Floods, Drought Raise Questions over Türkiye’s Tigris, Euphrates Leverage

The Ataturk Dam on the Euphrates River sparked a Türkiye -Syria crisis in the 1990s. (Turkish State Hydraulic Works website)
The Ataturk Dam on the Euphrates River sparked a Türkiye -Syria crisis in the 1990s. (Turkish State Hydraulic Works website)
TT

Floods, Drought Raise Questions over Türkiye’s Tigris, Euphrates Leverage

The Ataturk Dam on the Euphrates River sparked a Türkiye -Syria crisis in the 1990s. (Turkish State Hydraulic Works website)
The Ataturk Dam on the Euphrates River sparked a Türkiye -Syria crisis in the 1990s. (Turkish State Hydraulic Works website)

Floods that swept northern and eastern Syria in early June, along with a rise in the Euphrates River after heavy rain and increased flows from Türkiye, have revived questions about the water crisis in Syria and Iraq, and whether Türkiye is using the Tigris and Euphrates as a political and security pressure card.

The crisis between Türkiye, Iraq and Syria centers on how to share the waters of the two rivers. Türkiye, the upstream state, controls the main tributaries. Its water policies and expanding dam network have sharply reduced flows, worsened drought and pushed water levels to near-catastrophic lows, especially in Iraq, which has faced its worst drought in more than 80 years.

Türkiye says the Tigris and Euphrates are transboundary rivers and that it has the right to manage them under its territorial sovereignty. Iraq and Syria want them classified as international rivers, with fair-sharing rules and international law applied under historic agreements, including the 1923 Treaty of Lausanne and joint cooperation protocols.

Mismanagement or resource depletion?

Türkiye has been accused of using water as leverage against Iraq and Syria for security reasons, mainly linked to the Kurdistan Workers Party, or PKK, and its extensions inside both countries. Those tensions later widened into Turkish air and ground operations in the two neighboring states, leaving a Turkish military presence that has long caused friction, especially between Ankara and Baghdad.

Several issues drive the crisis. The most important is Türkiye’s Southeastern Anatolia Project, designed to develop eastern and southeastern Türkiye. Under the project, Türkiye built major dams and reservoirs, including the Ataturk, Keban and Ilisu dams, to regulate irrigation and generate power. That sharply reduced the water reaching Syria and Iraq, the transit and downstream states.

The impact has been especially severe in Iraq. Water scarcity has battered agriculture, shrunk farmland, damaged the southern marshes listed as a World Heritage site and triggered repeated social and environmental crises.

Lower flows have also hit hydroelectric power generation and drinking water supplies for millions of people. In Syria, drought periods have raised the risks of pollution and disease.

Diplomatic efforts have surfaced from time to time. The countries have reached understandings, joint agreements and bilateral, and sometimes trilateral, memorandums of understanding to secure the minimum vital needs of each state. During severe droughts, Iraq and Syria have also tried to persuade Türkiye to increase flows. Türkiye insists it is a water-poor country and says Iraq’s crisis stems from local mismanagement and poor resource use, not from Turkish dams.

In Mesopotamia, water has rarely been just a natural resource. It has been a foundation of civilization, a source of conflict and, at times, a key to reconstruction and joint development. That was reflected in the Iraq-Türkiye framework agreement on water and development signed in November 2025.

What the Tigris brings together, the Euphrates drives apart

Turkish writer and water affairs researcher Bilgay Duman said the agreement, whose full terms have not been disclosed, marked an important development not only in Ankara-Baghdad relations, but also in redefining how shared resources are managed in the Middle East.

Duman said that after Türkiye, Iraq and Syria emerged as states, regulating the use of resources became a political and legal necessity. It also became a permanent source of dispute. The Euphrates turned into a three-way issue, while the Tigris became central to Turkish-Iraqi relations.

Early attempts were made to agree on water shares. The 1921 Ankara Agreement and the 1946 agreement between Türkiye and Iraq laid technical foundations for cooperation, including data sharing and flood control.

Later came the 1987 Syrian-Turkish agreement, a temporary deal to share Euphrates waters during the five-year filling of the Ataturk Dam reservoir.

Signed on July 17, 1987, the agreement committed Türkiye to provide an annual average of more than 500 cubic meters per second at the Turkish-Syrian border until a final arrangement was reached among the three Euphrates states.

On April 17, 1989, Syria and Iraq signed an agreement setting Iraq’s share at 9.106 billion cubic meters a year through the Syrian border, Syria’s share at 6.627 billion cubic meters and Türkiye’s at 15.700 billion cubic meters.

Syria registered its agreement with Türkiye at the United Nations in 1994 to secure its minimum share, and Iraq’s, of Euphrates waters. But that did not solve the problem.

Water for the PKK

As accusations grew that Türkiye was using water to pressure its neighbors, squeeze Kurds in Syria and push Iraq to act against the PKK and classify it as a terrorist organization, the 1997 UN Convention on the Law of the Non-Navigational Uses of International Watercourses set out the principles of no harm and equitable distribution.

It also required states to consider the water, economic and social needs of all riparian countries, as well as the needs of populations dependent on the watercourse and its direct and possible effects.

The convention strengthened Iraq and Syria’s legal position against Türkiye because both countries have large areas along the Tigris and Euphrates. Syria was among the first states to ratify it. Türkiye did not join, saying it harmed its interests and water rights, and voted against its adoption.

Syria, where the Euphrates irrigates more than 640,000 hectares, did not turn to international arbitration to secure its water rights from Türkiye. International law remains inconclusive in such cases, and arbitration requires both sides to agree.

Syrian support for the PKK, and its decision to allow the group’s fighters to use northern Syria as a rear base, pushed Türkiye into a harder position and led Ankara to link that support to the water dispute.

In 1993, Turkish-Syrian talks were held in Ankara to reach a final agreement on water shares. They produced nothing beyond the temporary 1987 arrangement, which was tied only to the filling of Lake Ataturk.

