THIS IS HOW IT STARTS
A secluded valley, at At- Tawayil, in the Occupied territories. Eighteen houses are scattered over the valley, lush in the winter, now already in its summer yellow. The families are Palestinian farmers and herders from the nearby town of Aqraba. Not Bedouin.
It could have been the garden of Eden, or once it really was. But recently the violent outpost settlers have started their drive to take over this land as well.
This is how it starts. Little by little. A small outpost is established in that peaceful valley. It is occupied by young settler boys with large knitted kipot, some barely 11, 12 and the oldest 14 at the most 15. Kids who dropped out of formal frameworks, and find a home on outposts, under the fatherly guidance of the adult settler, while they are free to roam in the open fields.
The boys take their herd of goats through the village fields in the early morning and late afternoons, when it is less hot. Evidently, they are not afraid to be alone in their little shack at night, or to walk their goats through the center of the village. They already have the self-assurance of the Lords of the Land. They know they are backed by the army, police, the government. They learn early.
This seems to be the setters' strategy, to start small, with young kids, seemingly less threatening, in a little shack, still a bit on the village outskirts, with a small herd of goats, and then to move on to more and more. Soon they will set up an outpost right in the center of the village.
A new outpost, across the road to Gitit, is close enough for the older settlers to arrive in all-terrain buggies, locally referred to as "rangers", and terrorize the village. Water pipes have been cut, electric supply damaged, and a man and his wife have been severely beaten by night-time visitors.
A Palestinian family across the little outpost has already fled. There are heaps of rubble from a few houses that have been destroyed. It is only starting.
Most of the local children and their mothers have left the village to the relative safety of Aqraba.
Only the adult men remain.
There are six of us today in the madafeh, the "guest house" that the village has assigned to us, the protective presence activists - who try to be there in shifts covering 24 hours a day. A good turnout. Seven, when joined by another activist who returns from the Ariel police station, after unsuccessfully trying to release an 18-year-old accused of throwing stones, from custody.
Our shift starts quietly, visiting a neighboring herder, sitting calmly drinking tea with his older sons, watching his sheep and his chickens in the the pen, looking out on the open fields in the center of the village and the hills around.
When the heat of the day starts to soften, we return to the madafeh, and see that two of the young settlers are just setting out with their goats. We follow them, keeping a watchful eye, as they wander unperturbed through the village fields, enter enclosures, that currently are not planted, due to lack of irrigation water and because there are no rains in this season.
While the goats are leisurely grazing in the village lands, the two boy-herders walk to our madafeh, trespassing nonchalantly, and just sit there, in the madafeh's enclosure, for a long time, smoking cigarettes, copying their adult models. They do not seem to care much for their goats, the goats are just a means to an end.
After one of us says, let's go and drive the goats away from the village fields, they finally get up, return to their goads and start to walk the herd up, towards our madafeh.
They have learned the tactics of the outpost settlers well. Holding their cellphone up to our face, coming so close we can smell their breath, and repeating: you touched me, don't push me; don't hit the goats, you hit me!. Believing that the fact they are saying it, and recording it, can later be used as evidence that we actually did that.
By now all the goats are crowding just outside the madafeh enclosure, almost climbing on top of each other. The boys, joined by another even younger one, and soon after by two more that look like nine of ten, are driving the goats closer and closer, hoping the herd will bring down the fence, while we are filming and guarding the entrance.
This tense dance of empty gestures goes on for an hour or more. Testing our patience. One of us finally calls the police, who say they are on their way and soon after the five boy-shepherds leave with their herd, so we call off the police.
Just before, one boy lovingly holds a little goat in his arms and says; this will be a good one for the Temple Mount.
all photographs (c) Rita Mendes-Flohr