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West Bank Palestinians Rely on Israel for Essentials, Fear Collective Punishment

The body of 13-year-old Ghassan Gharib is carried on shoulders after he was shot dead by Israeli forces near Ramallah this July (AFP)
The body of 13-year-old Ghassan Gharib is carried on shoulders after he was shot dead by Israeli forces near Ramallah this July (AFP)
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West Bank Palestinians Rely on Israel for Essentials, Fear Collective Punishment

The body of 13-year-old Ghassan Gharib is carried on shoulders after he was shot dead by Israeli forces near Ramallah this July (AFP)
The body of 13-year-old Ghassan Gharib is carried on shoulders after he was shot dead by Israeli forces near Ramallah this July (AFP)

Palestinians in the West Bank, unlike those in Gaza, do not want an open war between Israel and Hezbollah. They know from past experiences that such a conflict would bring significant political and economic costs, impacting their daily lives and essential needs.

If they become prisoners in their own land, Israel would have no hesitation in harming or detaining them.

In a possible war between Israel and Hezbollah, Israel would likely isolate itself and close its borders, cutting off the Palestinians in the West Bank to prevent another front. This would mean restricted movement, halted travel, and a stop to the flow of goods to the West Bank.

Israel would also cut off electricity, water, and fuel to Palestinians, reserving these resources for itself during the crisis.

While Israel might manage such a situation, the Palestinian Authority, already in financial and security turmoil, would struggle severely. Israel is preparing for extreme scenarios, including prolonged blackouts, infrastructure damage, and shortages of basic supplies, which would also affect the Palestinians.

Life Support Cut

Recent remarks by Shaul Goldstein, head of Israel’s state-owned electricity company, about a potential power grid collapse if war breaks out with Hezbollah, have alarmed not only Israelis but also Palestinians in the West Bank who buy electricity from Israel.

“We are not in a good situation, and we are not prepared for a real war. We are living in a fantasy,” said Goldstein.

“We cannot promise electricity if there is a war in the north. After 72 hours without electricity, it will be impossible to live here. We are not prepared for a real war,” he added.

This issue extends to water and fuel as well.

Even before any potential conflict this summer, Palestinians are already experiencing water shortages. The Israeli national water company “Mekorot” has reduced water supplies to the West Bank, a punitive measure Palestinians have grown accustomed to.

Official figures show that the average daily water consumption per person in Israel, including the settlements, is 247 liters. This is nearly three times the average for a Palestinian in the West Bank, which is 82.4 liters. In Palestinian communities without a water network, it falls to just 26 liters.

Stockpiling Essentials

Many Palestinians in the West Bank already face severe water shortages, receiving running water for less than 10 days a month, while the rest goes to Israelis.

Statistics show that Israelis consume ten times more water than Palestinians in the West Bank. This disparity is expected to grow even further this year.

With the threat of a potential war, Palestinians understand they could be left without water, electricity, medicine, or fuel. This fear has led many to start stockpiling essentials like flour, canned goods, and bottled water.

“I didn’t want to wait any longer. I bought some flour, canned goods, and water,” said Saeed Abu Sherkh.

“Once war starts, panic will set in. Prices will skyrocket, and supplies will disappear. We might face the same harsh conditions Gazans experienced,” he told Asharq Al-Awsat.

Gaza has suffered severe shortages of electricity, water, medicine, and basic supplies, reaching a point of famine.

Abu Sherkh, like many of his friends, prefers to be prepared. He has stocked up on flour, canned goods, bottled water, and even gasoline or diesel.

A recent test occurred when Iranian drones and rockets targeted Israel, making it difficult to access grocery stores. People rushed to buy essential food, while fuel stations ran out for several days, serving as a “simulation” for a real war.

Abdul Azim Awad does not want to face another such test.

“One hour after the Iranian drones hit, I couldn’t find many food items. I couldn't get fuel for days. I feared the war had actually started. I wasn’t prepared,” he told Asharq Al-Awsat.

Despite this, Awad hopes not to endure another, more severe experience and does not want to see another war.

“We’re tired of war. The situation is tough. Businesses are suffering, the economy is collapsing. There are no salaries, and workers can’t go to Israel. Traders are complaining. Another long war with Lebanon would mean real devastation here. I think it would be catastrophic,” he added.