The same period saw Syria and Türkiye sign a joint development agreement on the Orontes River, which rises in Lebanon’s upper Bekaa Valley. Türkiye had been excluded from sharing the river with Syria and Lebanon in 1994. Giving up its share was a small price for greater benefit from the Euphrates.

Only 10% of the Orontes reached Türkiye’s Hatay province, and by then it was polluted and unusable. For decades, residents of the province bordering Syria, historically known as the Sanjak of Alexandretta, saw central government policies as unfair and blamed them for marginalizing the area and depriving it of a natural resource for political, ethnic and religious reasons.

Syrian revolution, Turkish opportunity

After the Syrian uprising against Bashar al-Assad began, Türkiye moved quickly to complete the Sanliurfa water canals project in 2012. The canals allowed water held at the Ataturk Dam to irrigate the border plains with Syria in Harran, Mardin and Ceylanpinar. The Silvan Dam was also filled in 2011. Syria took no countermeasure because Assad’s authorities were busy suppressing the uprising.

Syria’s approach to the water file showed that its main strategy against Türkiye had been to exploit internal security and the PKK threat, a strategy that ended with the Adana Agreement. Other options seemed impossible because of Türkiye’s military strength, external alliances and control of the Euphrates source.

Iraq: Drought and unrest

Iraq, which gets 60% of its water needs from Türkiye, has been the hardest hit by shortages. It faced successive severe crises across its territory, especially after the Ilisu Dam, built on the upper Tigris in Türkiye, began operating in 2020. Other dams on smaller tributaries added to the pressure. Tensions with Türkiye over water reached their peak.

Other environmental issues, including tree-cutting in northern Iraq during a Turkish military campaign against PKK militants, deepened tensions with Ankara. Pressure on the Turkish government produced little beyond a slight delay in filling Ilisu, postponing the problem rather than solving it.

In the summer of 2018, dwindling water resources and pollution caused fish to die in the Euphrates. Water shortages then became a major cause of social unrest across Iraq in the following years, culminating in the worst drought in 80 years in 2025.

The Ilisu Dam reduced Iraq’s share of Tigris waters to nearly 60% because of power generation.

In June 2025, Iraq called for water not to be used as a political pressure card and urged a joint regional vision based on fair distribution of transboundary waters. At the same time, it noted progress in negotiations and in the work of joint committees with Türkiye and Iran.

Despite this, Iraq and Türkiye kept positive relations, which expanded under Iraqi Prime Minister Mohammed Shia al-Sudani. The two sides reached understandings on security, the economy, trade, water and energy, while focusing on cooperation over the Development Road project.

Water disputes, also tied to security as in the Syrian case, became a route to cooperation after Iraq’s National Security Council declared the PKK a banned group in 2024.

Development Road runs through politics

On Nov. 2, 2025, Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan and Iraqi Foreign Minister Fuad Hussein signed a document establishing a mechanism to finance projects under a framework agreement for water cooperation. The mechanism implements the water cooperation framework agreement signed in 2024 during Turkish President Tayyip Erdogan’s visit to Iraq.

The agreement set a framework for water projects worth billions of dollars. Turkish companies will build new infrastructure to improve water-use efficiency and storage in Iraq. The projects will be financed from Iraqi oil revenues, in an attempt to turn crude exports into water security.

According to details that have emerged but have not been formally announced by either side, the first projects include water-collection dams and land-reclamation initiatives.

Ankara described the initiative as mutually beneficial for regional stability and economic cooperation.

“We in Türkiye are keen to support Iraq’s security, development and safety, and our support in this regard is absolute,” Fidan said at the signing ceremony.

Hussein said the agreement was needed to protect water security, food production and economic stability. He said Baghdad had long suffered from a weak position because of the absence of formal treaties regulating the use of Tigris and Euphrates waters.

Securing Erdogan’s presidency in 2028?

The agreement stirred doubts and fears among some Iraqi politicians and water experts. Some said it serves Türkiye more than Iraq and supports Erdogan’s effort to remain president after 2028.

Some Iraqi political forces reject the agreements with Türkiye, including those linked to the Development Road project and water cooperation. They say the deals could make Iraq dependent on Türkiye.

Allocating oil revenues to contracts with Turkish companies also raises legal and constitutional questions, along with concerns about corruption, weak transparency and possible obstacles caused by relying on one funding source, oil, which is exposed to global price swings.

Some opponents point to the absence of a final, binding legal framework agreed by both sides that defines the water share Türkiye must release to Iraq from the Tigris and Euphrates.

Although Türkiye and the PKK have begun a process to end the group’s activity, the PKK file and the presence of its members in northern Iraq, in areas beyond Baghdad’s control, could still obstruct implementation of the agreement.

The issue is not limited to Iraq’s domestic situation. It also touches the regional balance, with some parties seeing stronger Iraq-Türkiye ties as a source of pressure. That could turn Iraq into an arena for regional competition and influence struggles.

The Ottoman legacy

Duman said the agreement serves the interests of both Türkiye and Iraq. He said the water problem between the two countries did not emerge in recent decades, but dates back to the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, when the Tigris and Euphrates changed from internal rivers inside one political entity into transboundary rivers between independent states.

What marks the current phase in Turkish-Iraqi relations, he said, is the gradual shift from conflict over water shares to managing mutual benefit, and a broader rethinking of transboundary resources as a driver of integration, not a permanent source of tension.

He said the agreement’s most important new feature is the direct link between water and energy. Revenues from oil Türkiye imports from Iraq will finance water projects inside Iraq.

Turkish companies specializing in dams, modern irrigation networks, water treatment and waste reduction will carry them out. That bypasses one of Iraq’s biggest development obstacles, lack of funding, without turning to foreign loans or the conditions of international financial institutions.

In an article on the Turkish platform Fikir Turu, Duman said the model gives Türkiye a new role, not just as a state that controls water sources but as a partner in rebuilding Iraq’s infrastructure. That strengthens Türkiye’s regional influence through economic and development tools rather than hard-power tools.

