The Invisible Cage of al-Nabi Samwil

A gem of ancient history in the Jerusalem area is being strangled in all conceivable respects by Israel in hopes of convincing its stalwart residents to leave. The only problem? They aren’t going. 

The village of al-Nabi Samwil sits on a hilltop in the occupied West Bank just four kilometers north of Jerusalem. From here, one can see the Dome of the Rock glinting in the sunlight and the sprawl of the city stretching in every direction. The village takes its name from the Arabic term al-Nabi Samwil, which translates to prophet Samuel.1 Local tradition links the hilltop to the prophet’s tomb, a claim that has drawn Jewish, Christian, and Muslim pilgrims to the village for centuries, even as historians continue to debate its accuracy. Crusaders used to refer to the village as Mont Joie (the mountain of joy), because it was the first point from where people could see Jerusalem in 1099.

Today, however, for the residents of the village, the hill is not a joyful place. Rather, it is a place of suffocation. Al-Nabi Samwil is wrapped in fences, Israeli checkpoints, and military orders, and its residents call it an “invisible cage.”2

Al-Nabi Samwil falls within Area C, that is, under full Israeli administrative and military control (including planning and construction). The village is also located in the Seam zone, and it is trapped between the Separation Wall and Jerusalem’s municipal boundary, where it is excluded from Jerusalem’s municipal boundaries and cut off from the rest of the West Bank by the Separation Wall, isolating it from both the city and the surrounding Palestinian communities.

Today, only about 20 to 25 Palestinian families with around 300 members live in the village.3 The residents used to live in stone houses clustered near a mosque before Israel demolished the village homes in 1971 and forced families downhill into small cement-block houses.4 These temporary shelters became permanent, even though residents are forbidden to expand or repair them without permits, which the Israeli authorities usually never approve.

Jobs are scarce, farming is restricted, and unemployment hovers around 90 percent.5 Children must cross checkpoints each day to leave the village and attend schools in the nearby towns of Bir Nabala or Beit Iksa, because they are not permitted to have their own school inside al-Nabi Samwil.6

Most adult residents of the village hold Palestinian Authority (PA) identification cards and thus, Israeli authorities treat them as residents of the rest of the West Bank rather than as Jerusalemites. They also must apply for permits to enter either Jerusalem or Ramallah, facing constant rejections and restrictions that cut them off from services and work opportunities in the nearby areas.

For residents, trying to make a living outside the village is fraught with risk. Every attempt to leave for employment involves passing through military checkpoints where they risk being stopped, detained, or fined. Even for the few who secure jobs in Jerusalem or other nearby neighborhoods, a large amount of their income is spent on legal costs, transportation, and navigating Israel’s restrictive permit regime. Reaching nearby Palestinian towns in the West Bank can also take hours as the Separation Wall, closed roads, and checkpoints force long, convoluted detours and delays.

Family and friends from outside the Separation Wall also can’t freely visit their relatives in al-Nabi Samwil. Weddings, funerals, and ordinary family gatherings must be planned around checkpoints, closures, and permits. Personal milestones are overshadowed by uncertainty, leaving residents feeling constantly disconnected from their wider community.7 “Living in al-Nabi Samwil is like being confined to ‘an invisible cage,’”8 said a resident from the village.

In 1995, Israel declared al-Nabi Samwil and its lands a national park. The label might sound like protection, but for the villagers, it meant a freeze on life. Until today, the construction or expansion of new houses is forbidden, and planting trees could trigger demolition orders.9 In December 2024, Israeli forces demolished a family home and razed farmland in al-Nabi Samwil, part of a continuing pattern of demolitions that leaves many houses under constant threat.10

Israel promotes the site as a tourist attraction and a Jewish pilgrimage site, and visitors come to pray at the synagogue, wander through Crusader ruins, or admire the remains of the village’s old destroyed houses alongside the sweeping view of Jerusalem. Tour buses are welcome, but Palestinian relatives of the village’s residents who live meters away are not. Additionally, the hill serves a military purpose for Israel: Its height offers a commanding view over Jerusalem and Ramallah. Soldiers guard the gates, checkpoints control every entrance, and the village itself functions as a security buffer.11

For years, life in al-Nabi Samwil has been hard, but on September 20, 2025, the cage became even tighter. Israeli authorities imposed a new restriction that requires special permits for the village’s residents to enter and leave the area. Residents must now carry special magnetic cards to merely live in their own homes. Without this card, the military can bar them from reentering the village. The order, set to last until December 2027, has turned al-Nabi Samwil into what Israel calls a “closed contact zone.”12 This new restriction also increases residents’ exposure to Israeli arrest and detention, particularly during night raids and at checkpoints, adding fear of detention to their daily life activities.13

Health care access has also deteriorated further: Ambulances are frequently blocked, and women in labor have been forced to deliver at checkpoints.14 There is no permanent health clinic in al-Nabi Samwil, so residents rely on occasional mobile services or travel outside the village for any medical treatment, meaning that even routine care or emergencies require risky journeys to Ramallah or Jerusalem.

Moreover, after the October 7, 2023, Gaza genocide began, another barrier appeared: the collapse of coordination between the Palestinian District Coordination Office and Israeli authorities. One villager described how, when she took her computer outside the village to be repaired, she was blocked at the checkpoint from returning home.15 In the past, she explained, she could ask the Palestinian office to coordinate her entry, but now, with coordination suspended, she was simply left waiting in limbo.16

Despite the continuous hardships, al-Nabi Samwil residents remain. Families refuse to abandon their land despite repeated demolitions and the constant threat of forcible displacement. Determined to keep their connection to the soil, farmers tend to olive groves even when Israeli bulldozers stand menacingly nearby. Women’s groups run workshops on girls’ education, campaigns against early marriage, and initiatives to strengthen economic self-reliance—in the face of 90 percent unemployment. The youth organize cultural events and document their daily struggles online, ensuring their story reaches beyond the walls and checkpoints. In these actions, survival itself becomes a form of resistance and a statement that they will not be erased.17

From the rooftop of the village mosque, the view of Jerusalem is breathtaking; however, for the villagers below, that same view is a daily reminder of their asphyxiating confinement, overlooking the very city they are forbidden to enter. Within the area that Israel has designated as a national park and heritage site, al-Nabi Samwil’s residents experience it as a cage enclosing their homes. The hill, now reshaped into a park, a shrine, and a military outpost, rests on the ruins of an ancient village once inseparably connected to its surrounding land, a land that once knew no borders, checkpoints, or walls.

Against the weight of restrictions and erasure, the families of al-Nabi Samwil endure. Their presence is not quiet resignation but a refusal to disappear, a steadfast claim to life and to home. And between stone and sky, the village remains what it has always been: a hill crowned by prophecy, where life itself has become an act of defiance.

To outsiders, al-Nabi Samwil may look like a forgotten dot on the map, but for its people, their presence insists that this hill is not a park, a shrine, or a security zone. Rather, it is their home.