Inside the Jenin Refugee Camp Under Siege: Voices from Within
As Israeli military operations continue in Jenin’s refugee camp, scattered messages break through the imposed silence via the Israeli phone network. One resident, speaking under the condition of anonymity, describes a chilling atmosphere. “I don’t dare go on the roof, in case I’m shot,” he confides.
The camp, shrouded in uncertainty, has mostly fallen silent. “It’s mostly old people and children here,” he explains. “The young people left before the army arrived – it’s bad luck for those who can’t get out.” Fear and isolation dominate, with most residents staying indoors and information trickling in only sporadically.
Jenin has been under a news blackout, adding to the tension in this already volatile area. Palestinian phone lines were cut for much of the day, reportedly severed by the ongoing Israeli military actions, leaving many in the dark. The resident I spoke with mentioned that, for now, his family still has access to water and electricity. A small shop remains open nearby, providing essentials under the constant hum of drones overhead.
During our conversation, gunshots echoed in the distance. “Yes, I heard them too,” the resident confirms, his voice strained. The sound of military drones seems to grow louder by the minute. Suddenly, an armored bulldozer appears, lumbering towards one of the camp’s entrances, which lies eerily deserted under the blazing afternoon sun.
The camp, which has been sealed off since the Israeli forces arrived before dawn on Wednesday, forms part of a broader military campaign across the occupied West Bank. Although Jenin camp has been known as a base for armed Palestinian fighters, it also houses many unarmed civilians. Recent months have seen intense firefights here as Israeli forces conduct raids in search of fighters.
Israeli military vehicles are stationed outside Jenin’s two main hospitals, where they conduct strict checks on ambulances attempting to enter. As we watch, paramedics are forced to open the back doors of their ambulance to reveal its contents. Two female patients are made to exit and present themselves to the soldiers.
Behind the hospitals, one of Jenin’s main shopping areas stands empty and closed. Cardboard boxes litter the street, and abandoned fruit carts give off the sickly-sweet smell of rotting mangoes. A lone grocery store opens briefly each afternoon, offering a rare lifeline to those who can reach it.
Thaeer Shana’at, a local resident, is seen stocking up on supplies to distribute to families in the eastern part of the city, an area currently blocked off by Israeli forces. “The whole eastern area, home to about 20,000 people, is sealed off,” he explains. “Only ambulances are allowed to deliver food. If we try to go there, we are shot at. There are many areas where we can’t get food or water to the people.”
Thaeer’s wife and infant are still in the camp. “They are too afraid to open the door,” he says. “There’s a sniper stationed right in front of their house.” His voice is filled with worry.
Munir Garwan, once employed by the municipality and a former member of Fatah, waits alongside Thaeer. Munir served six years in an Israeli prison for his involvement in what was deemed a “hostile organization” and shooting at the army. “The occupation claims it is trying to stop terrorism,” he says. “But when one young man is killed, another takes his place. This cycle leads nowhere.”
As darkness falls, the sounds of explosions and gunfire punctuate the air once more. Communication lines are slowly being restored, allowing fragmented details of the ongoing military operation to trickle in. Names of the injured and deceased begin to circulate. However, for many in Jenin, the return of the news is a grim reminder of their harsh reality, one that they wish they could escape.
