On July 28 2025, Palestinian educator and social activist Awdah Hathaleen was shot dead outside his home in the Bedouin village of Umm al-Khair in the South Hebron Hills, occupied West Bank. The killing took place in broad daylight, underscoring the brazen actions of Israeli squatter-settlers, and their continued theft of Palestinian lands and lives.
I didn’t learn about Awdah’s killing until the next morning. I was on a train, opened my phone and read a string of messages about a peace activist being shot. The first few messages didn’t include a name – then one did, and I realised it was Awdah. We worked together on several articles about the plight of the West Bank, its bloody occupation and the world’s indifference to the apartheid system Israel has grafted onto Palestine and her people.
As a journalist and writer, I wanted to put pen to paper and say something – but it was hard, and I managed only a handful of words. They didn’t form sentences, just a string of verbs and adjectives. We weren’t lifelong friends, but we spoke and messaged every couple of days for the last two years. We didn’t agree on everything, but we agreed on enough to have a relaxed informality about our relationship. What really bonded us was Awdah’s unwavering commitment to challenge injustices, often despite his personal fears. Awdah, 31, was a father to young children (three boys under five) and a vigorous community organiser who repeatedly put himself in harm’s way to protect others. I tried to protect him by sharing his stories.
Yinon Levi – Arrested, Released, Never Charged
Eyewitnesses and village residents captured Awdah’s murder on video. Footage shows Awdah standing near a fence at the community centre when Israeli squatter-settler Yinon Levi opened fire. The recordings, some filmed by Awdah himself, offer chilling clarity – there was no warning shot or apparent provocation immediately preceding the killing.
According to witness testimonies, Levi approached at close range and fired directly into Awdah’s chest, who collapsed to the ground, bleeding heavily. Friends and fellow activists scrambled to help, until an emergency response vehicle arrived and took Awdah away. Awdah’s final moments were painfully public.
Levi’s early life remains largely undocumented. His exact date and place of birth are not publicly available, and little is known about his upbringing prior to joining the Israeli squatter-settler movement.
Levi is one of approximately a million squatter-settlers residing in 250 illegal settlements on stolen Palestinian land in the West Bank and East Jerusalem. The outposts house militia units, which under the protection of Israeli security forces, systematically terrorise neighbouring Palestinian villages. Trees are uprooted, water pipes are sabotaged, and cars are driven at speed past homes for hours at a time. Most disturbingly – young, masked men frequently enter and occupy homes for several hours. Increasingly, live ammunition is fired into the air.
In 2024, Levi’s thuggish behaviour had him officially sanctioned by the Council for the EU for taking ‘part in multiple violent acts against neighbouring villages from his residence in the Mitarim farm illegal outpost.’ Undeterred, Levi went on to kill Awdah in public 14 months later.
By the time I read of Awdah’s murder, Levi had been detained and released under house arrest. Three days later, Jerusalem Magistrate judge Chavi Toker, freed Levi concluding there was no case to answer. Levi returned to his outpost in the South Hebron Hills.
Meanwhile, in Umm al-Khair, Israeli authorities informed Awdah’s family his body would not be released for burial. This denial of timely burial rites added further trauma, as Islamic tradition mandates a swift funeral, often within 48 hours of death.
Living and Dying Under Zionism
Awdah lived and died amongst the violence of Zionist occupational rule. In the months leading up to his death he messaged me every couple of days. By the beginning of this year, the messages became ominous, the harassment more violent.
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By June, Awdah was organising night shifts to protect the village and community property from squatter-settler raids. 
Then, I received what would be my last message from Awdah.
“He [Levi] shot three or four times – I don’t remember the exact number. Afterwards, there was a woman crying, ‘Awdah, Awdah.’ We tried to carry Awdah to the village entrance, ready for the ambulance. The settlers continued to attack us while we were carrying Awdah. More settlers joined the attack. We ran towards my mother’s house. We got there and closed the door. Then the army came and took Awdah,” remembers a family member.
The security services stayed in the village for several hours, arrested half a dozen Palestinians and seized several electrical devices such as phones and laptops. They returned three times over the next 48 hours, including to tear down the temporary gazebo that had been erected for Awdah’s family to accept villagers’ condolences. The whole affair was messy, cruel, and spiteful.
“Awdah was an active person and a good footballer. He was a good player and a Real Madrid fan. And when he was young, he was smart in school. After he finished school, he went to Hebrew University, to earn his degree so he could teach English. He taught a lot of the village kids,” shared a family member.
Awdah taught at Al-Saray’a Secondary School in Badia, which he had attended himself. During his short 31 years, he was also a peace activist volunteering with Israeli human rights association B’Tselem and contributing to +972, an Israeli left-wing news and opinion online magazine. He selflessly joined forces with foreign journalists and was occasionally visited by overseas diplomats. From 2019 to 2023, he collaborated on the filming of the Oscar-winning documentary No Other Land.
We remember Awdah as a father, husband, son, brother, educator, mentor, peace activist, football fanatic, colleague, and friend.
Awdah, it’s 76 days since we last spoke. You are missed.
I’m sorry our stories didn’t protect you – I hope they won’t let you be forgotten.
Awdah’s Birthday Message – April 10th 2025
Today is my birthday, a day I usually look forward to with happiness and hope. But this year, the joy I once associated with this date has been replaced by sadness and exhaustion. Just two days ago, settlers attacked our village, leaving destruction and fear behind. xxxxxx was injured during the attack, suffering a broken hand, and since then, nothing has felt the same.
The sense of helplessness is overwhelming. While others celebrate with cake, candles, and laughter, I find myself dealing with pain, fear, and uncertainty. It’s hard to feel festive when your loved ones are hurting, and your home no longer feels safe. The attacks have taken more than just our peace — they’ve stolen the simple joys we once took for granted.
I had hoped to spend this day surrounded by love, sharing a quiet and happy moment with my wife and family. Instead, we’re nursing wounds, both physical and emotional, and trying to process the trauma. It’s difficult to explain how quickly something so joyful can turn into something so heavy.
Despite it all, I hold onto a small hope — that the future might bring justice, that our voices will eventually be heard, and that one day I can celebrate my birthday again, in peace, with the people I love, free from fear and loss.
—- © 2025 Sul Nowroz – Real Media staff writer – Insta: @TheAfghanWriter
