In an abandoned place within the occupied Palestinian territories, a grim reality unfolds. A harsh crackdown and a mounting sense of urgency have arrived in Gaza and beyond as October 7 marked the start of a brutal assault that affected thousands of Palestinians. In Hebron, a city about 30 kilometers south of Jerusalem, an order brought a curfew to 11 neighborhoods in the H2 district. Since then, thousands of residents, including about 750 families, have found themselves confined to their homes, living under the constant threat of soldiers and settlers. One resident, Ahmed Azza, a 24-year-old barista from the Tel Rumeida neighborhood, described the daily fear and the pressure to abandon their homes so radical settlers might take over. He insisted that they will not leave, even as the situation grows more perilous. He lives on the edge of an illegal settlement built on a hill and continues to witness the escalating tension.
Hebron has long stood as a stark symbol of segregation and control, with observers noting what they call a de facto apartheid in the occupied West Bank. Dror Sadot, spokesperson for the Israeli human rights organization B’Tselem, condemned the sanctions and described the pressure that has intensified since October 7 in the city of Al Jalil, the Arabic name for Hebron. Since 1997, roughly 215,000 Palestinians have remained under the protection of around 650 Israeli soldiers as 850 radical Jewish settlers operate in the area. Although the West Bank’s largest city is partially governed by Israeli authorities, it remains one of the most tense parts of the occupied territories. Sadot highlighted that no other Palestinian city has seen a similar presence of radical settlers.
Recently, observers say these settlers have reshaped their actions. The national security minister, Itamar Ben Gvir, was cited by Azza as having supplied them with weapons and uniforms, intensifying a sense of militarized occupation. Azza recounted multiple nightly door knocks and described a reality where settlers act with impunity, effectively denying protection to Palestinians. Checkpoints, now ten in number, punctuate the city’s streets and hinder daily life, tearing apart the economy. Before October 7, these checkpoints stood as symbolic borders; now, they resemble guardposts controlling access in and out of neighborhoods.
“It needs to be underground,” remarked Bassam Abu Aisha, a 60-year-old taxi driver and longtime Tel Rumeida resident who has watched the city shrink around him. He carries his ID on him constantly and has taken part in organizing defense for his neighbors on numerous occasions. A few days prior, a young soldier pointed a rifle at his forehead, and the bullet jammed in the barrel, a moment that underscored the constant danger. The sense of living in a continuous siege has become a grim norm for many residents.
After weeks of confinement, basic supplies began to run low. Food dwindled, water grew scarce, and medicines disappeared. The arid landscape became harsher as those who were away from the neighborhood when curfews began sought shelter wherever possible, including with relatives and in private homes. Authorities later allowed limited openings of checkpoints—one hour in the morning and afternoon on certain days. For those who arrive even a minute late, entry might be denied; some people found themselves sleeping at the gates in the hope of a chance to return home. Abu Aisha remains unsure whether he will be able to sleep in his own bed again as he speaks.
“It’s collective punishment”
Speaking through the accounts of residents and human rights observers, it is described as collective punishment because the entire population is subjected to curfews. A spokesperson for B’Tselem condemned the approach, noting that both young and old have become targets of violence and intimidation. Yet many residents have begun to find new ways to resist. When cameras were once tools of documentation and protest, the present reality makes that effort far harder. Yet some residents still see resistance in simple acts of staying indoors and documenting what happens, while others join family groups to maintain a sense of solidarity amid fear. The situation has created a fragile resilience among those who refuse to abandon their homes or their city.
Palestinians in Hebron face fragmentation and isolation, with new forms of resistance emerging among youth who live in the northern parts of the occupied West Bank. The odds remain heavily stacked against them, and the perception that the occupying power can act with impunity weighs on every decision. Many describe a future with little hope, acknowledging the daily risks of arrest or harm while trying to secure a sense of normalcy for their families.
Parents and elders alike emphasize the desire for peace and a life free from fear. Community members voice a longing to live without checkpoints, without armed soldiers patrolling the streets, and without the constant threat of violence. They dream of a day when children can attend school or university without disruption, and when daily routines can resume in a way that resembles a dignified life rather than an existence defined by siege and restriction. In the meantime, residents continue to cope with the reality they face, holding onto the hope that international attention and dialogue may bring relief and a path toward lasting security for all in the region.