The Custom-Made Single-Family Ghetto, Courtesy of the State

Omar Hajajla, 55, his wife, and their three sons live in what should be a pastoral setting, on a hill in their ancient, verdant terraced agricultural village of al-Walaja, which straddles the southwestern portion of the city of Jerusalem and is home to one of the world’s oldest olive trees. Omar was born here, as was his father and his grandfather, and they are part of a community of around 3,000 that is the last place in the area to preserve the traditional agricultural practices of Jerusalem.

For the state, however, the Hajajlas are in the way—right in the way of planned parks (for the sole benefit of the Jewish public, built on al-Walaja’s lands), Israeli-only highways to link Jewish West Bank settlements with Jerusalem, Separation Wall segments to contain, hide, and tuck away the picturesque agricultural Palestinian village out of sight and out of mind, and more.

To fully understand the Hajajlas’ surreal predicament, some background context is required, situating them in the midst of their displaced and now near-ghettoized village of al-Walaja.

Today’s village of al-Walaja (meaning “the opening”) is located 8.5 kilometers southwest of Jerusalem, adjacent to the ‘Ayn Hanya spring, between Bethlehem and East Jerusalem.

Before 1948, the village was in a different location a few kilometers away, on the west side of Jerusalem on the side of a mountain. Its existence went back centuries, with documentary evidence of settlement and taxes dating back to at least the late 16th century.1 The Arab villagers owned 17,507 dunums of land as of 1944–45, of which 8,363 were cultivable. Agriculture was plentiful, aided by five groups of springs that flowed naturally nearby, creating wells that made it possible to raise some crops from rainfall only.2

On October 21, 1948, Haganah forces attacked al-Walaja at night and captured it, one of a string of villages captured in Operation Ha-Har to widen the corridor to Jerusalem.3 While this attack was initially repelled, much of the village, including the main built-up parts and 66 percent of its land,4 was later given to Israel as part of the armistice agreement of 1949.5 Its inhabitants were expelled, and many fled to caves on the remaining village lands that were on the Arab side of the armistice line. In 1950, Moshav Aminadav was established on the lands of al-Walaja by Yemeni Jews. In 1954, Israel destroyed what remained of the village to prevent the villagers’ return.6

With time, the inhabitants of al-Walaja, all refugees, gradually reestablished their village, which came to be referred to as “New al-Walaja” (al-Walaja al-Jadid), on the village lands that remained to them in the Jordanian-annexed West Bank.

In 1967, when Israel occupied the West Bank (including Jerusalem), more than half of the land of “New al-Walaja” (13 percent of the original village) was incorporated into the Jerusalem municipality when Israel unilaterally expanded the city boundaries (see Where Is Jerusalem?).7 The villages call the area that now falls within the boundaries ‘Ayn Jawaizeh. Later, half of those lands were expropriated to build Jewish settlements.8 Today New al-Walaja is hemmed in by the Israeli settlements of Gilo (est. 1970) to the east, and Har Gilo (est. 1971) to the southeast. Both settlements are considered illegal under international law. 

Gilo, as well as Har Gilo settlement, which lies east of the village, were built on expropriated land or land that was requisitioned by the military, which was formerly half of the land of annexed al-Walaja.9

The Jerusalem municipality provides no services to the village, nor does any other Israeli agency.10

In the mid-1990s, the Oslo Accords designated 97.4 percent of the remainder of New al-Walaja lands (those outside the city) as Area C, meaning they fell under sole Israeli control.11 This gave Israel the ability to obstruct further construction by denying building permits12 and demolishing many homes and farming structures in that part of al-Walaja that were or did get built.13

When the Separation Wall was built in this area starting in 2013, it was routed right through the village, directly through the Hajajla family’s land, across their long driveway. The Separation Wall has isolated the village from all its neighboring communities, ghettoizing the residents and upending the village’s ancient dynamic relationship with the nearby cities, not to mention the sweeping agricultural land.

As of 2014, the Hajajla family home (which is at the eastern entrance to the village) was severed from the rest of the village—the sole home left on the Jerusalem (Israel) side of the wall14 (along with most of the remaining village farmland, 247 acres15). Partially completed in 2018, the wall runs west of the house and around the village, surrounding it on three sides.16

As is clear from the map, once the wall is completed, the village will be completely surrounded, sealed off from Jerusalem with entrance and exit only via a single checkpoint that leads out to Beit Jala (southward toward Bethlehem, away from Jerusalem). No one will be allowed entry or exit without a special permit, further violating their basic rights to access labor, education, and health care, and more.