The model could also expand regionally and become a practical reference for future cooperation with Syria, especially on Euphrates water management, if the right political conditions emerge.

Water diplomacy in the Levant could then shift from a source of fragility and chronic conflict into a platform for trust-building and regional integration, by linking natural resources to economic development rather than reducing them to sovereignty and conflict.

Prominent Turkish transboundary water researcher Dr. Tugba Evrim Maden told Asharq Al-Awsat that shared water resources need joint management based on technological solutions, not conflict or legal disputes.

She said the problems of downstream countries mostly stem from political instability, destroyed infrastructure, poor resource use and waste.

Türkiye is not rich in water

Contrary to common belief, Türkiye is not rich in water resources. It is not water-abundant compared with its region. It lies in a semi-arid climate zone and has less annual water per person than its neighbors, North America and water-rich northern Europe.

In water-rich countries, the annual per capita share of usable water exceeds 10,000 cubic meters. In Türkiye, it is about 1,350 cubic meters, according to Turkish Foreign Ministry data.

If the population reaches 100 million in 2030, Türkiye’s per capita water share is expected to fall to about 1,000 cubic meters. Because Türkiye’s water resources vary by region and season, they cannot meet current and expected needs everywhere. Some areas have abundant water that is not suitable for use, while densely populated industrial areas lack enough water.

Türkiye’s arid and semi-arid regions receive rain for only four or five months a year. That makes water development projects, including dams and reservoirs that store rainwater for year-round use, vital to sustainable social and economic development.

At the same time, Türkiye’s energy consumption is rising because of rapid urbanization and industrialization. Its per capita energy use is only one-sixth of the European Union average. Türkiye has no major oil or natural gas resources, so it is pursuing domestic resources to meet rising energy needs, including renewable, cheap and environmentally friendly hydropower.

The UN Convention to Combat Desertification’s report, “Global Drought Hotspots 2023-2025,” placed Türkiye among critical areas in the drought belt stretching from southern Europe to the Middle East.

The report warned that current trends could push Türkiye into severe water scarcity by 2030, with nearly 80% of its farmland potentially exposed to repeated and severe drought waves over the next decade.

As climate change intensifies, Türkiye is nearing a crisis that threatens its water security. Turkish and international experts say it is approaching the critical threshold of water poverty and could be officially classified as water-poor by 2030 if current conditions continue.

Türkiye’s per capita share of renewable water has fallen from about 1,650 cubic meters at the start of the millennium to below 1,300 cubic meters now, nearing the UN red line of 1,000 cubic meters a year.

The 19% decline in two decades reflects not only a resource crisis, but also an unsustainable consumption pattern and a water management system facing a serious structural challenge, water experts say.

Türkiye suffered severe drought in 2025, marked by scarce rain, record temperatures and dried-up lakes and water bodies. It recorded its hottest December in more than half a century, with rainfall more than 50% below seasonal averages, according to the Turkish State Meteorological Service.

Lack of response

Experts say that despite growing warnings about water poverty, the authorities’ response remains below the scale of the challenge.

Mustafa Chashmaz, a climate professor at Karadeniz Technical University, warned that evaporation caused by rising temperatures has become one of the main drivers of water loss. He said that storing water in broad-surface dams without accounting for climate conditions makes reservoirs more vulnerable to evaporation as heat waves intensify.

He called for urgent technical solutions, including deeper reservoirs less exposed to sunlight, covered basins in sensitive areas, and a ban on the use of freshwater in private swimming pools at coastal resorts, replacing it with treated saltwater.

He also said state institutions are part of the problem because public facilities consume large amounts of water without effective conservation systems or modern saving technologies.

Türkiye faces one of the most complex environmental challenges in its modern history: widening desertification, worsening drought and rising environmental stress. Recent years have brought repeated severe heat waves and forest fires, including about 3,000 fires in the summer of 2025.

Türkiye’s water crisis extends beyond its borders and affects regional water security, especially in Syria and Iraq. Türkiye controls about 90% of Euphrates waters and a large share of Tigris waters.

At the opening of water projects in October 2025, Erdogan said Türkiye was not water-rich, as some believe. Annual average rainfall does not exceed 574 millimeters, he said, far below the global average.

Experts say agriculture consumes 70% to 75% of total water withdrawals, while cities lose 20% to 35% through leaking networks. Dam efficiency is also weakened by evaporation and sediment buildup.

The Turkish government recently announced a program to restore shrinking or dried-up lakes, including Lake Marmara in western Türkiye. It also plans to invest in wastewater recycling plants for irrigation, agriculture and industry, and to build new desalination plants in areas with chronic freshwater shortages, especially western Anatolia and the Mediterranean coast.

Urgent priorities include cutting urban water losses to below 15%, expanding high-efficiency irrigation systems to save up to 30% of agricultural consumption, reducing evaporation by improving reservoir design and expanding underground storage, raising treated-water reuse to 20% of urban demand, adjusting water tariffs, shifting to less water-intensive crops and adopting mandatory drought management plans.



War in the Heart of Hebron: 500 Settlers Share Daily Life with Thousands of Palestinians

10 October 2026, Palestinian Territories, Hebron: Israeli soldiers stand guard during a tour by Israeli settlers in the Old City of Hebron. Photo: Mamoun Wazwaz/APA Images via ZUMA Press Wire/dpa
10 October 2026, Palestinian Territories, Hebron: Israeli soldiers stand guard during a tour by Israeli settlers in the Old City of Hebron. Photo: Mamoun Wazwaz/APA Images via ZUMA Press Wire/dpa
TT

War in the Heart of Hebron: 500 Settlers Share Daily Life with Thousands of Palestinians

10 October 2026, Palestinian Territories, Hebron: Israeli soldiers stand guard during a tour by Israeli settlers in the Old City of Hebron. Photo: Mamoun Wazwaz/APA Images via ZUMA Press Wire/dpa
10 October 2026, Palestinian Territories, Hebron: Israeli soldiers stand guard during a tour by Israeli settlers in the Old City of Hebron. Photo: Mamoun Wazwaz/APA Images via ZUMA Press Wire/dpa

Before reaching the city of Hebron, about 35 kilometers south of Jerusalem in the West Bank, travelers on the fast bypass road known as Route 60 encounter numerous road signs directing people of different nationalities, religions and denominations to their destinations. Written in Hebrew, English and Arabic, the signs point to Palestinian and Israeli destinations, and sometimes places farther afield: Karmei Tzur, Halhul, Beit Ummar, Kiryat Gat, Al-Arroub refugee camp, Kiryat Arba, the Ibrahimi Mosque and others.

