On Sunday, Abu Omar went to bed in his home in Ramallah full of hope, but woke up without hope. The Israeli war cabinet had postponed the vote again to allow entry again for the 200,000 Palestinians from the West Bank who, like him, crossed daily to work in the country or to Jewish settlements. Until October 7, when Hamas killed about 1,200 people in its massive attack and the mantra was established that some of Gaza's day laborers had used their time in Israel to gather intelligence. The much larger West Bank workers also became suspects overnight and Israeli military authorities froze their work and access permits until further notice. They have been without the income that the entire family normally relies on for more than two months. The measure does not only affect people with first and last names. It is also an important pillar of the Palestinian economy, which is as dysfunctional as it is characterized by military occupation and dependence on Israel. They make up 22% of the West Bank workforce and their income fuels other domestic economic sectors.
Now Abu Omar has resigned himself to waiting. 56 years old, married with three children, he wants to do the same thing as Israeli businessmen in industry, agriculture and, above all, construction: go back to work. “It's not love. “They need our hands and we need their money,” he said in the mosque in Ramallah where he usually goes to pray. He earned around 10,000 shekels (around 2,500 euros) a month. Since October 7, he has found work in the West Bank for only two days and has earned a third.
Nevertheless, he considers himself lucky because he owns a house. The family turns in the savings they have accumulated for their son's marriage. Abu Omar has been laying stones in Israel for four decades, so he also experienced other breaks, such as during the two intifadas or in the Gulf War (1991), when Saddam Hussein's Iraq fired rockets against Israel in retaliation for his ally's attack. UNITED STATES. “So something had to be done here. Now there is no work for anyone. “We live in survival mode and don’t know what will happen tomorrow,” he laments.
Maybe he'll find out this Sunday when the cabinet meets again. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu postponed the vote twice for fear of losing it. According to his economic advisor Avi Simhon, he supports the return of workers from the West Bank. Also entrepreneurs who lack cheap labor who have sufficient knowledge of Hebrew to understand the tasks: about 160,000 in Israel and another 40,000 in nearby settlements and industrial parks. “The construction and public works sector is closed. That means a loss of 10 billion shekels per month,” argues Simhon.
The secret services and the army are also in favor. They are more concerned about the outbreak of violence that could result if hundreds of thousands of West Bank residents are forever without income than about the danger of Israel's doors being reopened to those who were already entering daily without incident until the Hamas attack. However, they propose granting permission only to married men over 35, strictly monitoring their transfers from the military checkpoint, or banning them from leaving the workplace. On public television there is talk of a surveillance system, probably similar to a telematics bracelet.
Last Sunday, the War Cabinet debated the proposal but did not vote on it. Yes, the socio-economic cabinet chaired by the leader of the extreme right, Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, did this shortly before. Of the 15 members, 13 spoke against it and the other two abstained, Smotrich said in a statement calling for “alternatives” for these sectors. “Money and building permits don’t buy peace. Whoever killed us because there was no money will also kill us when there is money. “The safety of Israel’s citizens comes first.”
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Another minister, Gideon Saar, accused supporters of “forgetting how many” married men over 35 took part in the Hamas attack. “Do you want to bring the enemy into Israel? You're crazy? “They learned nothing from October 7th,” economic chief Nir Barkat told them.
Khaled sadly admits he wouldn't even fall into that category. He is 30 years old and has worked in a pastry shop in the Atarot industrial area, on the other side of the separation wall, for the last five years. A friend took pity on him and paid him between 50 and 100 shekels a day (“depending on the customers,” he says) to wait on tables in his canteen and carry the cash register for 12 hours. “It's December and I haven't paid the November rent. The landlord asks me and I tell him: “I don't have any, as soon as I have some, that's the first thing I'll do,” he says dejected and obviously ashamed of not being able to give his wife and children a better life Age four years and six months. . “We are pushing the limit. What I get is what we eat. In these two months, all our savings on rent, electricity, diapers and water have been used up.” Their father can't help them: he built houses in Tel Aviv and is in the same situation.
In addition to the debt, Khaled lists his fears: “That they don't want us to return.” Or that I do and a settler attacks me… Although I need the money, I think that if I can return, “I'll wait about ten days to see how things are.”
“Stop being dependent”
Assaf Adiv is the managing director of Maan, a well-known association that defends both Israeli and Palestinian workers and helps them organize unions, elect a works council or demand their rights. He insists that the current veto is “a problem not only for families, but also for their communities,” which partly depend on these shekels (Israel and Palestine have the same currency). Adiv recalls that there are another 40,000 West Bankers who entered earlier for various reasons (special permits to work their land on the other side or to look for work for two months), as well as those who previously crossed the barrier illegally and it don't dare now.
The director general of the Palestinian Economic Policy Research Institute MAS, Raya Khalidi, is not optimistic on the phone. He fears the “recessionist impact” of the situation and asserts that the difference from previous crises, such as the displacement of workers at the start of the Second Intifada in 2000, is that the Palestinian Authority is bankrupt and Israel keeps funds to those who give it there is a lack of ability to absorb workers. “It will be a crisis with no clear end. And even if they allow them to return in the short term, Israel will move away from its dependence on Palestinian labor,” he says.
Abdala only agrees to give his name and pose with his back turned because working for Israeli industry carries a stigma for Palestinians. Jaime Villanueva
For years, Israel has been replacing Palestinians with foreigners for unpleasant tasks that its citizens do not want to take on. They agreed with the countries of origin on quotas and an obligation to leave the country after five years in order to prevent the non-Jewish population from being accepted.
According to the population and migration authority, these were mainly Thais (29,000), Filipinos (28,300) and Chinese (12,000). The first worked in agriculture, often in kibbutzim and in fields near Gaza. For this reason, dozens of them were killed or kidnapped on October 7th. The rest of their compatriots – plus the 12,000 Chinese who dedicated themselves to the brickworks – have now left, leaving behind a hole of empty land and half-finished buildings that Israel is now trying to fill with a mix of volunteers, permits for Palestinians and agreements. with poorer countries. The Kenyan Labor Ministry announced last week that it would send 1,500 farmers to Israel. Its ally Malawi has sent more than 400 troops as part of a secret pact revealed by the opposition.
The president of the Association of Personnel Companies in Israel's Construction Industry, Eldad Nitzan, recently complained in the business newspaper Calcalist that the absence of Palestinians increases labor costs by up to 20%. Debate in Parliament's home affairs committee last week concluded that it is impossible to close the gaps quickly and effectively because countries are afraid of sending their citizens to a war zone.
In reality, the Palestinian absence is not complete. Since there was hardly any advertising, several thousand continued to join. About 10,000, at the request of local administrations, to Jewish settlements in the occupied West Bank. This is paradoxical since it is generally the political camp that is most opposed to the entry of workers from the West Bank. For Adiv, this is a reflection of the “hypocrisy of the debate,” which has become “a political issue to propagate who is more patriotic.”
Another 5,000 West Bankers continue to work in both Israel and the colonies in sectors considered vital in wartime, such as hospitals or food and military uniform factories.
Abdala is one of them. He only agrees to give his name (without surname) and take a portrait of himself from behind, aware of the stigma that it means for his people to become a cog in Israel's industry, especially when the army is bombing Gaza incessantly. Even more so if, as he suspects, he is preparing meat rations for the soldiers. “Whether because of me or without me, these soldiers will end up eating,” he justifies. “For me it’s just a job, I don’t care,” he adds twice. He is married with two daughters and earns between 9,000 and 10,000 shekels. In the West Bank he earned 3,000.
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