GUEST ESSAY: West Bank, Palestine: A Combat Medic’s Report January/February 2025 - By James Janko

James Janko and I met here on Substack. I don’t remember what brought us together initially but it led to his sending me the manuscript of his forthcoming book. The Wire-Walker, (September 2025 Regal House Publishing) which introduces us to a luminous sixteen-year-old Palestinian wire walker living a courageous and compassionate life in a refugee camp in the West Bank. The novel is a kind of prequel to the present situation, describing the daily life of the occupation even before October 7, 2023. Having been in the West Bank very briefly, but long enough to write What Dinah Thought at the time of the first Intifada, I felt as if I were walking the narrow passageways with Janko and his characters, as well as running behind them from the ongoing attacks of tear gas. One way to judge a novel, to discern its quality, is to ask – Is this true? The Wire Walker is true and it bonded me to Janko as a fellow writer and spiritual companion.

A Combat Medic’s Report is not a novel. But, it is true. Earlier this year James was in the West Bank as a Protective Presence under the auspices of the International Solidarity Movement. The essay describes his time there. We offer you, dear reader, this gift that will break your heart as it did mine.

​​​​​​***

In the Vietnam War, which the Vietnamese call the American War, I was a medic in an infantry battalion commanded by Colonel George Armstrong Custer III. My unit operated in areas where resistance forces often disappeared into tunnels. If we couldn’t find our enemy, our superiors called in air strikes to destroy all that concealed or sustained our enemy. Planes blew apart rice paddies, sugar palms, water buffaloes, rivers, forests, fields, and defoliated huge tracts of land, much of it already bombed. Modern warfare is not primarily a story of soldiers. Civilians bear the brunt of the violence, and the earth, the waters, the animals––the entire web of life becomes a sacrifice zone.

January 2025 West Bank Palestine

In dreams and in waking, I see skinny donkeys in Gaza pulling carts heaped with belongings, and skinny men, women, and children touching their faces, their chests, to wonder if they’re alive. I, too, touch my face, my chest, in a meager gesture of solidarity. I understand. I’m with you. I give you my words because I can’t give you my blood. There are a million checkpoints in the way.

David Shulman, professor emeritus of Hebrew University of Jerusalem, wrote in the New York Review of Books in June of 2021: “Benjamin Netanyahu’s grand strategic plan, shared, implicitly with the sections of the Israeli right, was to keep Hamas alive as a constant threat to Israel. Ensuring that the Palestinians remain divided between the ineffectual remnants of the Palestinian Authority in Ramallah and the extreme Islamists of Gaza is one way, possibly the only way, to allow the Israeli program of annexation, domination, and expulsion on the West Bank to go forward…As long as Israel steadfastly refuses to make even the slightest move toward a historic compromise with the Palestinian national movement, and as long as the occupation pushes ahead with its unending array of crimes and as long as Palestinians living in Israel suffer the injustice inherent in the ethno-nationalist state, the likelihood of cataclysmic conflagration remains high.”

According to Shulman, mainstream Jewish Israelis know little or nothing about the plight of Palestinians because they don’t want to know. “Denial, as we have seen in Israel, is an illness…But denial always comes at a cost. It is a form of lying to oneself, consciously or not. And what happens when millions of people succumb to this lie in highly charged, dangerous circumstances? Denial of the very existence of a Palestinian people who share the land with the Jews but who are disenfranchised, without legal recourse, indeed without any basic human rights, inevitably generates violence and aggression. One needs violence to maintain the lie…Routine acts of destruction by state-backed settlers against their Palestinian neighbors, over years, have a cumulative effect on Israel as a moral community. Denying or ignoring or (even worse) rationalizing such acts destroys our potential to become fully human.”

In January of 2025, I traveled to Palestine, the West Bank, as a volunteer with an international organization that supports Palestinian-led efforts to end the occupation. Volunteers go where they are invited and take on multiple roles. I stayed with families whose land and homes and lives are threatened by Israeli soldiers and settlers. I accompanied shepherds and their sheep across ancient hills and valleys, in sight of settlements and outposts, which typically occupy the highest ground. The volunteer-work, grounded in the methods and principles of non-violence, is described as “protective presence”. One bears witness and records. A camera is a powerful tool, a way to document the innumerable crimes of the occupation. And words, written or spoken, can provide a window from anywhere in the world to Palestine.

1. Men at Work

I witnessed the first stages of a home demolition in the village of K––. Palestinian men with sledgehammers, picks, and crowbars did the work of bulldozers, tore apart carefully constructed animal pens and garden fences, and would later smash windows, tear into stone walls, floors, and reduce to a pile of rubble their ancestral home. Why? Because Israeli authorities issued a final demolition order for February 5, 2025, and gave the Palestinians a choice: destroy your own home or pay the State of Israel to destroy it. Israeli soldiers, construction workers, bulldozers, battering rams, the clearing away of debris––the cost would be exorbitant. But where would the Palestinians live?

