Awdah, you are in my heart and you are in my struggle

My heart shattered yesterday, and I am just trying my best to pick up the pieces as I move through this. Yesterday in Umm al Kheir, my friend and our partner, Awdah Hathaleen was shot and killed by an infamous violent Israeli settler named Yinon Levy. 

Just hours before he was murdered, Awdah had sent a message to activists around the world:

URGENT CALL the settlers are working behind our houses and the worst that they tried to cut the main water pipe for the community,  they will build caravans .we need everyone who can make something to act , if you can reach people like the congress , courts , whatever, please do everything,  if they cut the pipe the community here will literally will be without any drop of water

I could sense the fear that his home would be taken from him by this Israeli violence. I could feel the fear for his family, his community, his people. Awdah was a teacher and a writer and Awdah was an organizer and a leader. He had deep hope and built a beautiful and wide movement of friends and partners around the world to help save his home from Israeli destruction, and to free his people from the nightmare they’ve endured.

Awdah celebrating with our first Hineinu group. Photo by Emily Glick.

Awdah built this movement-community with his warmth and his smile and with his steadfast commitment. He built it with every story he told, every group he welcomed into his home, every person he taught, and every idea he made into a reality.

Awdah was a father of three and a husband. He loved his children. Every time I think about his family I am shattered again. I am watching a video of my child playing with his eldest son in Umm al Kheir not far from where he was shot down. I am so sad and yet I can’t help but smile at hearing Awdah’s voice behind the sounds of babies and toddlers babbling to one another. 

Awdah was a gracious host of my 40th birthday party in the desert near Umm al Kheir in Masafer Yatta. Photo by Natasha Westheimer.

Yesterday the updates began to come in. Ahmed was hit in the head by the arm of a digger. Awdah was shot in the chest or stomach. They were now on their way to the hospital. Did I understand correctly? I read the messages over and over. 
 
I wrote to Awdah, “I know you can't see this right now, but I am sending you strength and love and so many people all around the world are sending you the same”. I knew he wouldn’t see it any time soon, but I imagined he would see it. I just didn’t have room for the possibility that he would die. I now know it is true, but I am still lost trying to understand it.

Awdah in Jerusalem. Though he lived his entire life just an hour or so from Jerusalem, this was a next to impossible trip because of Israeli occupation and apartheid. Photo by Emily Glick.

Today, friends and family began arriving at the village to be together in grief. In the morning, the army told the village they had to take down the customary mourning tent, and they blocked journalists from entering. In the afternoon, they declared a closed military zone and kicked solidarity visitors out, pushing them around and throwing stun grenades. Meanwhile, Yinon Levy is under house arrest. Not even a cell. The situation is still ongoing. No one feels safe to mourn. 
 
Awdah loved his children and he loved the children he taught. It was exhausting work, but his commitment to building the next generation shone in his eyes every time I asked him about it. I was, and will always be, moved by his energy and his vision.
 
I find myself rereading Awdah’s words and remembering his laughter and his smile, his sincerity and his humor. Awdah once wrote about Hajj Suleiman, who was killed defending Umm al Kheir and his people, that we will keep him “in our hearts and in our struggle, and we will not forget the sacrifices he made in fighting for our rights — until he sacrificed his very life for us.”
 
Awdah, you are in my heart and you are in my struggle. 

This was written on July 29, 2025.