As the world backs a Palestinian state, a Jewish future is being cemented in the West Bank

On a dusty hilltop with sweeping views of Ramallah to the west and the Jordan Valley to the east, three generations of one Israeli family recently gathered to build a memorial to their loved one Hadas – a sister, daughter, and mother – who they say was killed in a terrorist attack nearby six years ago.

The men, with grisly beards, the women in colorful, neatly bound headscarves, and a slew of energetic children were setting up a mitzpeh (observation point) with picnic tables overlooking the winding road where Hadas’s car crashed and she was killed.

The family says she lost control of the steering wheel while dodging rocks thrown by Palestinians.

They are clearly enthusiastic about their project, yet wary. There is concern that their actions might draw unwanted attention from nearby Palestinian villages, human rights groups, or Israeli authorities – any of whom might try to stop the construction.

The family has no permit and refused to give more than basic information or to be photographed, but they are firm in their message: This is Jewish land, and they will do with it what they wish.

On the ground, however, a very different reality is emerging. While diplomacy takes place abroad, a Jewish entity is clearly taking shape on the very land Palestinians hope for a future nation state.

In recent years, especially since the current Israeli government came to power, settlers – Israeli Jewish citizens living in what they say is biblical Judea and Samaria – have been solidifying their presence in the contested territory.

Living outside the established settlement blocs that would likely remain part of Israel under any future peace agreement, these new “pioneers” are creating “facts on the ground” throughout the West Bank and are present in much more subtle ways: memorials like Hadas’s, leisure spots, and increasingly small, communal farms.

These new communities are often perched on hilltops, yet they are not home to the so-called “Hilltop Youth” – anarchistic young men known for violent clashes with Palestinians. Instead, many residents are second-, third-, or even fourth-generation Israelis, born and raised in the area.

They’re families with young children, working the land and seeing themselves as pioneers of a new frontier.

In one such farming settlement, three rudimentary oblong homes – one on the flatbed of a truck – are situated on a weed-covered patch of land. Beyond the proud Israeli flags flapping in the wind, the wooden decks, and the small herb gardens, rows of grapevines stretch into the distance.

At the center of the community is a brightly painted children’s playground. A group of chained dogs bark ferociously at anyone approaching.

When the barking fades and the wind dies down, silence settles. For miles, there are no other visible signs of human life – just the rolling hills of the Judean Desert leading up to the Jordanian border.

Asking not to use his full name for privacy reasons, Oria, 29, was born in Jerusalem and moved to the nearby established settlement of Kochav Hashachar 20 years ago, just after Israel’s 2005 disengagement from Gaza.

“My parents decided to move here after seeing how Jews were ‘ethnically cleansed’ from their homes in Gaza,” he said, using the politically charged term.

We were sitting on the deck he built around his two-room home. Worn couches faced a breathtaking view, with the lights of distant kibbutzim and villages twinkling on the horizon.

Oria recounted joining mass protests against the Gaza withdrawal with his parents and talked about how he believes that Religious Zionists were silenced by the government.

He described how, after that summer, his parents relocated to ensure that “Jewish communities are never removed from Jewish land again.”

Asked how he ended up in this tiny, isolated community, Oria, an agronomist by trade, said: “I wanted to feel the nature, to feel this land.

“We are the second generation [of Israelis] to live here, and we are part of this land,” he said, adding: “This is not led by any official government movement; it is a movement of people who are deeply connected to this land, and this is our story.

“It doesn’t matter what the UN says. There are almost a million people living on this land now, and we will settle it even more,” he said in a determined voice, insisting he has all the legal paperwork to live here.

Asked whether he fears that his home and vineyards might one day be dismantled – like the settlements in Gaza, he shrugged.

“If that happens, we will go somewhere else and build again,” he asserted.

“We are declaring our real connection to this land,” Oria continued. “Soon, more families will come to join us here, but they will not commute to Jerusalem like my parents did; they will work with me on the land.

“We will become indigenous to this land.”

Oria’s farm is one of at least 40 to 50 such settlements – many named after victims of terror attacks – that line both sides of Highway 458, east of the de facto Palestinian capital, Ramallah.

In the past six months alone, incidents of vandalism, violence, and even killings have been reported by both sides in that area. In August, residents of the nearby Palestinian village of Mughayir said their olive groves were destroyed and removed by “Israeli settlers.”

Another village, Duma, farther south, is known for the 2015 arson attack by Israeli settlers that killed three Palestinians from one family, including an infant, and left their then-four-year-old son, Ahmed Dawabsheh, seriously wounded.

While teenage settlers attacking Palestinians draw worldwide attention and condemnation, those now living on farms with names such as Ma’aleh Ahuvah, Havat Yonatan, and Mitzpeh Leah appear more focused on cultivating the land than confronting their Arab neighbors.

