Students are prevented from attending school as Israeli settlers block entry and exit routes to the eastern village of Lubban, home of Ayman Nubani and his brothers (Anatolia).

Occupied West Bank – Al Jazeera English published a story by Ayman al-Nubani about the lives of 3 brothers under Israeli occupation in 3 different places in the West Bank, in which they talked about how settlers and the occupation army tightened the noose on them, their families and all Palestinians in the West Bank.

Al-Nubani says: This is the story of 3 brothers, Yamen, Wajid, and me. Yamen and I are one year apart, he is 37 years old and I am 38, while Wajid is the "child" at the age of 35, and the three of us work between the cities of Nablus and Ramallah and our village of Al-Lubban al-Sharqiya, which is halfway between the two cities. Now, my two brothers and I are all stuck in one of these three places.

Since October 1967, the West Bank has been subject to unprecedented military action by Israeli forces. The only time these draconies were implemented was probably in the first days of June <>, with the beginning of the Israeli occupation.

Closure of entrances and roads

Curfews and heavy crackdowns by armed settlers and Israeli forces in all cities, towns and camps in the West Bank have completely isolated the areas. Israeli forces set up new military checkpoints, blocking entrances and roads with iron gates and earth mounds.

Meanwhile, Israeli settlers continued to escalate their harassment and attacks on Palestinians every day, throwing Palestinian vehicles and shooting at civilians who dared to leave their homes and take to the street or enter their fields, which is particularly difficult during the olive harvest, which begins each year at the beginning of October and lasts until the end of November.

Al-Lubban al-Sharqiya is located 21 kilometers south of Nablus and 27 kilometers north of Ramallah. It has been closed from 3 sides over the past two months. The main road from the east is closed by an iron gate, cement blocks and earth mounds, and trenches have been dug along the way. The roads leading to the north and south are filled with trenches stretching two kilometres from the outskirts of the village, so that vehicles cannot cross them. Only one road remains leading to the central West Bank city of Salfit.

Closure of shops in the city of Ramallah on the occasion of the International Strike Day (Anatolia)

A lot in Ramallah

My younger brother Wajid, who works as a photojournalist in the Palestinian Ministry of Information, told me, "The roads around Ramallah are very difficult. Every time I go out to check the conditions of the barriers and closures, I find it bad. "One of the roads may be passable, but it's long, winding and passes through many villages before you can reach our village."

"Since the beginning of the war, I have only seen the family once because of the difficult road conditions. Getting out of the city requires a long bend punctuated by Israeli checkpoints. The family communicates with me regularly. My mother calls me every day to check on conditions and ask if I ate my food and if the room is warm. Every time she asks me to take care of myself and not go out too much."

Things weren't easy for people in the West Bank before October 7, but they've gotten much worse since then.

"Here in Ramallah, where I have been since the beginning of the war, the city is subjected to Israeli raids every night, especially after midnight and until noon. Every night gunfire, bombs and tear gas canisters can be heard. Then the sun rises and life begins anew. It is very noticeable that there are fewer people moving because of the closures, the tight checkpoints around the city and the siege of villages in all areas of the West Bank."

Wajid al-Nubani, 34, stranded in Ramallah since the Israeli war began in October (Photo courtesy of Ayman Nubani)

As for Ramallah itself, the city, known for its vibrant spirit and culture, has completely changed, he says.

"Traffic around the city is minimized. If anyone can reach its suburbs, they feel more dangerous."

Protest marches are sometimes held after the Asr and Maghrib prayers, but half an hour after midnight the strikes begin.

Ramallah was the most active and vibrant city in Palestine. But now it's nothing! The city, which used to stay up until dawn, now closes its homes and shops just after the sun sets.

In the evening, some people gather at the lighthouse roundabout, where they come from all neighborhoods of the city to demonstrate. The number of demonstrators, mostly young people, increases in the city center at night, roaming the streets, chanting for Gaza, chanting slogans denouncing the occupation, and declaring their support for the resistance. They're not just sympathizers. They are part of this war," many of whom have been arrested for showing support for the resistance.

"The arrests focus on everyone who participates in supporting the resistance, especially those who post anything on social media. "I still think Ramallah is safer than al-Lubban al-Sharqiya because of the permanent presence of settlers and the army in the village, but life is difficult. Salaries have been delayed, and already high prices have increased. I am stuck in Ramallah, I know that some things have run out of my family, but because of the road conditions, I cannot go back to our house in the village to provide for them."

"My mother asks me every day when I'm going home, but I have to tell her I don't know. I really miss my family, especially Sarah, my niece."

Al-Lubban Al-Sharqiya village where the three brothers are home (Photo courtesy of Ayman Al-Nubani)

You are safe in the Eastern Laban

While security and military measures were besieged in Ramallah, our middle brother Yamen stayed in the family home in our village.

Our village has about 3500,200 people, of whom more than 20 live in about <> houses on the main road leading to the village. There are Israeli settlements nearby and there have been problems between them and the village before. In June this year, settlers blocked the road leading to the village and prevented children from reaching school.

"People in these homes have been living in a state of daily instability and anxiety since the beginning of the war. They are close to Israeli settlements, far from the rest of the village, and have often been attacked. Their homes, properties and cars were looted by settlers. In the first weeks of the war, some moved in with relatives inside the village, as displaced people."