The wall also severs the village from the approximately 740 acres of their remaining land.17

Omar Hajajla has described the wall, parts of which are visible behind him, as “an even worse Nakba than that of 1948”18 for the disastrous consequences that it brought upon him and his family and the rest of the villagers. “It took what we had left of the land and put us inside a container, a small container, with the wall surrounding us 360 degrees. One entrance; if that checkpoint is closed, no one can enter or leave the village.”19

For years, the state tried to convince the Hajajlas to leave their home by offering them all manner of compensation, including large amounts of money, but they steadfastly refused. Efforts to compel the family to vacate the home did not stop there, however. According to Omar,

In early 2013, left with no choice as the Hajajlas would not leave, the state proposed to install a tunnel passageway that was designed to allow the Hajajlas to access the rest of their village via an underground passageway, routed under the wall. Also planned was a chain-link fence, mounted with sensors, to be constructed literally around the Hajajlas’ home, preventing them from going anywhere or accessing the village lands.

The Hajajlas took their case to the Israeli Supreme Court, petitioning against this plan. On April 4, 2013, the Defense Ministry reached a settlement with the Hajajlas’ lawyer: Instead of the wire fence being installed around their home, it would be installed around the tunnel and the tunnel, in turn, would be blocked by a closed gray metal gate that only the Hajajlas are allowed to use under very strict and specific conditions.

The only way for the Hajajla family to leave their home, pass through the tunnel—250 meters long and 8 meters deep—and reach their village is through the tunnel’s gate, which is seen in the picture. The gate is locked and there is only one key (a remote control), given only to Omar. Because there is only one key, the family movements are highly constrained—it is impossible for more than one person or car to use the gate at once.21 The family lives in constant fear of having the sole key taken away by the authorities.

The cost of digging and installing the tunnel was about $1.1 million US dollars.22

Two cameras posted on the gate monitor all the family’s movements in and out of their home.

Visitors to the Hajajlas’ home are required to coordinate with the Israeli military District Coordination Office (DCO) 48 hours before their planned visit, declaring a purpose for each visit and the number of visitors. Approvals can take anywhere from a few hours to a few days. No more than 10 visitors are allowed at a time, and they must arrive no later than 10 p.m. and leave by midnight. Visits not coordinated in advance can result in the army’s seizing the sole remote control, and the family losing their right to exit their property.

Transporting any construction materials through the passageway is absolutely forbidden, and any construction in the Hajajlas’ house or land is also prohibited.

Any breach of these conditions will result in the key’s being withdrawn from the family, and they will be subjected to security checks each time they cross the gate, which will only open three times a day at certain hours.23

Omar Hajajla describes the situation created by the wall as living “in a zoo, where you live in a cage, and have a passage in and out of the cage.”24 The wall imposed extreme changes on him and his family, severing them from their village, and their family ties, depriving him and his children of normal life, such as playing with the other village children, socializing, or having spontaneous visits. Omar shares that scheduling playdates for his children under such circumstances is onerous.

In 2018, frustrated with the limitations imposed on family movement by having only one remote, the Hajajlas creatively thought to install an electric bell on the gate. This way the gate could be opened by anyone remaining in the house and would not have to continually travel with the one person who was leaving, locking all who stayed home in the house.

When the border police discovered this in the spring of 2019, they brought Omar in for questioning. Accusing him of illegally vandalizing the gate, the police installed a new lock on the gate that could not be opened at all for a time. Only an appeal from the Israeli newspaper Haaretz convinced the police to remove this new lock.25

The gate closes the village access to a major road out of the village, which is the Cremisan Road. This also happens to be the shortest route to the school that village children attend, the Cremisan Salesian Nuns’ School in Beit Jala (itself surrounded on three sides by the Separation Wall). This being the case, Omar Hajajla has become the village school bus driver. He must use two cars for the route, one from the village through his tunnel and gate to the closed checkpoint that leads out of the village, and one on the other side of it. He explains how this goes in the video below.

This was not the first time Omar Hajajla had to fight for his house in court, nor will it be the last. Recently, the court also compelled Omar to demolish his own simple sheep corral (the remains of which are shown here in the shadow of the two nearby Jewish settlements) as part of the conditions of the compromise agreement in return for keeping his home.

Omar had no choice but to accept all these draconian conditions in order to be able to keep his house and to continue to live with his family in the home where he and his father and grandfather before him were born, and where he has lived and farmed all his life. This leaves him and his family entrapped between a wall and two settlements.

The family hung a sign on the gate: “Living behind this damned door and this spiteful wall is your brother and your son Omar Essa Hajajla.”26