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There is a palpable stillness in Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Streets that until recently were thronged with tourists and pilgrims are now largely empty, their cobbled alleyways deserted.

But this eerie silence reflects more than just the absence of tourism. Palestinian residents are staying indoors for fear of being shot or arrested. Meanwhile, armed Jewish settlers roam the hills surrounding the cities, asserting their presence with growing confidence.

As tension rises on the ground, political developments are adding fuel to the fire. On July 23, lawmakers in Israel’s Knesset passed a symbolic measure to “apply Israeli sovereignty” to the occupied West Bank.

Supporters said the move “will strengthen the state of Israel, its security, and prevent any questioning of the fundamental right of the Jewish people to peace and security in their homeland.” Two more votes are scheduled, but the effects are already being felt.

For Palestinians in the West Bank and East Jerusalem, the implications are not only political and economic, but deeply personal.

Bethlehem’s economy, like that of Jerusalem, depends heavily on tourism. With that income gone and prices rising, families are feeling the strain — made worse by the emotional toll of watching loved ones suffer in Gaza.

Many speak of a deep, gnawing guilt — being able to eat while friends and relatives in Gaza are starving.

That suffering casts a long shadow. A growing sense of powerlessness has taken hold — not only to protect one’s own family, but to help others. Prayers for a ceasefire are now laced with disbelief that the world has allowed the war to continue.

Even diplomatic gestures, like recent recognition of a Palestinian state by France, the UK, and Canada, offer little solace. For many, it feels like too little, too late.

Meanwhile, legal efforts have failed to stem the tide. On July 14, the International Court of Justice declared the Israeli occupation illegal. Days later, Israeli ministers Bezalel Smotrich and Israel Katz announced the construction of 22 new settlements.

Some 500,000 Israelis already live in settlements across the West Bank — home to around 3 million Palestinians.

Observers warn that this expansion signals more than just growth. It could block the last remaining path to a viable Palestinian state — a solution long considered the most realistic way to resolve the conflict.

In Jerusalem, the physical changes are already visible. Old properties are being torn down to make way for new roads, tunnels, and high-rises. The entire city and its surroundings are becoming a sea of concrete.

Outside the city, the pressure is even more personal.

One Palestinian man, currently in Amman, told Arab News that settlers are surrounding his village on the outskirts of Bethlehem. “They are circling and waiting to move in,” he said.

Soldiers have erected gates around the village and now control who can enter or leave. His parents say soldiers visit daily, asking about his whereabouts.

Two of his brothers and his 19-year-old nephew have already been arrested. The nephew remains in prison.

Despite his family’s pleas, he cannot stay in Amman indefinitely — his three-month residency is running out.

His story is not unique. Around Bethlehem, 65 new gates have been installed, further restricting movement.

Locals say the gates can be shut at a moment’s notice, making it impossible to attend weddings, funerals, or graduation ceremonies in nearby cities like Nablus.

Families divided between the northern and southern West Bank are increasingly cut off, as if the territory is being sliced like a cake, leaving only scattered crumbs for its original inhabitants.

One of the most notorious checkpoints is the “Container,” which sits astride the only road Palestinians are allowed to use to travel between north and south. It can close without warning, sometimes for something as mundane as a soldier’s lunch break.

A journey from Bethlehem to Ramallah, which should take under an hour, can stretch to nine.

Many Palestinians in the West Bank speak of a deep, gnawing guilt — being able to eat while friends and relatives in Gaza are starving.

Melissa Scott

The disruption has hit trade hard. Truck drivers transporting goods often avoid checkpoints entirely, using rough backroads that become muddy deathtraps in winter.

Delays aside, many travelers report being harassed or assaulted by soldiers. One female soldier stationed at the Container is described as particularly aggressive. “She even hits men,” one resident told Arab News.

Locals refer to her as “Falasha” — a term once used for Ethiopian Jews, now widely viewed as pejorative.

Checkpoint closures can leave entire villages sealed off for days. Residents say that “all they can do is put their feet up, sometimes for days, and wait for the gates to reopen.”

Access for emergency services is also restricted. On July 24, Israeli forces shot and killed two Palestinian boys, aged 15 and 17, in a village near Bethlehem. The military said the teens were throwing Molotov cocktails.

Medical sources said an ambulance was blocked from reaching the scene. Locals said the boys’ bodies were taken away in military vehicles, leaving families in limbo.

The Israeli army insists its operations in the West Bank are a response to the threat from Palestinian militants.

Since Oct. 7, 2023, 12 Israeli soldiers have been killed in attacks in Israel and the West Bank — five of them during counterterrorism operations. At least 35 Israeli civilians, including settlers, have also been killed.

However, the vast majority of West Bank casualties have been Palestinians.

Meanwhile, rights groups report more than 18,500 arrests since October 2023 — including 570 women and 1,500 children.

Israeli raids on refugee camps continue, often before dawn. Soldiers storm homes, break down doors, and detain suspects.

Prisons are overcrowded. Former detainees often return emaciated, covered in scabies, and physically or mentally scarred.

Meanwhile, Israel’s use of drones has escalated sharply. Once used for observation, drones are now deployed for intimidation and targeted strikes — hovering over Jenin, Nablus, Tammun and beyond.

One woman told Arab News the drones “can listen and talk to you.” She described a drone reportedly descending near an elderly couple in Lebanon and saying: “Is that Nescafe you’re drinking?”

Other accounts are more sinister. Some say drones in Gaza broadcast the sound of a crying baby — then fire at those who rush to help.

In Bethlehem, the psychological strain is growing. One mother described how her daughters, hearing strange sounds, ask if they are air raid sirens from nearby settlements. But there are no bomb shelters for Palestinians in the West Bank — only for settlers.

Mothers urge teenage sons not to leave home. Those who do are told to shave — in hopes of looking younger and avoiding detention.

In one case, a student heading to university was ordered off a bus and told to change his green T-shirt, as the color is associated with Hamas.

Access for aid workers is also being curtailed. In July, Israel denied a visa renewal to Jonathan Whittall, a senior official from the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs.

From checkpoints and gates to drones in the sky, many Palestinians in the West Bank say they are living under constant surveillance, confinement, and uncertainty.

They wait — for checkpoints to open, for word from prison, for violence to ease. But above all, they wait for a future that feels more distant with each passing day.

(Special to Arab News)

• Melissa Scott is the founder of the Bethlehem Cultural Festival @melissalawday