Long ago, in the years after the Second Intifada, funerals in the West Bank were often seen as a public display of resistance as much as a farewell. Armed groups would attend, hooded figures with semi-automatic rifles sometimes leading or accompanying the procession. Speakers blasted songs of defiance, and various factions vied to sponsor the martyr’s tribute. The deceased were swathed in colors representing the relevant flag, a ritual staged through compensation and pensions for relatives. Pain and loss flowed from these ceremonies, but so did anger, hatred, and a thirst for revenge.
Old rituals have not vanished entirely, yet they no longer dominate as they once did. At a Friday funeral in Aida, a refugee camp near Bethlehem encircled by an Israeli wall, there were no hooded men, no guns, no green flags. Instead, small Palestine emblems fluttered from nearby roofs, and neighbors whispered in the courtyard of a United Nations school, occupying plastic chairs with a shared sense of upset. Fear more than revenge hung in the air as the crowd offered prayers for the future, listening to the quiet voices of those nearby.
The mood was one of disappointment, worry, and concern for what lies ahead, says Enes Abu Surur, who runs a youth center in Aida offering art, sports, and education programs. He notes that the incident is seen by many as another act that underscores a broader fear: some perceive Israel as pursuing a form of ethnic cleansing against Palestinians, a reference to the Nakba that marked the 1947-1948 period and the upheavals that followed.
arbitrary violence
The funeral in Aida encapsulates a broader pattern in the occupied West Bank. Since October 7, when a devastating war erupted following a Hamas assault on southern Israel, Muhammad Ali Azia, a quiet student of promise, was shot in the chest as he looked toward the roof of his home. He was 17. A sniper from one of the Israeli watchtowers surrounding the camp fired, ending a life that observers describe as unpolitically active and not affiliated with any group. Neighbors in Aida remember him as someone focused on exams for university rather than politics.
His father, wounded in the chest himself, recounted the moment the ambulance was barred from entering the site. With his son bleeding, the father carried him in a neighbor’s car toward the hospital, only to have soldiers halt the vehicle, order everyone back, and later deliver the grim news that his son had died. The family was left to grieve while the search for his body continued, a distressing scene described by Abu Surur with a heavy heart.
That night, the ground shook with new violence across the West Bank. Raids, arrests, and house searches intensified, with footage of soldiers displaying harsh tactics on social media. By Ramallah’s health authorities, dozens were killed and thousands injured since October 7, and more than 2,600 people were detained. Some detainees are involved in politics, others have no political ties at all; families were pulled from their homes and held until inquiries yielded some form of surrender. Abu Surur explains how these actions ripple through daily life, destabilizing families and communities alike.
The war’s momentum also meant a broader clampdown that affected mobility: closures around West Bank cities restricted entry and exit for most residents, with only a small minority granted permission. The local economy buckled under pressure, with a significant share of jobs evaporating and projections suggesting further declines in GDP if the conflict continued. Estimates from the UN development system warned of a sharp contraction in Palestinian economic output, while the Israeli economy faced its own pressures amid the broader regional instability.
Disarmament of Palestinian groups
In Bethlehem and beyond, public sentiment shifted as people spoke of fatigue and hunger for a better future. Marwan Daud, a Bethlehem merchant, described how many residents felt they had little to lose if the conflict persisted and livelihoods did not improve. While a few cities such as Fetus, Tulkarem, Tubas, and Nablus showed pockets of armed activity, these were not the familiar patterns of the past. The Jenin Brigades, at times numbering around two hundred, and disciplined groups like the Lions’ Den in Nablus, emerged under heavy pressure from Israeli operations that repeatedly targeted camps in Jenin and Tulkarm.
The discontent with Palestinian political leaders runs deep. Mahmoud Abbas is often viewed by many as a collaborator in the eyes of some, while Hamas faced mixed views in Gaza until recently. Some observers argue that the group’s stance toward the conflict—seen by some as a tough stance against occupation—restored its credibility with a segment of the Palestinian population, even as broader support for violence remains a controversial issue. Political scientist Asad Abdulrahman notes that the public’s confidence in traditional paths has waned; people now perceive armed struggle as a potential means to achieve change when political avenues appear blocked. The sense of “open air prison” conditions, especially in refugee settlements where security forces are most aggressive, has intensified discussions about what the future should look like. Past nonviolent approaches, peace processes, and promises of Oslo’s peace became distant memories for many observers who feel abandoned by both regional powers and the international community.
The rise of disillusionment and the enduring sense of abandonment among the population have created fertile ground for new generations of activists and militants alike. Some observers emphasize that the lack of hope remains the strongest driver for the emergence of new figures who see force as the only lever left to influence change. The street, once a venue for demonstrations and nonviolent resistance, now often feels like a space where survival and dignity contend with the harsh realities of occupation and war.
In Aida and across the West Bank, the narrative of daily life during wartime continues to unfold. Families face unimaginable losses, while youths weigh their options between endurance and resistance. The region remains a focal point of international concern, with the human cost of conflict serving as a constant reminder of the fragility of peace and the enduring search for a future where people can live with dignity and security.