‘My hands are empty’: Displaced Palestinians struggle to survive | Human Rights
Tulkarem, Occupied West Bank — Hakim Mar’i spends his days in a small, dilapidated apartment, his disfigured leg propped up on a makeshift bed. The windows of his new temporary shelter are covered with old blankets, a necessity due to his inability to afford electricity. As night falls, his family is left in near darkness.
The apartment is located near the ruins marking the entrance to the now-empty Tulkarem refugee camp. Once regarded as a temporary haven, the camp was home to generations of Palestinians, but its structures have been demolished, severing the ties that bound families together.
Mar’i’s family is in dire financial straits, with escalating debts and the looming threat of eviction. He has disclosed to family members that he has contemplated suicide multiple times over the past 18 months.
Unable to afford medical treatment for a debilitating leg injury, which has developed severe infections, Mar’i struggles daily. His injury was inflicted while he was working as a laborer in Israel in 2019, and it deteriorated after he was severely beaten by Israeli soldiers who evicted his family from the Tulkarem camp. He also suffers from diabetes and other untreated health conditions, leaving him without the care he desperately needs.
“This joint here is completely gone,” Mar’i said, gesturing toward his swollen, blackened leg, which prevents him from working. His family has urged him to seek medical treatment abroad in places like the United States or Turkey, but he remains trapped in his current situation. “I’m a sick man,” he acknowledged.
Beside him, his mother, Salwa, remembered the family’s former home, located less than a kilometer away. It was built incrementally after their initial displacement in 1948. “We really put a lot into that house,” she said tearfully, recalling the pain of watching it be destroyed to make way for new infrastructure.
More than 20 months have passed since Israeli forces evacuated the Jenin, Tulkarem, and Nur Shams refugee camps during a large-scale military operation, displacing tens of thousands of Palestinians, many of whom had already faced displacement for generations. Current military orders designate the area as a closed military zone, preventing their return.
Since January 2025, Mar’i’s family has moved four times. They first relocated to a converted youth center before settling into the cramped apartment where they now live with four children, all under the age of 15.
Unable to pay rent, the family faces an uncertain future as the landlord’s patience wears thin. Mar’i owes local shopkeepers for food purchased on credit, and some nights, his children rely on meals from neighbors.
“I have children. I have food. I have drink,” he expressed. “My hands are empty. Nobody is with me.”
The Mar’i family is among more than 33,000 Palestinians forcibly removed from the three refugee camps. This incident represents the largest forced displacement in the West Bank since 1967, according to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA).
United Nations satellite imagery indicates that 20 percent of all buildings in these camps have been destroyed, and another 28 percent are damaged. Roland Friedrich, director of West Bank affairs for UNRWA, remarked on the unprecedented level of destruction witnessed.
Eighty-five percent of those displaced have lost their regular income after being uprooted, and over 80 percent of residents are now renting, a new financial burden for many who previously enjoyed housing without such expenses.
Friedrich emphasized that the closed military zone surrounding the camps is renewed every two months with no clear indication of when residents may return. He stated, “What we saw there is forced displacement… People have to be allowed to return. The camps must be rebuilt.”
In contrast to the rebuilding efforts following the second Intifada from 2000 to 2005, displaced families and UNRWA personnel express skepticism regarding a return plan this time. The Israeli military maintains that the evacuation was executed for operational security, aimed at removing militants from the camps.
As funding continues to dwindle, UNRWA has been forced to make cuts, limiting its ability to support the displaced population effectively. Layoffs and resource constraints have intensified the struggles of families currently living in critical conditions.
Khadija Zbeidat, who resides on the outskirts of Tulkarem, is facing her own eviction. Her family, living in a small room shared with nine others, struggles to cope with cramped conditions. Zbeidat, a widow, recalled how the vibrant life of the camp was marked by community and connection, expressing a yearning to return.
“The camp was excellent,” she reflected. “I wish they’d take us back. The closeness, that sense of belonging, the warmth, the company.”
Like the Mar’i family, Zbeidat’s family left their belongings behind during their abrupt evacuation. Some have managed to return briefly to collect essentials despite the risks involved.
Displaced families now reside either in impoverished neighborhoods near the camps or on the outskirts, striving to remain connected to the limited health and educational services UNRWA can still provide. A trip to obtain groceries can be a challenge for Zbeidat, who lacks transportation.
At night, her family sits outside to escape the sweltering heat of their cramped living space, often observing Israeli military drones flying overhead. “What to do? We’re used to seeing them now,” she said. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
As the search for stability continues, families like the Mar’is and Zbeidats grapple with the uncertainty of displacement and the pervasive sense of danger in their new surroundings. “We don’t feel safe,” Zbeidat said. “It’s dangerous. When the kids go out, my heart stays busy until they come back.”
As the months drag on, the informal support systems that initially sustained displaced families are weakening. Many had relied on leniency from landlords, but patience is wearing thin, especially in economically challenged areas like Tulkarem.
The owner of Zbeidat’s temporary residence has recently expressed a desire for them to vacate. “They think it’s been too long,” she noted. “We don’t know what to do if she comes again and kicks us out.”
Both families find themselves on the brink of eviction, having received limited assistance from UNRWA. Mar’i described a precarious existence as he awaits the inevitable eviction notice.
Khadija’s family relies on credit from local shopkeepers, but that too is becoming less certain. As she reflects on her family’s historical connection to their homeland, she grapples with the reality that her children may inherit an even more unstable future. “Only God knows what tomorrow will bring us,” she stated.
