A Night at the Pharmacy in the West Bank City of Jenin -
Evening fell on the now half-ruined Jenin refugee camp, and the group of men met, as usual, at the camp's pharmacy, El Carmel. There were around 10 of them, most of them old – the camp's "park bench parliament."
They go there to pick up prescriptions and talk into the night; there's not much else for them to do here. Suddenly, an IDF unit burst into the pharmacy, soldiers ordered everyone to face the wall and some to kneel, then handcuffed them behind their backs and blindfolded them with rags. A few of them could have been the soldiers' grandfathers. There were also a few women present with their children.It was about 10 P.M. It happened Wednesday night, and every night it happens somewhere close to where you live. It's not the Gaza Strip, and this is not a story with blood. The men were left – restrained, blindfolded and disrespected – on the floor of the pharmacy until 3:30 A.M. Their cellphones and IDs were confiscated, and then they were ordered to speak to "Captain Iyad," the Shin Bet security service agent, on the pharmacist's phone. "Do you remember our last conversation?" the captain asked Jamal Zubeidi. No, Zubeidi replied.
"So I'll remind you: I spoke to you about Hamudi." Hamudi was Zubeidi's youngest son, who was killed in the camp seven months ago, a few weeks after the Shin Bet agent's warning call. Israel claimed that he was the "camp's commander." Hamudi was Zubeidi's second son to be killed; Na'im, also spelled Naeem, was killed a year earlier, almost to the day. A third son, Anton, was seriously wounded a few weeks ago. He lies, motionless, in Jenin's Ibn Sina Hospital, where we visited him about two weeks ago.
Jamal Zubeidi is one of the most noble and inspiring people I have met in the territories. Introverted, quiet, brave and long-suffering, he has lost not only two of his sons but also many other members of his family: nephews, his son-in-law, his brother, and his sister-in-law. Nearly all of the others are in prison, including his nephew Zakaria, whom he raised as a son.
Jenin. Credit: Alex Levac
Zubeidi is 68, in poor health and takes medications regularly. Captain Iyad ordered him to get his prescriptions from the pharmacy. "Two days ago we released Yahya, now we'll take you," the agent explained to his victim. Yahya is Zakaria's brother, who was imprisoned for 17 years, released, placed in administrative detention – custody without charges – and released again. Zubeidi understood that he faced administrative detention so that one member of the family would remain in custody.
Recently he has feared arrest, due to his failing health as well as the conditions in Israeli prisons under National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir. About two weeks ago, Alex Levac and I visited him at his home in the camp; immediately after we arrived, two young gunmen on a motor scooter appeared to ask what we were doing there. He is one of the most respected figures in this grim camp.
The men in the pharmacy were taken to a security facility near Jalamah. Once again: the ground, wrist restraints, blindfolds and, when the sun rose, the burning sun. When they asked for water, they got it only after about two hours; when they asked to use a toilet, they had to wait about three hours. They received no food for the duration of their detention, 22 hours. Zubeidi feared he would collapse. He cannot take his medications on an empty stomach. He was taken to a medic after nearly collapsing, and eventually he was brought a plate with a few balls that he said may or may not have been falafel and must have been in the refrigerator for at least a week, in his estimation. He was unable to swallow those falafel-like things.
They were released after 22 hours, without being questioned. Only Jamal Hawil, a member of Fatah's Revolutionary Council and the party's legislative council, remains in custody. He is 58, lives in a fine house at the top of the mountain on which the camp is planted; we also visited him recently, and he is expected to be placed in administrative detention. Zubeidi recovered at his home over the weekend. "I almost died," he whispered to me Saturday. Routine.