Simultaneously, while in the process of leveling their home, they were constructing caves, one directly behind their home, and another across the street. One man worried about Israeli drones monitoring their actions. No construction was allowed without Israeli permits, so the caves, too, if discovered, could be deemed illegal and the same option would apply: destroy the caves or pay the State of Israel to destroy them. If, however, no drones or soldiers or settlers observed the construction of the caves, they might be considered natural features and no permits would be required.

So the earth, her cracks and crevices, natural or not, might defy regulations, building codes, bureaucratic mazes, and provide shelter for a time. While the men worked, demolishing one home and building another, the roar of fighter jets occasionally silenced all other sounds. Picks slicing into stone, hammers pounding on walls—I couldn’t hear them from five meters away. No one paused in his work. The men had eight more days to destroy the family home and establish the caves.

There is one certainty: The Palestinians will do everything possible to remain on their land.

2. Ceasefire

On January 18^th, Israel and Hamas agreed to a ceasefire. Days later, near the town of Al Q––, several Palestinians, two Jewish-Israeli activists, and four international volunteers (myself included), gathered in an area less than one kilometer from a settler outpost located, as usual, on the top of a hill. In the hill’s shadow, two well-made tents were no longer visited by Palestinians because of settler-and-soldier aggression. A third tent, farther away from the outpost, was still in use. We gathered before this tent to establish a presence and perhaps ward off further encroachment of settlers onto Palestinian land.

A squad of well-armed soldiers soon arrived. We were told that the land we stood on was––for now––a closed military zone. The soldiers had no written document to back their claim, but they had guns. They separated the Israeli activists and international volunteers from the Palestinians and forced us to disperse.

That night, I learned that two of my Palestinian friends were beaten by these soldiers and one would require surgery for a broken hand. “They said they were punishing us for the ceasefire,” Z told me. “They said they want to kill us and every Palestinian. They want to finish the job.”

In the morning, I returned to the area that was still a closed military zone. Soldiers or settlers, possibly both, had vandalized the tent. The walls gaped open, apparently slashed with knives, and the tent’s contents—cushions, pillows, blankets, bedding—were hauled outside and scattered across the ground. A toilet and water tank had been pushed down a hill and into a ravine. Chairs were smashed. Some chair parts were outside the tent; others had been hurled over a barbed wire fence and into a small field where children sometimes played soccer.

3. Travel

Leaving Nablus in a service taxi with seven passengers, the driver left the road and began driving through olive orchards to avoid a checkpoint. Stony fields, ancient trees, occasional boulders, a merciful sky—open, blue, no fighter jets or visible drones. In lieu of roads, there is always the earth. At one point, the driver got out of his vehicle and walked around, surveying the land, trying to chart a path down a slope between jagged rocks and trees and boulders. Back behind the wheel, he drove in reverse for a time, then forward, and we bumped along at the pace of an old man on an uphill path. Slow progress is progress. The checkpoint might have delayed our passage for several hours, or—as sometimes happens—soldiers might have closed the checkpoint, prevented all movement. I noticed other vehicles. No driver had found a clear path through the trees; every movement, forward or back, every roll of the wheels, was an investigation. At one point, I spotted a small bird, black and beautiful over the trees, and though she soon vanished, unhindered by checkpoints, I kept her in my mind. How much time passed before we reached a paved road? An hour? An hour and a half? The driver, behind schedule, gunned the engine and our flight down the highway became almost bird-like, magical, a burst of speed through the occupation that often brings Palestinian life to a standstill. The road was uncommonly smooth.

4. Chickens

In the village of Al B––, Israeli settlers destroyed two chicken farms, mutilated and burned equipment, gutted buildings, and laid to waste thousands of animals—a single farm housed up to 9,000 chickens. While accompanying a shepherd in the area, I came across several ditches full of dead chickens—the smell was horrific. The Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) declared the chicken farms a closed military zone. A settlement outpost lurks on a nearby hilltop, and an IOF base is in the vicinity. Whatever sustains the lives of Palestinians can become a target. Chickens rot in mass graves. Water tanks and hoses and pipes and sewage systems—these are common targets of settlers and soldiers, who often work in tandem. And why was I accompanying a shepherd and his sheep across the hills and valleys on the outskirts of the town? The hope was that the presence of internationals might deter settlers from stealing and/or slaughtering sheep and attacking the shepherd. We had phones, cameras, and some access to the outside world. Despite the dangers, the shepherd seldom appeared vulnerable. On rocky, uneven terrain, climbing hills and descending valleys, he walked with ease, a sense of belonging. He seldom spoke, except through his posture and poise, the sureness of his steps. I am here. I know the earth I walk on and the earth knows me. Maybe the shepherd was protecting me with his presence, his samud. Or at least teaching me how to walk.

