I saw this documentary as part of the 2014 London Palestine Film Festival, followed by a talk with Eyal Weizman, the plucky architect who narrates the film. I learned a lot from his book Hollow Land: Israel’s Architecture of Occupation, for its critical overview of the slow, mundane, pre-meditated way that the occupation of Palestine has been orchestrated over time. The brief documentary, directed by Ana Naomi de Sousa, addresses and visualizes the more striking elements of the book. For example, Israel’s use of “Jerusalem stone” in building housing units in the settlements surrounding Jerusalem, to evoke the old city center of the iconic city. The architect knows these buildings are mostly made of concrete, the outside layer merely a facade. (An added tidbit from the book is that this stone is actually mined and manufactured in the West Bank.) The film explores how “Architecture is used by architects…as a weapon.”
Just past the edge of west Jerusalem a hill descends down into a small valley. Visible from the highway above, large crumbling houses casually dot the hillside, making up what was once the Palestinian village of Lifta.
Of the many villages that were cleared of their Palestinian population during the 1948 Nakba, Lifta is the only one not to have been completely destroyed or repopulated in subsequent years. It sits like a frozen moment in time, beneath the rumble of traffic taking cars to and from Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and West Bank settlements.
Arriving in Jerusalem from Ramallah, we walk from the bus station near the old city and half an hour through west Jerusalem: past the Mahane Yehuda market, down Jaffa street, past the Central Bus Station. After asking for directions, we are still not sure if we are on the right street, but we can see the village down to the left. “Okay, we just have to turn left at some point,” we conclude. But there is nowhere to turn left. Like Jerusalem does not want us to turn left. Finally we walk all the way back and try a different approach.
Eventually we find the small road that descends down. There is no sign except one small one when you are already there. We pass a construction site with rumbling bulldozers, perhaps a harbinger of Israel’s plans for the area. A 2004 plan calls for the construction of a luxury neighborhood in Lifta that would preserve some of the original structures, to be carried out by private developers. Of course, such a development would be for Israeli citizens and the upper classes that could afford to live there—not the Palestinians whose homes these once were.
We expected Lifta to be more difficult to find, that we’d have to walk through some forest until we finally came upon the ruins of a former home. But it isn’t, it is barely secluded, and once we figure out how to reach it, it is eerie how out-of-sight this place seemed moments before. But this is a different kind of invisibility. We descend down to a natural spring for which the village is known, and are a little surprised to find that it is not deserted but peopled by a group of ultra-orthodox boys in their underwear swimming around rather jovially. It is obvious that we are the only non-Jews (or at least, non-orthodox) and the only women, so they eye us with curiosity and a trace of suspicion.
We climb up to a crumbling house and hesitantly walk in. It is mildewy and cool, and the dark is a sharp contrast to the sun beating down outside. We are surprised to find a bed, a small table, some chairs—everything covered in dust. We have heard that these houses are frequented by drug users.
In a second, double-story house, the rooms are enormous. In the first room, the walls are plastered with newspaper, and there is a colorful mural depicting a bountiful horn of fruit with various pioneer-types painted around it, and Hebrew words scrawled across. An empty baby carriage sits idly. These are surely remnants from Israelis that have frequented the site, but they almost perfectly symbolize Lifta’s much longer history.
A large window looks out onto the valley and the settlement beyond. In a second room, a row of beds is to be found, with bedding in various states of disarray. I bring my camera to my face to take a picture of this absurd and somehow beautiful space, but my friend suddenly jumps back from the window with a start. “Let’s get out of here. Naked man!” Confused, we stumble back out into the sun. Apparently, a man entirely devoid of clothing had been staring up at us from outside. We want to follow the path in front of this house, that leads to other structures on this hillside, but the naked man is there, surveying us. He seems to be well aware we are exploring and intends to make us as uncomfortable as possible.
We decide to take a break by exploring the opposite hillside. Once there we look back and see a man enter one of the houses (Unsure if it is the same one as before). Moments later he emerges in full dress clothes, buttoning up a clean white shirt. He leaves the dilapidated building as if heading out to begin any normal day.
Whether our previous surveyor is still there or not, we decide to head back, determined not to let one silly man’s nakedness prevent us from exploring a stretch of land that belongs no more to him than it does to us.
In one house, the biggest we have been able to enter, a giant crater opens up in the middle of the floor. We stick to the edges, wondering how easily the hole was made, also awed by such a large space opened up by what seems to be a very small hole in the roof. I read later an account of a Palestinian from Lifta, who says that once the village was cleansed of its inhabitants, Israeli soldiers blew holes in the roofs of the houses to make them unlivable.
From a window, the newness of Jerusalem’s settlements seems so distant and yet we know it is close.
We head back towards the spring to eat our basic lunch of bread and hummus and tomato. As we sit, a very tall man saunters by with purpose, shirtless and wearing only long white cotton pants. As he passes I see his face, likely aged more than his actual years, and the stringy hair to his shoulders. Moments later, he stomps back, soaking wet from an apparent dip in the spring. Our heads turn as he squeaks by, and we watch as he disappears back towards the crumbling houses. If we didn’t know better, we might think this near-ghost town has its own cast of actual quirky ghosts.