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In Assad's Hometown, Few Shared in His Family's Fortune. They Hope they Won't Share in His Downfall

A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)
A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)
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In Assad's Hometown, Few Shared in His Family's Fortune. They Hope they Won't Share in His Downfall

A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)
A defaced portrait of ousted president Bashar al-Assad hangs on the wall of a building in the capital Damascus on December 17, 2024. (Photo by Sameer Al-DOUMY / AFP)

On the walls of the palatial mausoleum built to house the remains of former Syrian President Hafez Assad, vandals have sprayed variations of the phrase, “Damn your soul, Hafez.”
Nearly two weeks after the ouster of his son, Bashar Assad, people streamed in to take photos next to the burned-out hollow where the elder Assad’s grave used to be. It was torched by opposition fighters after a lightning offensive overthrew Assad's government, bringing more than a half-century rule by the Assad dynasty to an end, The Associated Press said.
The mausoleum's sprawling grounds — and the surrounding area, where the ousted president and other relatives had villas — were until recently off limits to residents of Qardaha, the former presidential dynasty's hometown in the mountains overlooking the coastal city of Latakia.
Nearby, Bashar Assad’s house was emptied by looters, who left the water taps running to flood it. At a villa belonging to three of his cousins, a father and his two young sons were removing pipes to sell the scrap metal. A gutted piano was tipped over on the floor.
While the Assads lived in luxury, most Qardaha residents — many, like Assad, members of the Alawite minority sect — survived on manual labor, low-level civil service jobs and farming to eke out a living. Many sent their sons to serve in the army, not out of loyalty to the government but because they had no other option.
“The situation was not what the rest of the Syrian society thought,” said Deeb Dayoub, an Alawite sheikh. “Everyone thought Qardaha was a city built on a marble rock and a square of aquamarine in every house," he said, referring to the trappings of wealth enjoyed by Assad's family.
In the city’s main street, a modest strip of small grocery stores and clothing shops, Ali Youssef, stood next to a coffee cart, gesturing with disdain. “This street is the best market and the best street in Qardaha and it’s full of potholes.”
Families resorted to eating bread dipped in oil and salt because they could not afford meat or vegetables, he said. Youssef said he dodged mandatory military service for two years, but eventually was forced to go.
“Our salary was 300,000 Syrian pounds,” a month, he said — just over $20. “We used to send it to our families to pay the rent or live and eat with it" while working jobs on the side to cover their own expenses.
"Very few people benefited from the former deposed regime,” Youssef said.
So far, residents said, the security forces made up of fighters from Hayat Tahrir al-Sham — the main group in the coalition that unseated Assad, and which is now ruling the country — have been respectful toward them.
“The security situation is fine so far, it’s acceptable, no major issues,” said Mariam al-Ali, who was in the market with her daughter. “There were a few abuses ... but it was fixed.” She did not elaborate, but others said there had been scattered incidents of robberies and looting or threats and insults.
Al-Ali called Assad a “traitor,” but she remained circumspect about her Alawite community's position in the new Syria.
“The most important thing is that there should be no sectarianism, so there will be no more blood spilled,” she said.
Dayoub, the Alawite sheikh, described “a state of anticipation and caution among all citizens in this area, and in general among Alawites,” although he said fears have started to ease.
At the town’s municipal building, dozens of notables sat on bleachers discussing the country' s new reality and what they hoped to convey to the new leadership.
Much was centered around economic woes — retired public servants' salaries had not been paid, the price of fuel had risen, there was no public transportation in the area.
But others had larger concerns.
“We hope that in the next government or the new Syria, we will have rights and duties like any Syrian citizen — we are not asking for any more or less,” said Jaafar Ahmed, a doctoral student and community activist. “We don’t accept the curtailment of our rights because the regime was part of this component.”
Questions also loomed about the fate of the area's sons who had served in Assad's army.
Since the army's collapse in the face of the opposition advance, residents said several thousand young army recruits from Qardaha have gone missing. Some later turned up on lists of former soldiers being held at a detention center in Hama.
“These are young guys who are 22 or 23 and they never took part" in active combat, said Qais Ibrahim, whose nephews were among the missing. Over the past few years, active combat was largely frozen in the country's civil war. “We send our children to the army because we don’t have any other source of income.”
Um Jaafar, who gave only her nickname out of fear of reprisals, said the family had no information about the fate of her two sons, stationed with the army in Raqqa and Deir Ezzour, though one son's name later turned up on the list of those imprisoned in Hama.
“My children got the best grades in school, but I didn’t have the ability to send them to the university,” she said. “They went to the army just for a salary that was barely enough to cover their transportation costs.”
Syria's new authorities have set up “reconciliation centers” around the country where former soldiers can register, hand over their weapons and receive a “reconciliation ID” allowing them to move freely and safely in Syria for three months.
But Ahmed, the doctoral student, said he wants more. As the country attempts to unify and move on after nearly 14 years of civil war, he said, “We want either forgiveness for all or accountability for all.”
Ahmed acknowledged that during the war, “rural Latakia was responsible for some radical groups,” referring to pro-Assad militias accused of widespread abuses against civilians. But, he said, opposition groups also committed abuses.
“We hope that there will be either an open process of reconciliation ... or transitional justice in which all will be held accountable for their mistakes, from all parties," he said.
"We can’t talk about holding accountable one ... group but not another.”