5. Interrupted Breakfast

For the past decade, a Palestinian family and extended family have lived in two caves and two tents near the town of Al Q––. They raise sheep, though their herd has been diminished by settler theft. A hilltop outpost looms over their home, and sheep, once theirs, now graze their land and come within a stone’s throw of the caves and tents. This family has been displaced before. Where will they go if they are forcibly removed from their current home? I was afraid to ask.

I had the privilege of being their guest for almost two weeks. One morning, four IOF soldiers, fully armed, their faces wrapped in thin cloth, only their eyes visible, arrived at the homestead. I wondered who taught them how to handle their weapons. They held their rifles in folded arms, with an air of nonchalance, except that the barrels sometimes pointed at our chests. Children cried. Dogs yapped. And amid the chaos, Umm Z, a mother and grandmother, began calmly setting a table for breakfast––flat bread, hummus, cucumbers, tomatoes, olive oil. Come, come, let’s all of us eat. Of course the soldiers would not allow time for breakfast. Their leader barked orders. The earth we stood on had become a closed military zone and we had five minutes to leave.

I looked around. The hills and valleys near the caves, every speck of land, every trace of water, could be called a closed military zone on the whim of an Israeli commander. An area can be closed for 24 hours, or for a week, a month, or in perpetuity. Palestinians (and internationals, if there are any) must leave closed military zones. Settlers are also required to leave, though I know of no instance when they did. Declaring an area a closed military zone does not necessarily mean military activity is imminent. It means an area is off limits, erased—at least temporarily—of Palestinian presence. The militarization of land is often a prelude to stealing land. The equation is simple: the power of guns = the power of naming. Closed military zone. Firing zone. Perfect site for new settlement. They can call it whatever they want.

The lead soldier ignored me when I asked for his ID. When I persisted, reminded him that he was required to show his ID upon request, he shoved me against a wall. I asked to see the order declaring the area a closed military zone. He held up his phone, but the order—if that’s what I was looking at—was in Hebrew, which neither I nor anyone present could read.

Umm Z stood over her table set for breakfast. This would have been a delicious meal.

The soldiers confiscated the car of Abu K, a shepherd, because he had no license plates. Israeli authorities determine who in the West Bank receives permission to drive. The application process is laborious, expensive, so some Palestinians have no choice but to take their chances, drive without plates or permission. The shepherd lost his voice after he lost his car. A voice that could gather sheep on distant hills went still for two days.

What do the Israelis do with the vehicles they acquire? The near hills sometimes resounded with small arms fire, and the occasional booms of more powerful weapons. Perhaps Abu K’s car would be used for target practice. I said to one of the soldiers, “Careful, careful. Someday, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll be haunted by what you do today.”

I am certain he heard me. And all the while, Umm Z, mother and grandmother, kept trying to invite us to breakfast. Calm defiance is memorable. Maybe one had to know her to observe a barely discernable smile. She could’ve been shot dead, of course, but that kind of smile is hard to bury. She countered guns and words (closed military zone) with food, an open invitation. Here, let the earth be my witness. The bounty of her gifts and of human kindness cannot be entirely erased. Soldiers, are you hungry? Do you ever grow weary of holding those rifles to your chests?

***

Criticism of Israel is often dismissed as antisemitism. Indeed, antisemitism is on the rise in Europe and the United States, but condemnation of the occupation, of Israel’s war against Palestinians, of the genocide in Gaza, of the recurrent assaults on civilians in the West Bank, of the expansion of settlements and settlement outposts, of the usurping of land and water, of the ethnic cleansing and attempted erasure of an entire population—anyone aware of the realities on the ground has an obligation to condemn such acts.

Combatants for Peace was founded in 2006 by Palestinians and Israelis, former combatants in the ongoing conflict. After October 7, 2023, Jamil Qassas, Palestinian Coordinator-General for Combatants for Peace, wrote: “The voices calling for hatred, anger and revenge are very loud. But Combatants for Peace will not stop calling out and showing that there is another way. We will not lose hope. We continue to work for our collective liberation from fear and oppression…”

In the city I now call home, Albuquerque, New Mexico, I’ve participated in numerous solidarity marches for Palestine and have listened, over and over, to the same chant, the same slogan: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free. These simple and seemingly impossible words express my heart’s wish, but there is a greater wish. Approximately seven million Palestinians and seven million Jewish Israelis live on a small strip of land between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea. Combatants for Peace, whose members were once mortal enemies, calls for collective liberation. From the river to the sea, may Palestine and Israel be free.

