Here's a little article I wrote about a Palestinian village called Al-Walajah. The whole situation is a bizarre catch-22 that's resulted in mass arrests and house demolitions. Here's the article if you're interested:

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When Israelis expanded their borders after the 1967 war they annexed a substantial part of Al-Walajah, a Palestinian village between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Originally the addition may have been unintentional, as no one noticed it until the mid-1980s. However, after nearly two decades of harassment and demolition orders residents in Al-Walajah accuse Israel of trying to “silently transfer” them from their village.

Although Al-Walajah is technically part of Jerusalem, Israel has denied the villagers requests to be officially incorporated as part of the city or to return to Palestine. Israel also refused to issue the villagers Israeli IDs. This became a problem in 2004 when the Israeli police began arresting adult men in Al-Walajah, charging them with having an illegal presence in Israel. After about eight months, the Israeli Supreme Court ordered a stop to the arrest campaign.

Now house demolitions create the most difficulties. The Jerusalem Municipality claims that al-Walajah is not zoned for residential development so it rarely, if ever, gives residents building permits. If a villager builds without a permit he’s fined and whatever he constructed is demolished. About fifty-five homes have standing demolition orders and over twenty homes have been demolished, most after 1995.

Two years ago the Israeli government confirmed residents’ fears when it announced plans to create a settlement on Al-Walajah. The settlement, to be called Givat Yael would have 13,500 homes and link the Gush Etzion settlement to Jerusalem. Presently, the Israeli government has yet to take steps toward enacting this plan.

A small, but expanding village of about two thousand people, many residents say they have no choice but to construct homes with or without permits. Eissa Attrash shared one room of his father’s house with his wife and four children. “It’s not healthy to stay in a room like that,” he says.

So Attrash added a second floor to his parents’ home. Several times he tried to get the necessary permits, but was always denied. He even attempted getting a permit from Palestinian authorities, but they told him that he lived outside their jurisdiction.

A year ago he received a demolition order and a 26,600 NIS fine for building the addition without a permit. Israeli authorities have given him eighteen months to legalize his house.

Attrash and many of his neighbors are challenging the demolition orders in court. Nearly a week before their hearing on January 1, the court notified residents that the trial had been postponed indefinitely. With only six months left many of the residents feel that the Israelis create these delays to waste their little remaining time.

In the meantime, Attrash must pay one percent of the fine every month. While he tries to remain optimistic, he doubts that he can save his house. “In the end they will destroy the house on my account,” says Attrash.

Occasionally houses are destroyed before scheduled demolitions without any warning. Mahmoud Shihada was given eighteen months to legalize his house, but after two months Israeli bulldozers arrived. The demolition crew gave Shihada and his family thirty minutes to clear out their possessions and then destroyed the house. Two years later Mahmoud is still paying off the 18,000 NIS fine for building without a permit.

Uncertainty dictates the lives of those with demolition orders. At dinner Ata Al-Araj and his family debate why an Israeli police jeep visited the village three times that day. This often signals that the Israeli authorities are planning a demolition. The children wonder if demolition crews and police will block roads, inhibiting them from reaching school. Ata considers staying home from work in case they come for his house. Two days later the house next to the Al-Araj family is destroyed.

Despite these difficulties, most residents are determined to stay in Al-Walajah. Eissa Attrash says if the Israelis destroy his house he and his family will move into a cave where they used to raise goats.

Mahmoud Shihada still has a copy of the deed for the land he built his house on that Turkish authorities issued his family in 1874. Once he’s saved enough money he plans to rebuild his house on the site of his demolished home.

Almost everyone who builds a house in Al-Walajah understands the risk, but they see it as a necessary means of resistance. “To build a house is a way to defend my right to stay here,” says Al-Araj.

Others, like Mahmoud Shihada’s brother Ali, want to move on. “There is no chance in this country,” says Ali. He helped Mahmoud build his house that got demolished. When he and Mahmoud were unable to pay the monthly installment on their fine, Ali spent two weeks in jail and was fined 5,000 NIS. Even with a BA in accounting, Ali has only been able to find employment by illegally entering Israel to work construction. “This is no life,” he says. Now he studies English, hoping one day to move to the United States.

Even those willing to risk staying in Al-Walajah don’t imagine a positive outcome. “At the end of the tunnel there is no light,” says Ata Al-Araj.