Khaled Azem’s story is becoming all too familiar in Sebastia, a village northwest of Nablus. What began as a routine day ended in humiliation and violence at an Israeli military checkpoint — a scene residents say is part of a wider pattern turning their home into a battlefield of intimidation and land grabs.
A Young Man’s Harrowing Experience
On July 2, Khaled was pulled out of his car by Israeli soldiers. He recounts how they beat him, forcing him to declare “I love Israel” on camera — a video they later shared on social media. Just moments before, he and his brother-in-law were heading to a construction site after leaving the family home.
This wasn’t an isolated incident. Villagers say these attacks have become daily realities, with Israel stepping up pressure on Sebastia’s residents as it pushes to take control of the area. The village, rich in history dating back to the Iron Age, has attracted Israeli interest since 2023, with plans to convert parts of it into a national park and tourist site.
Azem’s family, like many here, is caught in the crossfire. On a late July afternoon, Khaled sat on his porch, flanked by his mother and grandmother. The youngest of four siblings, his once lively outings with family have all but vanished. “I hardly go out at all now,” he says, the weight of occupation visible in his quiet gaze.
The Village Under Siege
Sebastia’s significance isn’t just archaeological; it’s deeply personal for its residents. The military’s growing presence has made daily life unpredictable and tense.
Checkpoint violence isn’t the only concern. Reports of land confiscation, settler harassment, and routine intimidation have multiplied. Villagers describe frequent raids, random arrests, and a sense that their home is slowly being squeezed dry.
This creeping takeover goes hand in hand with a broader Israeli strategy, say analysts, aiming to consolidate control over key West Bank territories by pushing Palestinians out or making life unbearable enough that they leave on their own.
More than just a military maneuver, these actions have a psychological toll. Families like Azem’s, living in the same yellow-plastered house for four decades, face a future clouded by uncertainty.
A Community’s Quiet Resistance
Despite the hardships, Sebastia’s residents cling to their roots. Community gatherings, traditions, and cultural events persist even under pressure. But the shadow of the military looms large.
One village elder described the situation as “a slow erasure” — a slow dismantling of not only land but identity and dignity. For many, the struggle is not just physical survival but holding on to history, heritage, and hope.
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The local economy, heavily reliant on agriculture and small businesses, has taken a hit.
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Tourism potential, tied to the ancient ruins and history, remains untapped due to security concerns.
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Younger generations face tough choices: stay and resist, or leave for uncertain futures elsewhere.
The Human Cost Behind the Headlines
Azem’s ordeal is more than a headline. It’s a snapshot of daily life under occupation, where humiliation and violence are tools of control. The forced declaration “I love Israel” on video is a chilling symbol of the psychological warfare at play.
Families here are not just numbers or political pawns — they are people with stories, hopes, and fears. The scars of physical assault mix with emotional wounds, leaving deep marks.
The international community watches with varying degrees of attention. Calls for sanctions, condemnations, and negotiations often fail to translate into meaningful change on the ground.
Sebastia’s story is one of many in the West Bank, but its ancient stones and living residents remind us that history is not just in the past — it’s being written every day, sometimes in pain, sometimes in quiet resistance.
