The Israeli occupation's attempts to empty the Khan al-Ahmar area, east of occupied Jerusalem, were not merely administrative procedures; they reached the point of offering huge financial incentives and offers of foreign nationalities to the residents. Citizen Eid Khamis Jahalin, one of the dignitaries of the area, recounts the details of his summons to meet Israeli officers who offered him millions of dollars in exchange for signing an evacuation of the Bedouin communities, which was met with a categorical refusal based on the legacy of five generations who have inhabited this land.
In a serious legal development, sources in the Jerusalem Governorate revealed that the occupation authorities had deposited a new settlement plan known as the 'Shami Neighborhood'. This project, deposited in late March 2026, aims to transform about 170 dunams of Abu Dis town lands from their agricultural and pastoral character into a crowded urban residential neighborhood, in preparation for the forced transfer of Bedouin community residents to it and the dismantling of their social structure.
The Israeli plan aims to impose an urban density of up to 12 housing units per dunam, with buildings reaching six stories high. Local sources confirm that this urban pattern is completely incompatible with the nature of Bedouin life based on grazing and open spaces, describing the proposed units as 'cement boxes' aimed at killing their cultural and economic identity.
The 'Shami Neighborhood' project is organically linked to the larger settlement plan known as (E1), through which the occupation seeks to connect the 'Ma'ale Adumim' settlement with the city of Jerusalem. This geographical link will practically separate the central and northern West Bank from its south, undermining any future opportunity for a geographically contiguous Palestinian state, and making Khan al-Ahmar the last stumbling block before this project.
In the context of political escalation, Israeli Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich issued a decision this May to uproot 26 Bedouin communities inhabited by about 4856 Palestinians. The decision includes the forced transfer of these residents to specific areas in Al-Eizariya or Nuweima near Jericho, in a systematic ethnic cleansing campaign aimed at full control over the Jerusalem wilderness and expanding settlement influence.
Amidst this siege, daily stories of resilience led by women and youth in Khan al-Ahmar emerge to preserve their survival. Nisreen Jahalin, a university student from the village, transformed her modest home into a classroom to provide free lessons for children, in an attempt to compensate for the severe shortage of educational services and the psychological pressures imposed by the occupation and settlers on the younger generation in the area.
The 'Tire School', built in 2009 from mud and car tires, is a symbol of Palestinian defiance in the face of continuous demolition orders. Today, about 170 students in this school cautiously watch the horizon, fearing the arrival of occupation bulldozers that threaten to turn their only educational edifice into rubble, as part of the policy of ignorance and displacement pursued by the Civil Administration of the occupation army.
Residents describe the living reality in Khan al-Ahmar as 'clinical death', as the area lacks the most basic health and essential services. The only health clinic lacks medicines and equipment, and the doctor only visits twice a week, making emergencies and births risky ventures, especially in light of military checkpoints and repeated settler attacks.
Since 2018, the occupation has classified the Khan al-Ahmar area as a closed military zone, tightening the noose on the movement of residents and their livestock, which represent their only source of livelihood. These measures coincide with the escalation of attacks by settler 'hilltop youth' groups, who practice daily terror including stealing sheep, shooting, and physical assault on shepherds under the protection of occupation soldiers.
In the face of this existential threat, the twenty-six Bedouin communities have developed an internal solidarity system and an early warning network to alert each other to any suspicious movements by the occupation or settlers. This social cohesion has become the only safety valve for residents who feel let down by international institutions, whose actions they describe as 'symbolic' and not commensurate with the crime committed against them.
Hajj Muhammad Ibrahim, a resident of the area whose ancestors were displaced from the Negev in 1948, confirms that the idea of leaving again is not in the residents' dictionary. He says that staying under the sun and in the open is easier for them than moving to 'cement cemeteries' next to landfills, emphasizing that Khan al-Ahmar is the first line of defense for the Arab identity of Jerusalem.
Technical reports indicate that the residents of Khan, through specialized engineers, submitted more than 17 organizational plans to develop their village in its current locations since 2013. However, the occupation authorities rejected all these plans without discussion, proving that the primary goal is not 'urban development' as the occupation claims, but rather control over the land and emptying it of its original owners.
The battle in Khan al-Ahmar goes beyond housing; it is a struggle over narrative, history, and the Bedouin identity that the occupation is trying to erase. Residents believe that their forced transformation from Bedouin life to an urban lifestyle is an attempt to kill their spirit of resistance and resilience, and to turn them into cheap labor in settlements after losing their livestock and pastoral lands.
In conclusion of their message to the world, the residents of Khan emphasize that the will to survive is stronger than political decisions written on paper. They affirm that the fall of Khan al-Ahmar necessarily means the fall of the eastern gate of Jerusalem and the liquidation of the Palestinian cause in its cradle, which drives them to cling to every stone and tent in the face of the Israeli war and displacement machine.
A Bedouin in the desert is like a fish in water; if you take it out, it dies. Our displacement attempts are an execution of a way of life and an identity deeply rooted in history.