No Entry

Shortly before the city's main entrance, a large sign warns Israelis against entering Area A, which is designated off-limits and "dangerous" to them. Yet the warning ignores the fact that 500 settlers live within it, occupying the heart of the West Bank's largest city, its Old City, where they share streets, houses, shops, squares, balcony views and the Ibrahimi Mosque with Palestinian residents.

Every day, the settlers attempt to drive out their neighbors in a long and exhausting struggle that has become considerably more intense since October 7, 2023.

At the beginning of Shuhada Street, near the bustling Bab al-Zawiya district, known for its crowds and commercial activity, Israeli soldiers stand on alert. Their mission is to prevent Palestinians from entering the area, except for the few who still live in its old, dilapidated and surrounded houses and have refused to leave.

Even these residents face thorough searches every day as they enter and leave, treated as perpetual suspects.

Before and After October 7

Before October 7, we had entered the street after receiving permission from the soldiers. But just 100 meters farther along, a soldier stopped us and said we could go no farther because of our "Arab appearance," claiming he could not guarantee our safety.

Today, entry is prohibited from the very first meter.

 

Intersection in the city of Hebron (Asharq Al-Awsat)

We entered the Old City through other routes that remained open, only to find that many of its streets had been closed. We could not reach several areas, including Al-Sahla Street behind the Ibrahimi Mosque, which, like Shuhada Street, had been closed to all Palestinians except the few "troublesome" residents who still lived there.

Islam al-Fakhouri came out to meet us in streets that were not closed off, including the once-busy Laban Market, which stood deserted. Shops were shuttered, with no merchants, residents or shoppers in sight. The market is part of a network of interconnected streets in the Old City.

Al-Fakhouri told Asharq Al-Awsat that he prefers to leave his home only once a day before returning for the last time, to avoid the numerous humiliating and difficult procedures.

"They treat us as suspects all the time. Your name has to be on a special list, and you undergo a search when you leave and when you return. They check your identity documents before allowing you through," he explained.

Al-Fakhouri is among the few Palestinians who have remained in their homes on Al-Sahla Street, near the Ibrahimi Mosque, which lies at the center of the conflict for both Palestinians and Israelis.

He said he stayed because he could not accept the idea of abandoning his home and because he "does not want to leave it to them."

"If I leave the house, they will immediately take it over. That is exactly what they want. Everything happening here is designed to force us out of our homes. Why does the army make our lives so difficult? Why all these restrictions? Why do settlers attack us? Because they want the entire place," he said.

Al-Fakhouri described how he and other residents had repeatedly been subjected to attacks and assaults, but insisted that he would not give up.

"I'm not leaving, and I'm not giving up my home," he said.

His determination did not waver after October 7, even as the struggle to remain became more difficult and costly.

Since that date, settlers across the West Bank have intensified their hostile actions, carrying out deadly attacks across large areas, killing Palestinians, burning their homes, properties and places of worship, destroying crops, and seizing land, houses, hilltops and even livestock.

"After October 7, every settler became a government unto himself," Al-Fakhouri said.

"We used to move around more freely, and there was less friction. But after October 7, everything changed. They closed the gates and increased the checkpoints. Every movement here is now restricted. On top of that, we face constant attacks and assaults without any accountability or oversight. They attack homes and assault us in the streets. Every day there is a problem. Every single day."

Al-Fakhouri's account helps explain why large parts of the Old City have lost their residents and why so many shops remain closed.

A Battle That Began in 1978

The closures did not begin after October 7. They date back much further. The settlers' struggle is decades old, although it has intensified significantly since that date.

According to the Palestinian National Information Center, the first settlement outposts inside the Old City were established in 1978, when a group of settlers occupied the Al-Dabouya building in the city center. They later renamed it Beit Hadassah.

Following the well-known 1980 Al-Dabouya attack, Israeli authorities demolished dozens of homes to expand the strategically located settlement outpost.

In 1983, another outpost, known as Beit Romano, was established near the Al-Dabouya building after settlers took control of the Osama ibn Munqidh School, claiming it was Jewish property.

In 1984, a new settlement outpost, Avraham Avinu, was established on an archaeological site in Tel Rumeida. Israeli authorities also closed the Old City's central vegetable market, which was later handed over to settlers to establish another outpost. Other outposts included Beit Chason and Beit Schneerson.

The Palestinian National Information Center said Israel was seeking to take control of the area and expand the settlement outposts. To achieve this, it said, Israeli authorities had adopted discriminatory policies against Arab residents, installing dozens of barriers and checkpoints and completely closing certain streets and markets in an effort to pressure residents into leaving.

The center estimated that approximately 1,829 commercial establishments had closed, including 520 shut by specific military orders. The remainder were closed by their owners because roads had been blocked and barriers and checkpoints installed throughout the narrow streets.

Residents of the Old City whom we met briefly said the struggle with settlers was longstanding but had intensified during two pivotal periods: after the Second Intifada in 2000 and following October 7, 2023.

To date, most of the Old City's 40,000 residents have left.

The Ibrahimi Mosque, Just a Stone's Throw Away

The Ibrahimi Mosque, which Palestinians describe as the oldest sacred site in the world, was just a stone's throw away.

