Dura, Occupied West Bank – Ziad Abu Helaiel – political activist and social reformer – was best known for his defiant phrase “Bihimmish!” (“doesn’t matter”, in Arabic).
The phrase was delivered brazenly, dismissively even, to Israeli soldiers who were trying to scare him as he stood in their way, often using just his body to prevent them from shooting solidarity demonstrators in the West Bank during the 2014 war on Gaza.
To say Abu Helaiel, who was beaten to death at his home near Hebron by Israeli soldiers on October 7 this year, was well known would be an understatement. He was famous in the West Bank for the peaceful protests he led against the Israeli occupation, never armed and often standing as a human barrier between protesters and Israeli soldiers.
Thousands of people attended his funeral in the West Bank. Several thousand more tried to attend but were stopped at roadblocks manned by Israeli forces.
Among his many acts of resistance, he led a demonstration of more than 10,000 people in front of the Israeli checkpoints in Hebron to demand the return of the bodies of Palestinians who were killed by Israel in 2016. The demonstration resulted in the return of 17 bodies.
On another occasion, says Muhammad Kamel Nassar, 69, a vendor, Abu Helaiel intervened when Israeli soldiers attempted to arrest a young man during one of the recent incursions into Dura, south of Hebron.
Abu Helaiel chased after the soldiers and “during his pursuit, the sheikh confronted them and was severely beaten, handcuffed and arrested for hours after he helped the young man escape from the hands of the soldiers”.
Nassar recalls the event from the seat close to the Grand Mosque in Dura where the pair would sit together for hours and discuss issues such as the suffering of the people in Gaza and social reconciliation.
Tending to his children and his flowers
In the courtyard of their home, Abu Helaiel’s wife of 43 years, Basma, is sitting alone in one of the two chairs she and her husband used to sit in. Beside her are the flowers and trees that Abu Helaiel, who was 66 when he was killed, lovingly tended to.
He preferred the scent of natural basil flowers, she explains as she wraps his old keffiyeh around her shoulders. This is where they used to drink their coffee after dawn prayers every day and wait together for the sunrise. Then their children would go off to work and their grandchildren to study.
He tended to his family as well. Long after they became adults, to him they remained his children when they were in his home.
Abu Helaiel lost two of his sons to Israeli bombardments. One was Jihad, just 7 months old, who was killed during the first Intifada in 1989 near their home. The family was prevented from travelling to hospital and the baby didn’t stand a chance.
Another son, Ahmed, was killed at the age of 17 in 2017 when he was run over by an Israeli vehicle in Ramallah. A brother, Bader, was shot in the chest with live bullets before being arrested, injured, and imprisoned for three years.
Basma, 64, has given birth to eight sons and six daughters. Those still alive are twins Musa and Maysaa, 42 years old; Muhammad, 41; Murad, 39; Issa, 37; Sanaa, 36; Iyad – the twin of Jihad – 34; Mahmoud, 33; Bader, 32; twins Nidaa and Fidaa, 31; Muayad, 30; and Yasmine, 29.
‘They beat him mercilessly’
In the early hours of October 7, the one-year anniversary of the Hamas-led attack on southern Israel which ended with 1,139 people dead and 251 captured, and triggered the onset of the Israeli war on Gaza, occupation soldiers stormed the courtyard of Abu Helaiel’s house.
“It was about three in the morning when we heard the voice of the soldiers while they were besieging the house and ordering us to open the door,” says Basma.
Her son, Muayad, went to open the door and was immediately attacked. The soldiers demanded that he take them to his uncle’s house next door.
At that moment, other soldiers stormed into the house to find Ziad and began to beat him mercilessly. He kept repeating that he had a heart condition, but one of the soldiers deliberately hit the heart area. As Abu Helaiel tried to follow them from the house, one of the soldiers slammed the heavy iron front door into his chest, causing him to collapse.
Abu Helaiel had previously undergone a number of heart procedures including a catheterisation of the artery. He lost consciousness for more than half an hour but the house was surrounded by soldiers. “They were preventing the ambulance from reaching us,” Basma says.
When he regained consciousness, “he pronounced the Shahada in my arms while I was trying to help him stay alive and then his soul left his body. I felt that my body had become soulless, too,” Basma says.
‘A lot of honey and a little onion’
Basma fondly remembers her husband’s generosity, humility, courage and constant prayer in the mosque. “He taught me patience, and he advised me to take care of his sick, paralyzed mother and to continue his journey without fear,” she says.
Everyone loved him, she says. When he returned home, a number of cats would always be waiting for him, and he would feed them every day. They kept coming – even after he was killed.
His grandchildren would also be waiting – ready to take whatever treats he had brought home for them, crisps or biscuits. “I remember him feeding them from his spoon even though they had already eaten their lunch,” Basma recalls.
Basma met Abu Helaiel in Jordan, where she was born and her family lived. Abu Helaiel went to work for a Saudi bank but returned to Jordan during their engagement and wedding period.
The couple remained there for three years before Abu Helaiel took them back to Palestine where they settled in the city of Dura, south of Hebron and he worked in farming. Basma says their marriage was filled with “a lot of honey and a little onion” – a lot of happiness and a little sadness.
Most of all, she says, her husband was devoted to defending his countrymen. “He never used weapons or sharp tools, but rather stood with his bare chest and clean palm in front of the occupation’s guns,” she explains. “He wanted to prevent Israeli soldiers from firing bullets and bombs at Palestinian youth, especially during the occupation’s suppression of demonstrations in solidarity with the people of Gaza throughout the past wars.
“He loved the people of Gaza very much and was greatly affected by the scenes of massacres in Gaza and talked a lot about what he saw, especially young children and women. His tears did not dry for long periods as a result of his sadness and pain.”
Now, she says, the pillar of the house has gone. “He has left a huge void.”
At his funeral, Basma says she focused on his courage. She said: “Congratulations on your martyrdom, and may God make you happy in it. This death raises my head and the head of his entire family, and it is a badge of honour for us and a tribute to his biography. His will in his departure was that we should not cry, but rather rejoice, and ululate, and not receive mourners, but rather receive congratulations.”
Settling disputes in the dead of night
“We never really grew up in our father’s eyes,” says Murad Abu Helaiel, 39, who works as a computer programmer.
“My eldest brother is 42 years old and our youngest is 27 but he treated us all as children under the age of five because of the great care he gave us.”
He was seen as a caregiver in the wider community as well and would often be called upon to help settle disputes. “Many times, he received calls requesting his assistance during the night. He would leave his bed to provide it,” Murad recalls.
On one occasion, Abu Helaiel was stabbed in the hand while trying to intervene in a dispute between two local men. “He refused to leave for treatment despite his bleeding until there was a reconciliation between the two parties,” his son says.
On another occasion, he intervened in a dispute between two neighbours over one of them uprooting the other’s tree. The injured party was demanding 6,000 dinars ($8,464) for the tree.
Abu Helaiel took off his agal (the head wrap over the keffiyeh) and put it on the victim, asking, “Is this enough instead of 6,000 dinars?” The man replied: “No, this is worth 10,000, and I cannot owe you 4,000 dinars.”
“And the dispute was resolved,” says Murad.
His father’s death has left a great void not just in the family, but in his community and Palestinian society as a whole, he says. “The Palestinian people needed someone who would confront the occupation and injustice everywhere and fear nothing.”
In his last days, his son says, he continued to provide assistance and care to the community despite his heart issues. “I hold his clothes – his head agal, keffiyeh, abaya and dishdasha. They have become a priceless treasure for me and my family.”
