In the first week of October, 2023 – during the Sukkot holiday, just before that fateful October 7 – Shalom Pollack took a group of us on a tour of three outposts. After the tour I wrote down what I remembered. Doubtless some things have changed since I visited, but I hope these notes give some impression of the reality there.
The first hilltop we visit is Ramat Migron, which is situated above Migron. Scattered across a bare hilltop where a few saplings, planted by the residents, have just begun to grow, are a handful of shacks for the families and a few single young men. One of the shacks is a synagogue. It has a Torah ark curtain made of cotton cloth with the word “Hallel Kel BaKodesh (Praise G-d in holiness)” in blue applique.
A shed and a pen containing a number of goats. One of the residents explains to us that these goats are grazed over the surrounding area to maintain a Jewish presence. They make a little cheese for themselves, but the herd is too small for commercial production to be practical. Most of the residents have jobs outside. But they are starting to plant crops, though it will be a long time before the rocky ground can be made suitable for agriculture.
Demolitions are frequent. Between the houses we saw piles of crumpled aluminum siding. Each of the families living here has a bag in which they keep their most valuable things, so that in case of a demolition they don’t have to waste time looking for them.
The outpost has no security fence. “The best protection against the Arabs is their knowledge that we are not afraid of them.” We will hear that again from the other outposts.
The community is not connected to a water main. As needed, a truck with a tank goes to Migron and fills up, then comes back and transfers the water to a small water tower located at the highest point of the outpost. The water must be used carefully.
Next we visit Maoz Ester, located below Kochav HaShahar. The outpost is reached by a steep asphalt path just negotiable by a car. It is not literally a hilltop settlement but is built on a sort or wide platform halfway between the hill on which Kochav HaShachar is situated and the bottom of the adjacent wadi. Again about a dozen huts, including a synagogue, scattered over a wide area so as to take up as much land as possible. Again, no fence. We are welcomed to the home of a couple who have lived in Maoz Ester for a year and a half. The house is uninsulated, bare plywood walls, but has a kitchen/living/dining room and small bedrooms for the couple and their six children. We are shown into the sukkah, which is decorated with colored paper chains and curtains with a panorama of Jerusalem. There we hear the outpost’s history from the couple and two young women. They tell us that the outpost was founded by several families in 2007 in response to the murder of Esther Galiah on the road outside Kochav HaShachar. The outpost was demolished again and again till the original settlers finally gave up. Then six years ago a group of young people decided that something must be done. The Arabs were coming right up to the security fence of Kochav HaShachar. The PLA has a detailed plan for taking over all the land of Area C, which is supposed to be Jewish, and they saw that plan being put into action. So the young people built two houses, one for the boys and one for the girls. The young people do agricultural work in the morning and study in the afternoon. The outpost has a herd that is grazed on the surrounding lands, and the Bedouin respect this and no longer graze near Kochav HaShachar.
Gradually a few families have moved in; also, some of the young people have gotten married and built themselves homes. Demolitions remain a given of the life, but their frequency has decreased; the last was a year and a half ago. Our hosts explain that there is a law that if a house has been there less than ninety days, the local authorities can just come and knock it down, but after ninety days the demolition requires higher approval. Also, the government is more hesitant to carry out demolitions once the outpost is better known and has some public sympathy. However, a demolition could still happen tomorrow.
It is my second visit to Maoz Ester with Shalom Pollack. On our first visit we were shown the girls’ house, and Rabbanit Rachel Sela, who lives in Shiloh, spoke to us. She said that she had been asked by the girls to teach them Torah and had been deeply impressed by their brightness and eagerness to learn.
Among the residents Ma’oz Ester at this time (they will later move to a new outpost nearby, Or Ahuvyah) are the parents of Ahuvyah Sandak z”l, who was killed in a police chase in 2020. They settled here after his death and built their house next to a plantation Ahuvyah had started.
Our third stop is A’irah ha Shachar (from Psalm 57:9, “I will awake the dawn”). It is reached by about a mile of dirt road. We are picked up from the bus by residents in their cars, all of which look very old, and the roadside is dotted with obviously defunct vehicles. The residents can only afford very old cars, and these are soon destroyed by the rough roads. (When asked what they most need, the residents answer “Asphalt.”) In order to rehabilitate the wrecks they are developing skills as auto mechanics. They are gaining a reputation for this in the area and hoping to open a commercial operation. Someone in our group says, “Jews don’t usually know how to do these things.” One of them, I’ll call him Yehoshua, replies, “We’re more Palestinian than the Palestinians.”
Yehoshua is twenty old and has been in the hills for six years. “I didn’t get along too well in school.” He wanted to serve in the army in an elite unit but was turned down as “dangerous to the country.” Asked how he felt about the rejection, he shrugs and says, “I wasn’t surprised.” One of the others, however, says he recently finished the army and is going to apply for a gun permit. He may or may not get it, as the authorities are reluctant to grant gun permits to hilltop youth, often citing a police record, which may mean nothing more than that the police came and demolished his house. Yehoshua wears a Na Nachman kippah but says he doesn’t study. “Some of the others learn.” Another young man says he has finished his bagrut (high school diploma), and they note that some of those on the hill are planning to pursue higher education.
The group that runs A’irah HaShachar has existed for a number of years. They started on one hill and were demolished, then went to another hill. In all, they lived on eight hills surrounding Kochav HaShachar. Finally they settled on this hill and said “We’re staying.”
They have been through many demolitions. On the way we passed a pile of rubble — from a month ago — and next to it a pile of fresh building materials. “They’d come and demolish the houses and confiscate all the equipment, down to the jerrycan for water. Sometimes they’d take away the boys’ tefillin — trying to break them by taking away what is dearest to them. But we are still here.” Recently they got a pipe that brings water from Kochav HaShachar.
Families as well as young men live on the hill. The preferred building materials are aluminum and plywood, but some families want more. “One family built a stone house. It was knocked down. They built another stone house.”
The police, they say, are a bigger problem than the Arabs. The residents approach the Arabs with the attitude “We’re back — get used to it.” Someone asks if the police are Jews or Arabs. The answer: “Mixed. Mostly Jews.”
Yehoshua takes us out to the edge of a cliff overlooking the Jordan valley. Somewhere in the mountain range facing us is the place of Moses’ burial. Yehoshua points to several huts scattered among the folds of the hills. “New points are being established all the time. You can’t see all of them.”
In their fleet of dusty, battered cars, they drove us back to the bus. I am in Yehoshua’s car. I ask him, “Is there any media outlet that you feel is favorable toward you?” He answers, “I’m not concerned with the media. I’m here.”
Esther Cameron