On July 28, Awdah Hathaleen was shot and killed in broad daylight by Yinon Levi, a settler extremist with a documented history of violence against Palestinians. While Levi was released to house arrest after just one night in detention, Israeli authorities immediately withheld Hathaleen’s body from his grieving family — exemplifying a calculated strategy of control that extends even beyond death.
In the Occupied Palestinian Territories, the body has become a political weapon that is used to further dominate Palestinian society through policies meticulously designed to destroy the core foundations of community and the fundamental rituals of life and death. The murder in the West Bank village of Umm al-Khair, and the subsequent withholding of Hathaleen’s remains, reveal the cruel logic behind this system of oppression. But to understand what happened to Hathaleen and his community, one must first understand who he was and what his loss means for the survival of his village.
The Heart of a Community
The murder of Hathaleen inflicted a devastating blow to the community of Umm al-Khair. He was a beloved husband, son, father, brother, and cousin, who fought constantly for his people’s rights while remaining steadfast on his ancestral land. Beyond that, Hathaleen was a vital link between his isolated Bedouin community and the outside world: a community leader, English teacher, and dedicated human rights defender who coordinated with international activists. His cousin, Tariq Hathaleen, explained the magnitude of their loss: ‘The community didn’t only lose a family member. They lost a very important person for their survival. One of our main supporters for the community is our relationship with activists locally and internationally.’
Hathaleen’s ability to articulate his community’s struggle in fluent English made him a key organiser for his village’s survival. He organised fundraisers to support families after they lost their income following October 7th, coordinated ‘protective presence’ programmes with international activists, and served as the bridge between Umm al-Khair and solidarity movements worldwide. He left behind three children, a wife, and a community, suddenly cut off from one of its most vital lifelines to survival. Hathaleen’s fight for liberation touched hearts across the world. In the days following his murder, shows of solidarity emerged globally, and posters and images of the activist appeared in several cities as voices unified in demanding the return of his body and accountability for his killer.
Life Under Siege
Umm al-Khair is a small Bedouin Palestinian village in the South Hebron Hills. The inhabitants are descendants of Bedouins expelled by Israel following the Nakba, who purchased land in the early 1950s, hoping to rebuild their lives after dispossession. For three decades, the community lived in relative peace. But in 1981, Israeli authorities established the illegal settlement of Carmel directly adjacent to Umm al-Khair. While Carmel received electricity, paved roads, and state protection, the village was subjected to systematic demolition orders and extreme violence from both settlers and the state.
For years, the community’s resistance was embodied by Hajj Suleiman Eid al-Hathaleen, the village patriarch whose fearless defiance made him a symbol of Palestinian sumud — a concept encompassing steadfast resistance, which has become central to Palestinian identity. On January 5, 2022, during a routine Israeli police operation, a tow truck deliberately drove into the 70-year-old man as he peacefully protested, running him over and dragging his body for 10 metres. He died two weeks later. Over 10,000 mourners attended Suleiman’s funeral, a massive outpouring that deeply unsettled Israeli authorities. Tariq explained: ‘The huge and massive number of people who came to his funeral, it was something that they didn’t like about this village, because they want to disconnect us from others, and they always want to see us alone.’
The Weaponisation of Death
For ten days, Hathaleen’s body was held by Israeli authorities in direct violation of Islamic traditions that require swift burial. The family was forced to endure the agony of being unable to lay their loved one to rest, while the Israeli authorities imposed degrading conditions on the body’s release. The first condition demanded the family bury Hathaleen only within the municipal borders of Yatta or Hebron — cities far from his village.
Tariq said, ‘Awdah was born and grew up and lived all of his life in this village. That sounded really awful to us. We weren’t ready and will never be ready to agree to that.’ When the family refused, authorities proposed an even more humiliating alternative: a burial at 1 a.m. with only 15 people present and police supervision. ‘We totally disagreed and opposed this because Awdah wasn’t a thief or a bad or evil guy to bury him like that,’ Tariq added.
Adding insult to this profound loss, Hathaleen’s killer returned to roam freely around the village during this period, arriving with a bulldozer to continue building settler infrastructure. Tariq was the one who encountered him: I was the one who found him. I felt sick for two days just seeing him. Someone who kills the most important person in your life, your most important friend, and he can just simply come and smile and laugh a few meters away from your home. It’s disgusting.’ The psychological torture was deliberate: the family couldn’t even mourn while the settler continued to terrorise Palestinians, walking free just metres from their homes in a calculated act of dominance and humiliation.
Killing All Signs of Life
The withholding of Hathaleen‘s body represents more than an isolated act of cruelty. It is a component of a systematic strategy designed to make Palestinian life impossible in Umm al-Khair. While settler attacks, army incursions, and the cutting off of water supplies represent the most visible forms of ethnic cleansing, the occupation’s assault on Palestinian rituals and traditions serves the same goal: the complete erasure of Palestinian presence. Tariq continued: ‘It is their attempts from the very beginning to kill all signs of life in this village. And they know if they succeed in moving the people out of this village, the other villages and communities in Masafer Yatta and South Hebron Hills and all over the West Bank will be easier for them to move.’
Umm al-Khair represents a strategic target in this broader campaign of displacement. The village and surrounding area have garnered significant international attention, most notably through the Oscar-winning documentary No Other Land, which Hathaleen himself contributed to. ‘This community is a well-known community, and it’s a community that is cared about by people from all around the world,’ Tariq said.
The calculation is clear: if the occupation can successfully ethnically cleanse Umm al-Khair — a village with strong international connections and visibility — then other, more isolated communities will be even easier to displace. The systematic targeting of celebrations, mourning rituals, and community gatherings serves to break the social bonds that hold Palestinian communities together, making them more vulnerable to the ultimate goal of forced displacement.
Eventually, international pressure and a courageous hunger strike by over 70 women from Umm al-Khair — ranging in age from 13 to over 70 — forced Israeli authorities to relent and allow Hathaleento be buried near the school where he taught. But even this agreement was violated when, on the morning of the funeral, the army set up checkpoints that prevented many family members and community friends from attending the burial ceremony.
Despite these obstacles, the community achieved something vital: ‘We were able eventually to honour Awdah and bury him in a place that has meaning to him in this region, in this area, where he grew up, spent all of his life, and always fought for. So for us, it was a big relief.’ The fight for Hathaleen’s body revealed the calculated cruelty of a system that weaponises grief itself in the service of ethnic cleansing. Even in death, his story exposes how Palestinian existence is contested at every level —including the most sacred rituals of mourning and burial.