal Attack on an Elderly Farmer
On Oct. 19, Alkam was driving through fields east of the village when he spotted an elderly woman, Afaf Abu Alia, picking olives. She comes from the poorer neighboring village of Al-Mughayyir, and was harvesting on land lent to her by Turmus Ayya residents after Israeli forces uprooted her own 500 trees earlier this year.
Her work came to an abrupt halt when she heard shouting. A group of settlers descended from the nearby road. One of them sprinted toward her holding a jagged wooden club.
“The monsters started beating me,” she recalled. Her memory of the attack grows hazy after the first blows.
Video footage of the assault shows a settler striking her repeatedly, even after she lay motionless on the ground. She spent four days in the hospital and required 20 stitches to her head.
The Israeli military said its forces and police had “defused” a confrontation involving Israeli civilians who were torching vehicles and using physical violence.
A Rare Indictment
Police later arrested a man, Ariel Dahari, and an Israeli court charged him with terrorism for the attack. Dahari is being represented by Honenu, a group that frequently defends settlers in legal disputes. He has received at least 18 administrative orders since 2016, including periods of house arrest and restrictions on his movement.
Palestinians and rights advocates say Dahari’s indictment is an exception, not the rule. Under the current Israeli government, they argue, prosecution of settler violence has become even rarer. Official police data cited by Israel’s Channel 12 suggests investigations have dropped dramatically—60 cases were opened in 2024, compared with 150 in 2023 and 235 in 2022.
Historically, only a small fraction of such investigations lead to convictions. Yesh Din, an Israeli rights group, reports that from 2005 to 2024, about 94% of police investigations into settler violence ended without indictment. Only 3% resulted in convictions.
Dahari has publicly stated his intention to remain in the West Bank and continue expanding settlements.
Outposts Tighten Control and Tension
Residents say violence is intertwined with the creation of the nearby outpost known as Emek Shilo, built this year on private Palestinian land, according to Peace Now. It was reportedly established by a well-known settler, Amishav Melet, whose social media posts display early construction at the site.
Villagers allege Melet patrols the valley in an all-terrain vehicle, often armed, watching their movements. Outposts like Emek Shilo typically begin as a small collection of structures but can quickly take on larger significance—restricting Palestinian access to land and water and sometimes evolving into officially recognized settlements.
One resident, Abdel Nasser Awwad, halted construction of a family home after the outpost appeared. Security camera footage he provided shows masked figures smashing his truck and damaging pipes at the building site. He says his workers have repeatedly been stoned.
When reporters visited Turmus Ayya, they saw groups of settlers and a tractor patrolling the area near the outpost, while drones circled overhead.
Melet, who has a prior conviction for assaulting police, denied all allegations of violence or extremism, describing himself as a “peace activist” and rejecting any criticism as part of a broader campaign against Zionism.
Palestinians Brace Themselves
In Turmus Ayya, villagers have created their own system to respond quickly when settlers arrive. A siren from the mosque alerts residents, and young men rush to the village entrance to protect families and elderly farmers.
During this year’s olive harvest, many farmers brought cameras into the groves, hoping that video evidence might finally hold attackers accountable. But they know the risks remain high.
Still, resilience persists. Abu Alia, the injured grandmother, said she refuses to be driven off her land.
“I’ll be back next year,” she said quietly. “No matter what they do, this is still our home.”
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