These are hard words to write while Palestinians confront ongoing assaults, home demolitions, displacement, imprisonment, death. The horror of the Hamas assault on Israel on October 7, 2023, has been multiplied many times over, and the land and waters—especially in Gaza—have been transformed into a toxic pit. Collective liberation. What can these words mean to someone being starved, shot at, shelled, bombed? What comfort could they bring to the animals and the land and the waters? Wars destroy meaning. Words become casualties, lose their truth-telling power, and language must be resuscitated, reimagined. I saw the shoed foot of a dead girl sticking out from concrete blocks of a flattened high-rise building in central Gaza. This is not a dream. The braying of a donkey, the scream of a donkey—these stray closer to truth than words. Yet I still long for words, even if they’re wrong, even if reviving them is as impossible as pulling the girl from between collapsed concrete blocks to identify her, give her back her name, find out if she has any surviving family members, and bury her with reverence near the shores of the sea.

Fire Mountain, Nablus

No Other Land, which won an Oscar for the best documentary film, is a collaborative effort of two Palestinians, Basel Adra and Hamdan Ballal, and two Israelis, Yuval Abraham and Rachel Szor. The film documents the systematic violence and displacement of Palestinians in Masafer Yatta, which I too have witnessed. Basel, in his acceptance speech, announced that he had recently become a father. His hope for his daughter “is that she will not have to live the same life I am living now, always fearing violence, home demolitions, forced displacement…” Yuval Abraham spoke of unity, a path intertwined: “We made this film, Palestinians and Israelis, because together our voices are stronger. We see each other. The atrocious destruction of Gaza and its people, which must end; the Israeli hostages brutally taken in the crime of Oct. 7, which must be freed. When I look at Basel, I see my brother. But we are unequal. We live in a regime where I am free under civilian law and Basel is under military laws that destroy lives, that he cannot control. There is a different path, a political solution without ethnic supremacy, with national rights for both of our people…Can’t you see that we are intertwined? That my people can be truly safe only if Basel’s people are truly free and safe?…There is no other way.”

James Baldwin wrote: “The most dangerous creation of any society is the man with nothing to lose.” The occupation, in its 58^th year, has perhaps never been more brutal, and none of it––the home demolitions, displacement, imprisonment, torture, death—could happen without American military support and diplomatic cover for the State of Israel. Palestinian communities often lack the most essential needs: sufficient food and water, shelter, and sanitation. A false narrative (Jewish Israelis can be safe only if Palestinians are not) provides a pretext for the Israeli government to ethnically cleanse entire regions.

The euphemism for ethnic cleansing is transfer. In 1981 and 1982, Ariel Sharon, who was then a general in the Israeli army, created the Jordan Is Palestine campaign, whose goal was to drive Palestinians out of the occupied territories and into Jordan and call it transfer. Palestinians had nothing to do with the most profound human tragedy, the Holocaust, but they have certainly paid a price. At present, Israeli and American leaders want the entire surviving Gazan population transferred—to Egypt, Jordan, or wherever. Simultaneously, Israel strives to formally annex the West Bank and exert full control over the entire region from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea. But Palestinians aren’t going anywhere. They will not leave their land. They will resist the occupation until the occupation ends.

“We are intertwined,” Yuval Abraham reminded us. Seven million Palestinian Arabs, seven million Jewish Israelis, and there is no other land. Nothing good can come from the Israeli government of Benjamin Netanyahu or the American government of Donald Trump. American author Deena Metzger finds hope in what goes beyond the political sphere. “We have to create the life and the ways together that we have asked government to provide for us. The way the people lived before the colonial mind took over. We can create sanctuary for each other and for all beings. We can because we must.”

***

I remember the gut-cry of a shepherd near the town of Al K––. Although he mostly spoke to his sheep in muted tones, a series of clicks and grunts, he once let loose with a cry that to my ears was dispatched to the world, a cry that flew across the hills, shook the olive trees, a cry that escaped confinement near a settler outpost, a closed military zone, a cry that rose over forbidden hills and valleys and roads and checkpoints, and there were echoes, reverberations between the stony earth and the clouds, and sometimes, at night, when all is still and my ears are sensitive, alert, I hear the shepherd more clearly than when I walked at his side.

---

While serving as a medic in an infantry battalion in Viet Nam, James Janko refused to carry a weapon. He was awarded the Bronze Star for Valor and the Combat Medical Badge. He is the author of four novels, including The Wire-Walker, which will be published by Regal House in September 2025. http://www.jamesjanko.com