As we approached, signs of life began to emerge. A handful of shops were open, with artisans and craftspeople displaying jewelry, pottery, wood carvings, maps of Palestine, embroidered items, decorated mugs, incense and Turkish delight produced in an exceptionally old factory, one that predates the occupation itself.

One shop window featured a portrait of the late Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish painted on a piece of mother-of-pearl, accompanied by his famous words: "On this earth, there is what makes life worth living."

Beside it was a portrait of the Lebanese singer Fairuz, with the lyrics "I belong to my beloved, and my beloved belongs to me." Other pieces of pottery seemed almost disconnected from the present moment.

But across from the Ibrahimi Mosque, an armed Israeli soldier stood alert behind security gates, monitoring those who wished to pray and allowing them through only when a green light appeared.

We passed through turnstiles, which Palestinians sarcastically call "the wringers," and then electronic security gates. A soldier checked each person's identification before we proceeded to security booths under surveillance cameras and the watch of armed guards. There, a female soldier inspected our identification documents once again before permitting us to enter the mosque.

The few steps felt more like crossing an international border or entering a defense ministry headquarters than approaching a mosque for prayer.

The site, deeply sacred to Muslims, retained its solemn atmosphere, but only a few worshippers were present.

Some visitors were entering for the first time in their lives. They examined the tombs of the prophets with astonishment, discovering ancient corners of the building under the watchful eyes of Israeli cameras.

Cameras were everywhere. Wherever you turned, another camera recorded every movement and every word.

Palestinians wait at an Israeli checkpoint as they head for prayer at the Ibrahimi Mosque, also known as the Cave of Patriarchs, in the old city of Hebron, in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, June 17, 2026. REUTERS/Ammar Awad

Mosque Director: They Instill Fear in Us

Sheikh Mutaz Abu Sneineh, director of the Ibrahimi Mosque, was reluctant to give us a tour, even without cameras or filming, for fear that Israeli forces might use it as a pretext to enter the site.

We had, of course, arrived without cameras or microphones, since bringing such equipment would have meant hours of questioning and waiting for approvals that might never come.

Israeli authorities had expanded the mosque's surveillance system to cover every corner with audio and video recording. They had also compelled the mosque administration to install designated pathways over the carpets so soldiers could enter the mosque quickly at any time.

"You can see for yourself. Anyone entering here feels as though they are entering a military barracks, under surveillance," Abu Sneineh told Asharq Al-Awsat.

"Checkpoints, gates, thorough inspections, searches and identity checks. These are daily procedures imposed on everyone entering the Ibrahimi Mosque, and people are sometimes subjected to humiliation and degrading treatment.

"That includes the mosque's custodians, employees and administration. Everyone who enters this place is under intense audio and video surveillance."

For the mosque director, these measures are part of a broader policy intended to impose a new reality, empty the mosque of worshippers and turn it into a place for Jews.

The mosque was indeed largely empty, and Abu Sneineh confirmed that conditions had changed dramatically since October 7, to the point that Palestinians under the age of 25 were now completely prohibited from entering.

"They instill fear and terror in those who come here," he said.

Worshippers inside the Ibrahimi Mosque (Asharq Al-Awsat)

Division by Time and Space

Another section of the mosque remained entirely off-limits to us, much like parts of the Old City.

Following the 1994 Ibrahimi Mosque massacre, in which Baruch Goldstein, an Israeli army doctor and settler, killed 29 Muslim worshippers, Israel took control of 63 percent of the mosque and designated it exclusively for Jewish use.

Goldstein was an activist in the extremist Kach movement, founded by Meir Kahane.

"Sixty-three percent has been off-limits to Muslims ever since," Abu Sneineh said.

Behind a separating door, Jewish religious prayers and noisy celebrations take place, accompanied by the blowing of the shofar.

Muslims are allowed into that section on only ten days each year, including Fridays during Ramadan, Laylat al-Qadr, Eid al-Fitr, Eid al-Adha, the Prophet Muhammad's birthday, the anniversary of the Hijra and the commemoration of Isra and Mi'raj.

Conversely, Muslims are entirely barred from the mosque for ten days associated with Jewish religious holidays.

This arrangement is known as the division of the site by time and space, a model Palestinians fear could also be imposed at Al-Aqsa

Mosque in Jerusalem.

The muezzin rose to lead the call to prayer before the small congregation, having previously been prevented from reaching his room, which is located in the section controlled by Israeli authorities.

He had also been prohibited from broadcasting the call to prayer through loudspeakers outside the mosque.

Previously, the muezzin had to wait for Israeli soldiers to arrive and escort him to his room. After issuing the call to prayer, he would leave under their escort, completing a short journey fraught with danger.

Even this arrangement does not apply to every prayer. He is barred from reaching the room during specified periods on Saturdays and Fridays and at certain hours of the night.

Shared Tombs and a Battle Over Historical Narratives

The tombs of Abraham, Jacob, Isaac and Joseph were among the most visited places and popular spots for commemorative photographs.

Jews regard these tombs as evidence that the site belongs to them as well. The conflict here is therefore not only about occupation, but also about competing historical and religious narratives and the identities they represent.

"They are trying to erase our narrative and identity," Abu Sneineh said.

"They say this place is theirs. We say it is an exclusively Islamic site. They believe they are descended from Abraham and claim that, as descendants of his son, they have a right to this place. But we have a greater claim to the prophets. Abraham was not Jewish."

The mosque director's account reflects the Palestinian and Muslim narrative, but it is not accepted in Israel.

Israelis also revere the Ibrahimi Mosque, which they call the Cave of the Patriarchs, or the Cave of Machpelah, because it contains the burial place of the Prophet Abraham and his wife Sarah in a cave beneath the present building.

Smotrich Declares Mosque 'Sovereign Property'

Shortly after our visit, far-right Israeli Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich visited the Ibrahimi Mosque and declared it the "first sovereign property of the Jewish people."

