In the northern West Bank, the landscape is being transformed in ways that are both devastating and deliberate. A bulldozer tears through buildings in an emptied Palestinian neighborhood, not to clear rubble, but as part of a systematic demolition project. This is Operation Iron Wall, a massive Israeli military assault launched just days after a ceasefire in Gaza was agreed upon. The operation is officially framed as a mission to root out militant groups and prevent another attack like the one on October 7. However, critics argue that it also serves the political demands of the far-right elements within Benjamin Netanyahu’s government, who are pushing for a return to war in Gaza. The result is a humanitarian crisis: according to the UN, 40,000 people have already been displaced, and entire neighborhoods have been reduced to rubble.
For those on the ground, the reality is even more harrowing. Zeinab Qasam, a resident of Tulkarm, returned to her home after an Israeli raid only to find her neighborhood resembling a “mini-Gaza.” She describes a scene of utter devastation, where people who have lost their homes are also denied the chance to rebuild. Zeinab and her family have been forced to evacuate three times since January 21, a testament to the relentless nature of the military operations. Her neighbor’s flat was ransacked by Israeli forces, who rifled through drawers, shot into walls and ceilings, and held her children at gunpoint. Zeinab’s 12-year-old son, Assad, recalls the terror of the encounter, his voice trembling as he describes how he cried uncontrollably during the raid. The streets are now fraught with danger, as the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) have set up sniper positions, turning everyday movements into a deadly gamble.
Zeinab’s account paints a picture of a community under siege. She explains how the IDF’s actions, including the destruction of homes and the widening of roads, are justified as measures to make military operations against “terrorists” easier. Yet, she struggles to understand how ordinary civilians—people who are simply trying to live their lives, go to work, and return home—can be labeled as terrorists. Her words underscore the profound sense of injustice and confusion felt by many Palestinians caught in the crossfire of a conflict they did not choose. The distinction between combatants and non-combatants grows increasingly blurred, as entire communities are punished for the actions of a few.
The human cost of this operation is nowhere more evident than in the tragic story of 10-year-old Saddam Rajab. On February 7, Saddam succumbed to injuries he sustained during an Israeli operation in Tulkarm. He had been shot in the stomach 10 days earlier while making a call to his mother. CCTV footage captures the horrifying moment: a loud explosion, Saddam clutching his chest and screaming, his body crumpling to the ground. His father, Iyad, who was on crutches due to a prior accident, rushes to his son’s side, desperately trying to pull him to safety. The footage is a heartbreaking testament to the indiscriminate violence that has become all too common in the West Bank.
Iyad’s anguish is compounded by the barriers his family faced in seeking medical help for Saddam. When the ambulance arrived, it was delayed multiple times for extensive searches by the IDF, critical moments that could have meant the difference between life and death. Even when Saddam was transferred to a larger hospital in Nablus, the ambulance was searched again, further prolonging his suffering. Iyad vows to file a case against those responsible, not just because Saddam was his son, but because the boy was innocent—standing in front of his home, in an area where no clashes or armed individuals were present. The IDF has opened an investigation into the incident, but for Iyad, the pain of losing his child is irreparable.
Saddam’s story is not an isolated one. His father describes him as a quiet, compassionate boy who was his “everything” after Iyad’s accident left him reliant on crutches. Saddam’s empathy and kindness extended to his older sister, Raghad, with whom he shared an unbreakable bond. The video of Raghad’s screams at Saddam’s funeral is a gut-wrenching reminder of the generational trauma being inflicted on Palestinian families. Iyad worries about the growing resentment and racism he sees around him, particularly in the wake of the October 7 attack. His youngest daughter, who keeps asking where Saddam is, will one day understand the full weight of her loss, and the anger it will sow in her heart. Iyad, who lived through the first and second intifadas, describes the current situation as the worst he has ever seen, a sentiment echoed by many who have witnessed decades of conflict.
The broader implications of Operation Iron Wall extend far beyond the immediate devastation. The operation has been met with criticism not only from Palestinians but also from international observers, who question its legality and proportionality under international law. Meanwhile, the political landscape continues to shift in ominous ways. Former U.S. President Donald Trump has hinted at making a decision regarding the West Bank, including the possibility of annexation—a move that would have catastrophic consequences for the three million Palestinians who call the West Bank home. Whatever the future holds, one thing is clear: the current trajectory of the conflict is unsustainable. The stories of Zeinab, Iyad, and countless others like them serve as a stark reminder of the human cost of policies driven by military might and political agendas, rather than a commitment to peace and justice.