Some historic sites have been preserved with intention, this one–by mere neglect, by a desire to forget. And yet the space is frequented both by Jewish Israelis wishing to assert their claim over the space, and by the undesirables of that same society, searching for respite from the gaze of their peers.
It remains to be seen whether Lifta’s stone structures and the history housed inside them will be appropriated or demolished under the guise of urban upgrading.
To learn more or get involved: http://www.liftasociety.org/
 Hasson, Nir. “Israel’s last remaining abandoned Arab village, Lifta, gets reprieve as judge voids development plans.” Haaretz. Feb. 7, 2012. http://www.haaretz.com/print-edition/news/israel-s-last-remaining-abandoned-arab-village-lifta-gets-reprieve-as-judge-voids-development-plans-1.411447
 Sherwood, Harriet. “The ruined village Palestinians will never forget.” The Guardian. 29 May 2011. http://www.theguardian.com/world/2011/may/29/ruined-palestinian-village-lifta-development
Hebron, the largest Palestinian urban center in the West Bank, is increasingly known as a contested and embattled space. It is unique in the occupied Palestinian territories because Israeli settlements have been established inside the city. Mundane violence and segregation are evident here, most starkly culminating in Shuhada Street, once a bustling Palestinian thoroughfare, now off-limits to Palestinians. Numerous international organizations have set up shop here to document daily human rights abuses, though they’ve had little success in holding settlers and Israel accountable to their policies. There are many tours one can take while visiting Hebron, which is almost always recommended to visiting internationals itching to get a feel for “the situation,” at odds with all liberal sentiments. These kinds of tours often use Hebron as an example of a particularly dire situation, where Israeli settlers have taken things to the extreme. And extreme examples abound, such as when the Israeli military recently detained a 5-year old Palestinian. But is Hebron an exception to the rule?
Like so many other Israeli settlements throughout the West Bank, settlements in Hebron’s city center were established with assistance from the Israeli army, in the 1970s. Currently there are about 500 settlers in Hebron, with about 2,500 to 4,000 Israeli soldiers stationed around the area to protect them. In 1994, New York-born Israeli settler Baruch Goldstein massacred 29 praying Palestinians at the Tomb of the Patriarchs. This is when Israel began limiting the movement of Palestinians in Hebron, supposedly to increase security (ha, ha). With the Oslo Accords, Hebron was divided into zones indicating various degrees of Israeli and Palestinian control, mirroring the division of the entire West Bank into Areas A, B, and C. Shuhada Street was completely closed off to Palestinians (except for residents of the street, but even they are limited in their access) with the outbreak of the Second Intifada in 2000.
According to B’Tselem, 304 Palestinian-owned shops and warehouses along the street were shut down, and Israel even turned the central bus station into an army base. This has completely stifled the Palestinian economy in this area, which is now known by many as a ghost town.
I have visited Hebron on three occasions. These photos are mainly from my second visit, in December of 2012, when I visited with two Americans, a Canadian, and a Palestinian. We arrived in the afternoon as the sun was setting.
Palestinian children play near their home on a route frequented by settlers descending toward Shuhada Street. A bit further down the hill, out of view, is an Israeli soldier stationed at a lookout to ensure the safe passage of settlers.
An abandoned car. I haven’t been able to verify this, but my guess is the painted signs on the post demarcate the safe route for settlers.
Walking down Shuhada street. Since Palestinians who do not have residency here are not allowed to walk down this street, our Palestinian friend had to leave us and loop around to meet us on the other side. We passed store after store that was empty and boarded up. The street is eerily quiet besides the occasional passersby, though we felt utterly exposed and watched.
Continue reading “A Showcase of Extremes: Shuhada Street and the Logic of Occupation”
It’s not a question to be taken for granted. If I had to give a short answer, I might say that Israel continues its occupation for land and resources—that it engages in what it knows to be a doomed “peace process” in order to eventually gain control over all of historic Palestine, “from the river to the sea”. At least, based on its actions, this is what Israel appears to be trying to do.
But there are continual and obvious contradictions in this idea. It is widely recognized among people educated in this topic that the longer Israel continues its occupation, the more it continues to build settlements throughout the West Bank along with infrastructure to serve those settlements, the closer it will come to having to deal with the 4 million+ Palestinians that inhabit the same space. Israel exhibits two conflicting desires: that for territory and that for a majority Jewish state. If Israel gains control over the entirety of historic Palestine, it will paradoxically lose its Jewish majority and thus its identity as a Jewish state.
So then how do we explain the current system? I recently read The Political Economy of Israel’s Occupation: Repression Beyond Exploitation, written by Israeli academic Shir Hever. I outline here some of the theories he describes that can be applied to the occupation of Palestinian land.
A great video of Hever speaking at King’s College London. He does not address the theorists discussed below in the video but his talk summarizes the main points of his book.
Continue reading “Why does Israel occupy Palestine?”
Battlefield terms such as strongpoint, advance, penetration, encirclement, envelopment, surveillance, control and supply lines migrated from the military to the civilian sphere… In the hands of Sharon, his followers and colleagues, architecture and planning were presented as a continuation of war by other means. The civilianization of military terms was to lead in turn to the militarization of all other spheres of life. War was only over because it was now everywhere.
Eyal Weizman, Hollow Land: Israel’s Architecture of Occupation, 2008.