At the site, where he had come to inaugurate the roofed areas previously mentioned by Abu Sneineh, Smotrich asserted that the mosque would forever remain a symbol of Israeli sovereignty in the West Bank.

Israel's Channel 14 reported that Smotrich, who presided over an event marking the completion of extensive roofing and restoration work at the site, was taking a historic step following his earlier decision to terminate the Hebron agreements and withdraw the Palestinian municipality's relevant powers in Hebron's Old City.

Smotrich had announced last June the cancellation of the Hebron Agreement governing the city, which he calls the land of the patriarchs.

Speaking at a ceremony inaugurating the new Doron settlement in the Hebron Hills at the time, he said:

"We have canceled the Hebron agreements. For many years, one of the most absurd provisions of Oslo remained in effect, under which authority over Jewish settlements in Hebron and the holy sites was granted to the Hebron municipality."

The decision announced by Smotrich, following its approval by the Higher Planning Council of the Israeli military's Civil Administration, stripped the Hebron municipality of its planning and construction powers in Area H2, which includes the Old City.

Hebron Turns the Page on Oslo

Hebron is the only Palestinian city in the West Bank to have been subject to a special agreement in 1997 that divided it into two areas, H1 and H2.

Known as the Protocol Concerning the Redeployment in Hebron, the arrangement followed the 1995 Oslo II Accord and the Israeli-Palestinian peace process launched under the Oslo Accords in 1993.

Under the Hebron agreement, Israel withdrew its forces from Area H1, which accounts for approximately 80 percent of the city, and the Palestinian Authority assumed responsibility for security and civilian affairs there.

In return, Israel retained security control over Area H2, comprising the remaining 20 percent of the city, including the Old City, the Ibrahimi Mosque and the Jewish settlement in Hebron, while civilian powers were transferred to the Palestinian Authority.

"This is much more than a planning measure. It is a historic correction," Smotrich said.

"We are continuing the settlement revolution, strengthening governance and deepening Israeli sovereignty in Judea and Samaria," he added, using the Israeli term for the West Bank.

According to Smotrich, the measure applies to all religious and historical sites in Hebron.

In effect, the move marked the end of the Oslo era in the Old City, at the heart of Hebron.

Palestinians rejected the decision. The Palestinian presidency warned of its dangers, saying it undermined Hebron's political and legal status and the bilateral agreements signed concerning the city.

Hebron's municipality also rejected the move and said it would not accept it.

On the ground, however, a different reality has emerged. Israel now exercises greater control over virtually everything in central Hebron, including the Ibrahimi Mosque.

Just one day after Smotrich announced the "cancellation of the Hebron agreements," a major construction project for a Jewish religious school near the mosque was approved.

Israel's Yedioth Ahronoth newspaper reported that the project had been approved without requiring authorization from the Palestinian municipality, for the first time in decades.

Speaking at the Ibrahimi Mosque during a celebration marking the roofing work, Smotrich said:

"The Cave of Machpelah, the Ibrahimi Mosque, is the first sovereign property of the people of Israel. The place purchased by our forefather Abraham has become a symbol of our sovereignty over this land."

Visits to Preserve Historical Memory

But not everything can be imposed by force.

Outside the main prayer hall, a group of schoolchildren was visiting the mosque as their teachers explained its history, religious significance and the massacre that took place there.

Teacher Sharifa Dweik told Asharq Al-Awsat that she had decided to take the risk of bringing the children to the mosque after realizing they knew almost nothing about it.

The children were excited, as though embarking on an adventure. They eagerly described how they had passed the soldiers without being searched and said they would return.

Dweik said it was essential for the children to visit a place that, in her view, Jews wanted every Palestinian to forget.

Hajj Abdulaziz Abu Haltam said he had traveled from the distant town of Tarqumiya to visit the mosque and the Old City.

"I don't come often because of the risks and the long hours of waiting. But I decided to take the chance, and I really did spend a long and exhausting time waiting before reaching the mosque," he told Asharq Al-Awsat.

Jewish visitors face none of these difficulties. Instead, they arrive accompanied by extensive security protection in what is presented as an effort to emphasize the site's Jewish identity.

Approximately 1,500 Israeli soldiers guard the 500 settlers living in central Hebron.

Israeli flags also surround the walls of the Ibrahimi Mosque, another attempt to reinforce the Israeli narrative through visual symbols wherever possible.

Many of these flags can also be seen throughout large parts of the city's Arab neighborhoods.

Israeli soldiers stand guard during a weekly settlers' tour in Hebron, in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, May 16, 2026. REUTERS/Mussa Qawasma

Neighbors and Enemies

From a vantage point overlooking an area not far from the mosque, the extent to which the two communities occupy the same spaces in large parts of the Old City was striking.

Jewish settlers live above shops that once belonged to Arabs, while only walls separate their homes from those of Palestinians.

Before October 7, when Palestinians were still able to open their shops, shopkeepers had been forced to install wire mesh above the street to protect themselves from objects thrown down by settlers living overhead.

Today, all those shops have closed.

While settlers in Beit Avraham, Beit Hadassah, Beit Romano and Tel Rumeida enjoy extensive protection, many Palestinians have been killed in the area over previous years on allegations that they had stabbed, or intended to stab, soldiers and settlers.

Despite this, Mahmoud Mahamra has refused to leave his home, behind which a tightly secured wooden gate has been installed to separate it from Shuhada Street.

Israeli authorities wanted to prevent any possible contact.

That gate was part of a wider network of barriers closing off Old City streets, alongside checkpoints and security cameras.

Mahamra, who describes himself as the closest Palestinian neighbor to the settlers in his area, said he lives in constant anxiety, which has turned into a nightmare since October 7.

"They always used to harass us, but after October 7, life became unbearable," he told Asharq Al-Awsat.

He recalled a period of relative prosperity before the Second Intifada, although it did not last long.

"We used to live alongside one another. There was life here. But not anymore," he said.

