The Cost of Survival: Palestinian Farmers Fight for Land in Hebron

Guardians of the Land

Amid the rolling hills of Beit Ummar, just north of Hebron, 56-year-old Theeba al-Sabaa stands as a symbol of resilience. Her story is not unique—many Palestinian farmers in the West Bank are engaged in an unrelenting battle to protect their land from encroaching settlers and restrictive military policies.

Since 2024, when Israeli settler outposts began establishing themselves in the hills surrounding her property, Theeba has been on high alert. Her daily routine includes not just tending to her vines but also guarding them from settler incursions that have become a grim reality for many Palestinian agricultural communities.

"By God, the land has taught me patience, and to cling to my right, for as long as I have a right, I must take it and never let it go," Theeba said.

The tactics used by settlers are not just aggressive—they're deliberate. Livestock is released into cultivated fields, trampling crops and destroying seasonal harvests. Theebas and her neighbors have witnessed firsthand how these actions aim to destabilize the agricultural fabric of their communities.

Living Under Siege

The impact of such actions ripples far beyond immediate crop damage. For Anwar Sabarneh, a 59-year-old farmer who supports a family of 14, the effects have been even more severe. His vineyards, just 300 meters from his home, have become inaccessible due to repeated settler violations.

"The army came with the settlers to ask me for a permit so I can work in my home, in front of my house's door, and on my land where I am the rightful owner," Sabarneh recounted. This isn't just bureaucratic red tape—it's a stark demonstration of how Israeli military policy undermines Palestinian sovereignty.

Sabarneh's sheep have been locked inside a barn for over eight months—a measure of last resort given the danger of settler attacks. But even this safety measure isn't enough; when his children attempted to retrieve stolen animals, Israeli soldiers arrested and beat them.

The Systematic Erasure

These individual stories reflect a broader, systematic strategy aimed at eroding Palestinian agricultural presence in the southern West Bank. According to data from the Colonization and Wall Resistance Commission, there were 11,074 attacks in the first half of 2026—3,488 of them committed by settlers alone.

Hasan Breijieh, a settlement affairs expert and director at the commission, noted that this is part of a deliberate effort to isolate Palestinian communities. Military gates erected at community entrances prevent access to orchards and vineyards, while bypass roads built by Israel fragment local networks.

The result has been devastating: four consecutive seasons without harvesting olive, grape, or guava crops. Fields lie fallow; families are displaced. In many ways, this is not just about food security—it's about the erasure of livelihoods and identities.

Women at the Forefront

In such circumstances, Palestinian women like Theeba al-Sabaa play a critical role. When men are killed or detained by Israeli forces, it is often women who continue to steward their families' land. Their leadership has become a vital force in preserving agricultural traditions that date back generations.

"They continue to maintain their leadership role in preserving the family's agricultural legacy today," Breijieh said.

This isn't just about farming—it's about culture, memory, and resilience. As one farmer told the commission: "Goodbye, vineyard," he said before passing away, echoing the deep emotional ties that bind generations to their land.

A Broader Conflict

What happens in Beit Ummar and Hebron isn't an isolated case. It's part of a larger conflict that spans across occupied Palestinian territories, where agriculture has long been both an economic lifeline and a political battleground.

The Israeli government's policies—ranging from land confiscation to permit restrictions—have created an environment where Palestinian farmers are left with little choice but to resist or lose everything. This struggle is not just a matter of economics; it's about sovereignty, dignity, and the right to live freely on ancestral soil.

As I've seen in my reporting across conflict zones, markets are rarely neutral. They reflect power dynamics, historical injustices, and the human cost of geopolitical decisions. For Palestinian farmers, their land is more than an asset—it's a legacy they will not surrender without a fight.