Houses are closed all day

"Then half of them started going home. They live in a state of constant anxiety, especially women and children, and keep homes closed all day and night."

Yamen himself works from home and is a reporter for the Palestinian news agency Wafa. It covers as much as possible events in the area, particularly within the boundaries of Salfit governorate. He tells me that he cannot go to his place of work in Ramallah, and he cannot reach Nablus. "The drivers of public vehicles told me that the road was completely different from what it was before October 7, that they hadn't worked much since the beginning of the war, and some didn't work at all," he says.

Roads leading to Laban are blocked by piles of dirt and trenches by Israeli forces (courtesy of Ayman Nubani)

Taxi and bus drivers who manage to work only go out once a day, instead of 4 or 5 times as usual.

"All main roads are closed, and people who are forced to leave their homes are forced to cross rough dirt roads between villages, often stopped at Israeli emergency checkpoints, or what we call an 'emergency checkpoint.'"

He heard from friends that the journey to Nablus, just over 20 kilometres away, which previously took 25 minutes, now takes up to 3 hours.

Every evening, when our mother picks up her phone to try to call me and my other brothers via Messenger and WhatsApp, she looks "sad as she follows their news and checks on them, and often says that she misses our meeting, especially since the olive harvest, in which families gather in Palestine, has passed without us meeting."

On October 1, the day after the war began, the main entrance to the village was closed. It is the only paved road, and Israeli forces dug a 5.<>-kilometre trench. The other paths to the village are earthy created by nature thanks to its location between a hill and a plain.

Yamen Nubani, 37, stranded in the West Bank village of al-Lubban ash Sharqiya (courtesy of Ayman Nubani)

There is only one road left outside from a nearby village towards Salfit, through which one can reach Ramallah. But this adds 20 kilometres to the journey, and many people don't have enough money to pay for the extra fuel.

According to Yamen, "Before the war, there were five public transport vehicles transporting villagers to the city of Nablus. But it has been completely suspended for more than 5 days, even though it is the most important means of transportation in the village."

A resident of our village told him that the price of a ticket to work had almost tripled from US$3.2 to US$25, and that her taxi had to traverse the barriers and long dug roads to reach her workplace.

No study for children

Yamen told me that "the war changed everything in the village. One of the main problems is that children have not been able to go to village school since the beginning of the war."

Yamen explained that the village's schools, from grade seven to secondary school, are located on the main Nablus-Ramallah road, through which thousands of settlers pass daily.

Israeli army jeeps have been stationed at the gates of these schools since 6 a.m. The streets of the village used to be full of incoming and smelly schoolchildren, but they are now almost empty.

Some students reported receiving threatening messages from settlers on social media and that they were afraid to go out. Other students were also shot, fractured and bruised.

Palestinians near closed shops in Nablus during International Day of the Strike (Getty Images)

"In the end, armed settlers forcibly closed those schools under the protection of the army," says Yamen, who says: "A few days ago, they stormed a girls' school, tore up the Palestinian flag, and raised the Israeli flag in its place."

"When I walk down the neighbourhood, I listen to girls and boys from village schools talking about their desire to receive direct education from the teachers and return to school."

It's not just children who are absent from the streets of our village

"The street is like a military barracks, with only Israeli military vehicles, which sometimes chase and fire at Arab cars trying to leave our village or surrounding villages," Yamen said.

"I experienced the rampage of the tunnels in September 1996, where the confrontations lasted for a week, and the second intifada in September 2000, which lasted until 2005. These were years of very violent confrontations, but the street was not without a moment of (civilian) cars as is happening now. This is a new level of fear and caution."

It is especially unusual for the village to be so calm at this time of year during the olive season. "There is usually a momentum of people moving back and forth to their lands to harvest olives," Yamen said.

He explains that about 40 percent of the trees are located in areas that have become very difficult to reach due to threats from armed settlers and soldiers who shoot at farmers. Some ventured out, unwilling to let the harvest go away, but say settlers and soldiers stole their crops.

According to Yamen, "More than 1500,3 kilograms of olives have been stolen here, valued at about $4,<>, while <>,<> trees have yet to bear fruit, and entire families depend on the olive crop to cover their expenses. That's a loss of tens of thousands of dollars."

Ayman in Nablus

Then there's me, their older brother, still stuck in Nablus with my children who are eager to visit the village during the planting season.

I would try to go to the countryside, but checkpoints, harassment and the possibility of settler attacks make that impossible. Today and every day, my children, Julia and Amin, wait until the war ends and the roads open again.

My children love the wilderness of the village, its mountains, plains and seasons. Julia wants to pick daffodils and take photos and videos of the land. But she says the army prevented her from reaching the ground and chasing insects and small butterflies.

Amin particularly misses tea made on wood, a tradition in the village during the olive season. He wanted to photograph the smoke of wood and the teapot boiling on his phone, as he did last year.

"We want to go milk even if we have exams," they tell me, "and what bothers them the most is that the family lost their olives this year.

I never imagined being away from my family for so long, especially since I hadn't visited them for two months before. Now it's been four months without me sitting with them and sharing a meal or a cup of coffee.

Source : Al Jazeera