Standing on the roof of his home, Mahamra looked out over neighborhoods that had once been entirely Arab and were now entirely Jewish.

Settlers take over homes and raise Israeli flags above them.

Yet Mahamra has no intention of leaving.

"I'm not leaving this place," he said.

"We are not leaving" has become a slogan embraced by Palestinians across the West Bank. But not everyone is able to live up to it, as they face what the article describes as the most extreme Israeli government and the most violent settlers in the history of the conflict.

The Israeli government is now working to implement what is known as the Decisive Plan, which is based on the premise that the territory between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea has room for only one legitimate national claim: the Zionist claim to full Jewish sovereignty.

Israeli human rights organization B'Tselem has accused Israel of implementing a series of simultaneous policies in the West Bank as part of a broader project aimed at erasing Palestinians as a people.

All of this is unfolding today in Hebron's Old City. For Israel, Hebron may represent a rehearsal for what could happen across the rest of the West Bank.

We left the mosque and the Old City, passing one of the oldest shops, where a large map of Palestine was displayed.

Inscribed on it were Mahmoud Darwish's familiar words:

"She used to be called Palestine. And she is still called Palestine."


Sudan’s Day Laborers Struggle to Survive as War Devastates Livelihoods

Farmers harvest arugula in Khartoum on Oct. 5, 2026. (AP)
Farmers harvest arugula in Khartoum on Oct. 5, 2026. (AP)
TT

Sudan’s Day Laborers Struggle to Survive as War Devastates Livelihoods

Farmers harvest arugula in Khartoum on Oct. 5, 2026. (AP)
Farmers harvest arugula in Khartoum on Oct. 5, 2026. (AP)

In Khartoum, where life is struggling to regain its rhythm after years of war, many doors remain closed to day laborers who once lived on each day's earnings.

A day without work can leave a family without food, a child without money for school or a patient forced to stop treatment because medicine is out of reach.

On sidewalks, in markets and at workshops, day laborers search for any job to get them through the day. More people are competing for fewer jobs, while rising prices and a weakening Sudanese pound erode their wages.

As the gap between earnings and living costs widens, many face a stark choice: accept less pay or go home empty-handed.

Compounding burdens

Labor unionist Abdullah Youssef says the vast majority of workers "lost their jobs because of war, displacement and homelessness." Daily work available before the war is now scarce.

Most workers support families with five or six children at different stages of schooling, he told Asharq Al-Awsat. Economic hardship has pushed some families into debt. Some people have been jailed for failing to meet their financial obligations.

For day laborers, a wage is measured not just in hours worked but in the needs of an entire family. With food and service prices climbing, their earnings have lost much of their purchasing power before they reach home.

Babiker Khalifa, a day laborer and father of three, says the war "destroyed the economy." His family gets by mainly on small meals of fava beans and lentils. Meat, fruit and vegetables are beyond their reach much of the time.

His children need money each day for school, but there is not enough food at home to meet their needs, he told Asharq Al-Awsat. On some nights, they "cry from hunger."

Babiker al-Taher faces much the same hardship. He fled to Gedaref after the war broke out, then returned to Khartoum to find even harsher economic conditions.

"Sometimes we eat, and other times we don't," he said of his family, which includes four children. Rising prices and inflation have sharply cut the real value of a day laborer's pay.

With more people seeking work, laborers often have to accept lower wages to avoid returning to their families empty-handed, he said.

“We need a miracle”

Even tradespeople and craftspeople still in work face shrinking purchasing power and rising living and production costs.

Abdul Karim Ibrahim, a tailor supporting two sons and two daughters, says his daily earnings no longer meet his family's needs.

The economic situation "needs a miracle," he said. Food is now unaffordable for many families, and medical treatment adds to the burden.

Young barber Othman Ali says rising prices and a weakening currency have left his income insufficient for basic needs.

Long power outages and disruptions to the banking apps his customers use for transfers also make it harder to collect payments.

The war forced Ali to leave secondary school and work to help support his large family. He is part of a generation whose education has paid a direct price for the conflict.

The war is no longer the only source of pressure on citizens, Youssef said. Higher levies and fees, a higher exchange rate used to calculate customs duties and bans on some imported goods have compounded the strain and widened the gap in markets, he said.

He called for higher wages and better conditions for pensioners. Some employees receive very little pay, while some retirees receive sums that do not reflect their years of service, he said.

Youssef urged the government to act quickly to help workers and their families. The persistent gap between wages and prices is leaving millions of families facing severe hardship, he said.

“The most vulnerable”

Day laborers are among those hardest hit by Sudan's war, economist Mohammed al-Nayer said. Halted construction and declining craft activity have stripped large numbers of their livelihoods.

"These groups face extremely difficult living conditions amid lost job opportunities and unprecedented increases in the prices of goods and services, alongside a decline in the national currency's value and rising inflation, unemployment and poverty," he told Asharq Al-Awsat.

A comprehensive reconstruction program could employ large numbers of day laborers in construction and related activities, he said. But they remain among the hardest hit as their sources of income remain disrupted.

Al-Nayer said the state must fulfill its responsibility to protect vulnerable and poor people. He called for a comprehensive social protection program to address current economic challenges and support those most affected by the war.

These accounts echo International Labor Organization warnings about the war's deep impact on Sudan's labor market: lost jobs, shrinking economic activity and disrupted livelihoods. Workers in the informal economy are among the most vulnerable.


