We arrived—five escorts from Tel Aviv, Ramle, and Jerusalem—at 6:30 AM in the northern Jordan Valley and met in Al-Farsiya.
At 7:30, three of us accompanied three shepherds from Al-Farsiya with three herds toward northwest Al-Farsiya, grazing about 3 km away in Wadi Shek. Every other direction is impossible because settlers have fenced the whole area around the village with barbed wire, preventing passage not only for the herds but also for the residents.

The morning was quiet with no disturbances. The weather was pleasant at first, and the shepherds grazed separately to avoid mixing the herds. They kept visual contact and exchanged occasional words from afar. The escorts followed each shepherd attentively in case settlers or the army caused trouble.
We even received a small ecological explanation: from afar we saw a plant we didn’t recognize—a green patch in the middle of the desert. Strangely, the sheep didn’t touch it. Y., the shepherd, said Palestinians believe this bitter plant has medicinal properties, and if you put a little of it in hot water and drink it, you feel its effects after a few hours.
While talking—mostly through Google Translate—we kept wandering around so the sheep could find something to eat. But in reality the valley is completely dry this droughty year and the few spots where a bit of grass remains are fenced off by settlers, blocking not only Palestinian villages but also their fields.
At 10:30, as temperatures rose to 33°C, the shepherds decided to return. Since there is almost no grazing land, they prefer to go back and feed the animals hay they bought—something that severely strains their already limited finances.
Later in the day, N., who lives near the Hamra checkpoint in the Al-Muqasar encampment, called asking us to visit him. He, too, has been unable for months to leave his home area, as all his fields are separated from him by barbed-wire fences. He is forced to buy food for his herd, while having almost no income—due to the war, closures, and the many new army checkpoints that have made Palestinian commerce and life even harder. We couldn’t reach him that day but were sorry to hear his story again in broken Arabic and Hebrew.
The two other escorts alternated in the morning between the cattle herds of Z. and F., taking them to the spring at Ein al-Hilweh to water them. Everything there also passed quietly. After watering the herds, the escorts returned to Al-Farsiya. We all sat with the shepherds and their families, drinking tea, snacking on rice with yogurt, and talking in limited Arabic and Hebrew.
At 13:00, two escorts who had also done the night shift returned to Tel Aviv, and two others returned to provide protective presence in the shepherds’ homes in Ein al-Hilweh. At F.’s home, they again drank tea and ate rice with lentils—F. boasting that his wife’s dish is “the best in the valley.” Their daughter-in-law arrived from Tayasir with her three children, and after fifteen minutes of shy silence, the kids began fighting, shouting, and crying. One of us tried to occupy them with a game he invented using small stones, but none of them were interested.

Around 14:00, the shepherd Z. arrived from the house next to F.’s, shouting—“The settlers are here!” We ran after her. Indeed, near F.’s home stood a settler teenager with a large dog on a leash. Another boy was watching from afar. R., Z.’s sister, stood behind her, and the boy stood facing them.
The settler boy looked pleasant, and the women flooded him with questions in Arabic, which of course he didn’t understand. It took a few minutes before we understood what was happening: the boy, about 14–15 years old, studies at the military boarding school of the Maskiot settlement above Ein al-Hilweh. He claimed the dog, on a leash, roams freely in the settlement but belongs to no one—so he wanted to leave it here, with the Palestinian neighbors.
Because he spoke politely, without aggression, the women—accustomed to shouting and threats—practically forced him to sit in an armchair and gave him tea. He called to his friend standing far away: “Come! It’s okay! No danger!” but the friend refused and left. The argument about the dog continued. The boy spoke Hebrew, the women Arabic. We escorts watched the almost surreal scene from the side. Eventually the boy decided to leave and tried to leave the dog there. The women shouted that they did not want the dog, which could bring them trouble. One of the shepherd women reminded us—through her Hebrew-speaking brother—that recently settlers left a donkey with a shepherd in the valley, then called the police claiming he had stolen it.
The settler boy no longer listened. He removed the leash and left. Z. ran after him and shouted at him. The dog looked confused, not knowing what to do, until Z. returned to him and shoved him roughly, and he ran after the boy and disappeared with him. We escorts returned to F.’s encampment.
At 15:00, it was time for the afternoon watering of the herds in Ein al-Hilweh—first F.’s herd, then Z.’s.
Afterward, we helped Z. feed her cows—first filling a huge sack with hay from bales we had to drag, all four of us, to the first pen. Then we made several trips back and forth to the second pen with a donkey carrying additional sacks of food. The two sisters did this quickly, though the work requires considerable physical strength.

Meanwhile, two journalists from Spain arrived in Ein al-Hilweh with a third escort and went down to the spring with K.’s cows—K. being the third shepherd there. We were about to join them when suddenly we heard shouting: “Settlers at K.’s!”
We all ran toward K.’s house and saw three teenage boys coming out. For a moment we thought the incident was over, but the boys stood in the middle of the road—the road leading from Ein al-Hilweh to Tubas—to block Palestinian vehicles. These were three boys about 15 years old from the nearby Maskiot settlement. One of them is familiar to us from earlier incidents this year. He led the two others, who were less determined but went along with stopping the cars.
We went straight to the spot. The two less-determined boys stepped off the road, but the “leader” didn’t move and began cursing.
When I asked him what he was doing, he answered: “Why can only the leftists in Kaplan block roads?”
He then added, sitting calmly on a stone and watching everything: that he is protecting the state and preventing Palestinians—who, according to him, are all terrorists—from “stabbing us in the back.”
The incident continued: cars approached. For Israeli vehicles, the boys immediately cleared the way. Two Palestinian vehicles managed to pass while we tried to block the boys, but most Palestinians saw from afar that something was happening and simply chose to bypass via another route.
A huge truck approached—perhaps thinking its size would impress the “leader”—but he didn’t move.
I stood as close as possible without touching him—because he could exploit that and claim Palestinians hurt him—while the truck continued slowly forward.
The journalists filmed from every angle, as did the volunteers. Another escort called the police, who, as usual, did not come.
Eventually the Palestinian truck driver gave up, backed up, and returned to Route 90 to find another way to his destination.
The two boys sitting on the roadside got tired of the situation and left. They called to their leader to come with them. He hesitated but preferred not to stay alone and left too—after showering us with curses.
We followed them to the main road, and from there they took the path leading back to their Maskiot settlement.
At that moment the truck that had turned back appeared again. The “leader” tried to run back to the road, but it was too late—the truck passed.
A small victory.

We stayed for the night shift in Al-Farsiya. At 22:00, the settler Gilad from the “Green Fig” outpost near Rotem arrived on an ATV for an intimidation visit. He sat in a hut overlooking Al-Farsiya, about 50 meters from the residents’ homes. It caused concern, but this time he left after 5 minutes. The rest of the night passed quietly across the northern valley.

At dawn, at 5:00, the night-shift escorts left back to Tel Aviv, and the morning shift arrived at 6:00.