“In contrast to the past, it was mainly anarchist-style teens connected to fringe groups. Now the profile is more varied and mixed. You see more young couples and families living in caravans,” continued Neuman, now a visiting fellow at the Washington Institute.

“We are also seeing third- or fourth-generation settlers who see themselves as indigenous and the settling as legitimate.”

Neuman pointed out that while this phenomenon was once “fringe,” it now has clear backing from members of the Israeli government, and the push is “bottom up and top down.”

“It’s more organized and supported by the state,” she said, adding, “What’s alarming is how they’re funded and categorized – these new outposts are called ‘agricultural’ or ‘ecological’ farms. They receive equipment like night-vision goggles or tractors from the government.

“The goal is clear: to break territorial continuity for a Palestinian state and redeem the land,” Neuman said.

“Public support in Israel is changing, too. What used to be fringe or criminal is now tolerated – or even embraced – by parts of Israeli society, with the justification often being security related, preventing terrorist groups from taking over.”

In August, Israel’s far-right Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, who also has authority over the West Bank as part of his additional portfolio in the Defense Ministry, announced a renewed push to build in the E1 corridor – a contentious strip linking the settlement of Ma’aleh Adumim to Jerusalem.

The plan, long touted by the Israeli government, has faced sharp condemnation by Palestinians, Western governments, and human rights groups, who argue that such a move would split the West Bank and kill any hope for a future Palestinian state.

Despite international pressure in the past, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu now appears to be on board with the plans. At a special event to launch the building project last month in Ma’ale Adumim, he said, “There will be no Palestinian state.”

“We are going to fulfill our promise that there will be no Palestinian state; this place belongs to us,” Netanyahu said as he signed the building permit, adding, “We will safeguard our heritage, our land, and our security.”

Overall, according to UN reports, between June and September this year, Israel has approved or advanced the creation of some 20,810 housing units in the West Bank, including East Jerusalem.

Also, calls to annex the area – or formally declare sovereignty over parts of it – have intensified since countries such as Britain, France, Australia, and Canada announced their intentions to recognize a Palestinian state.

No formal steps have yet been taken, but the groundwork is visible. East of Ramallah, as the number of small Israeli farms multiplies, Palestinian Bedouin tribes that were once a fixture on the jagged landscape are vanishing.

Along one of the main roads leading to Jericho, all that remains of the Palestinian communities are empty corrugated iron structures. In their place, groups of young Jewish men with shaggy sidelocks work together to herd sheep and build fences around the newly installed caravan communities.

Hagit Ofran, who directs Peace Now’s Settlement Watch project, which monitors all developments related to Israeli settlements in the West Bank, called it “a very effective strategy of taking over land and expelling Palestinians from the surroundings.

“If you came to this area two or three years ago, you would see Palestinian communities, Palestinian shepherds with their sheep cultivating the land,” she said. “Now there are no Palestinians there at all; they’ve all been expelled.”

Ofran said the tactic began five or six years ago, with the settlement organization Amana even boasting that while the first 50 of settlement activity years focused on creating larger population centers taking up about 150,000 dunams, the new approach is “a handful of settlers living in farms spread out across the territory.”

“I think there are less than 1,000 people who have taken over a huge amount of land, and they do it by scaring the Palestinians away,” she said, adding that the organization had logged some 150 farms, with around 100 built since Hamas’s October 7, 2023, attack.

“That’s huge, and it’s all organized by the government,” Ofran stated. “Their budgets come directly from the government, even though they are considered illegal, and they don’t have any construction permits.

“Somehow they found a way to fund the farms, and the government gives them a vehicle to open the road, and the military signs an order for them to be there, saying it’s a ‘need.’ If it’s about security, then you don’t need a plan. You don’t need approval,” she said.

In the two-year-old settlement of Malachei Hashalom, which also sits along Route 458, not too far from Oria’s farm and Hadas’s monument, the government’s support for creating permanency here is evident.

Less than a month ago, the first residents moved from one of the dozen or so white caravans parked on the hilltop into the community’s first permanent structure.

And, just beyond the cluster of mobile homes, is the settlement’s first grave – for David Libi, a 19-year-old civilian contractor working for the IDF who was killed in Gaza last May.

The wreckage of Libi’s industrial digger stands beside his grave, which was reportedly approved by Smotrich in less than 24 hours.

The decision followed an urgent request from Israel Ganz, head of the Binyamin Regional Council and chairman of the Yesha Council, the umbrella organization of the settlement movement.

At Libi’s funeral, attended by hundreds of residents and several ministers, his father, Eliav, a founder of the community, spoke to the deeper purpose: “You were born into a war for this land.”

A eulogy for Libi posted on social media echoed the sentiment: “David grew up in Judea and Samaria. His courage, values, and love for this land represent the spirit of so many of our youth.”■