Olive Trees in S. Lebanon Under Israeli Fire: Deprivation of Harvest Seasons Erodes Village Memory

Lebanese farmers pick olives in the southern Lebanese village of Zawtar al-Gharbiyah, near the neighboring village of Zawtar al-Sharqiyah, where Israeli forces are stationed, in southern Lebanon, 10 October 2026. EPA/WAEL HAMZEH
Lebanese farmers pick olives in the southern Lebanese village of Zawtar al-Gharbiyah, near the neighboring village of Zawtar al-Sharqiyah, where Israeli forces are stationed, in southern Lebanon, 10 October 2026. EPA/WAEL HAMZEH
TT

Olive Trees in S. Lebanon Under Israeli Fire: Deprivation of Harvest Seasons Erodes Village Memory

Lebanese farmers pick olives in the southern Lebanese village of Zawtar al-Gharbiyah, near the neighboring village of Zawtar al-Sharqiyah, where Israeli forces are stationed, in southern Lebanon, 10 October 2026. EPA/WAEL HAMZEH
Lebanese farmers pick olives in the southern Lebanese village of Zawtar al-Gharbiyah, near the neighboring village of Zawtar al-Sharqiyah, where Israeli forces are stationed, in southern Lebanon, 10 October 2026. EPA/WAEL HAMZEH

The killing of a retired Lebanese Army chief warrant officer by Israeli tank fire in Yater has underscored the perilous reality for southern farmers. Targeted while inspecting his home and olive grove, his death has turned this year's harvest season into a stark symbol of the dangers facing those attempting to reach their land.

The incident comes as residents of border villages continue to be deprived of their harvests for nearly three years. It also coincides with a lawsuit filed in France accusing the Israeli military of uprooting around 600 ancient olive trees in Zawtar al-Sharqiyah. Local officials warn of economic and social repercussions that extend far beyond the loss of crops.

Volunteers from Lebanon's northernmost province of Akkar and the city of Sidon take part in an olive-picking initiative in the southern Lebanese village of Jibshit near Nabatieh on October 11, 2026, in a show of solidarity with Southern Lebanon and its farmers. (Photo by MAHMOUD ZAYYAT / AFP)

Targeted While Inspecting His Land

The Lebanese Army announced on Sunday the death of retired Chief Warrant Officer Ali Abdel Hassan Sweidan after being directly targeted by Israeli tank fire while inspecting his property in Yater in the Bint Jbeil district.

The army said a military unit supervised the recovery of his body after contact with him was lost. The municipality of Yater stated that he had been checking on his home and olive grove on the outskirts of the town when he came under fire from the direction of Sarbine, warning residents against approaching unsafe areas.

The incident once again highlights the obstacles facing farmers during a season when families traditionally head to their groves to gather their harvests, as access to parts of agricultural land has become fraught with ongoing security risks.

600 Trees at the Center of a Lawsuit

In Paris, a 37-year-old French businessman of Lebanese origin filed a complaint against unknown persons on September 22, accusing the Israeli military of uprooting roughly 600 olive trees from his family's land in Zawtar al-Sharqiyah.

According to his lawyers, cited by Agence France Presse (AFP), some of the trees are approximately 500 years old, while the family has cultivated the land for about 250 years.

The complaint includes allegations of theft, destruction, and damage to property as potential war crimes. The complainant suspects that the trees were transported to Israel, though this has not been established judicially. He stated that his family home was destroyed in an Israeli strike in April, before the trees were uprooted following Israeli control of the area.

Volunteers from Lebanon's northernmost province of Akkar and the city of Sidon sort olives during an olive-picking initiative in the southern Lebanese village of Jibshit near Nabatieh on October 11, 2026, in a show of solidarity with Southern Lebanon and its farmers. (Photo by MAHMOUD ZAYYAT / AFP)

Half the Fields Out of Reach

Hanna Al-Amil, head of the municipality of Rmeish, told Asharq Al-Awsat that since the beginning of the war nearly three years ago, residents have been deprived of access to a large part of their olive fields “because most of them lie along the border, where security conditions do not permit locals to reach them and harvest their crops.”

“Even today, we do not know whether we will be able to harvest olives this year, especially since the season has not yet started and security risks continue to prevent access to the land."

He explained that roughly three-quarters of Rmeish's territory lies along the border and that more than 50 percent of its olive groves have remained unharvested for the past three years.
This deprives families of a basic source of income, he added.

Al-Amil stressed that agricultural losses are not limited to olives but also affect tobacco cultivation, the town's primary agricultural activity. "This year's tobacco production reached only about 60 percent of pre-war levels, meaning families have lost a significant portion of the income on which they relied."

A Memory Shared by Families and Generations

Mohammad Ismail, head of the municipality of Zawtar al-Sharqiyah, told Asharq Al-Awsat that the town's olive groves are “more than just trees or a source of income. They are heritage, history, and the memories of generations. They embrace the hills and fields, shade the alleys of Zawtar, and provide cool breezes that ease the summer heat."

He noted that olive trees also provide heating wood for many residents.

According to Ismail, the olive harvest is an annual occasion that brings entire families together. "Not merely to gather the crop, but to renew their connection to the land and to the ancestors who planted and cared for these trees, keeping a shared memory alive across generations."

"Today, the occupier seeks to strip us of our spirit and sever our connection to history, our ancestors, and life itself. It seeks to erase the traces of life from our hearts and minds and wipe away its fragrance from our memory,” he said.

"What is happening is not merely the uprooting of trees. It is the uprooting of hearts from chests and an attempt to erase the people's memory and their bond with the land,” he added.

Olive Trees as Part of Southern Identity

Ibrahim Sweidan, deputy head of the municipality of Yater, told Asharq Al-Awsat that "olive groves have become part of the identity of southern Lebanon. For southerners, the olive tree is not merely a tree but part of who they are and their attachment to the land."

A Lebanese farmer shows harvested olives in the southern Lebanese village of Zawtar al-Gharbiyah, near the neighboring village of Zawtar al-Sharqiyah, where Israeli forces are stationed, in southern Lebanon, 10 October 2026. EPA/WAEL HAMZEH

He said the strongest evidence of that attachment is the return of residents to their villages and homes despite difficult security conditions and their determination to remain on their land.

According to Sweidan, attacks on agricultural land, public facilities, and homes all form part of the same pattern: "A strategy aimed at undermining the foundations that allow people to remain in their villages and weakening everything that connects southerners to their land and identity."