"Settlers and soldiers count on no one watching. International presence takes that away." - Masafer Yatta Solidarity Alliance

*This fundraiser will help cover my travel and limited living expenses while I spend 3 months in Masafer Yatta, West Bank, as an independent, unarmed protective presence volunteer and human rights observer/documenter. It is not a fundraiser on behalf of an organization or a direct community aid campaign.*

Homes are being demolished. Farmers are being pushed from land their families have cultivated for generations. Children are growing up surrounded by military raids, barbed wire and tear gas blocking their way to school, home demolitions, displacement, and the constant uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring. Families face repeated harassment, violence, and the loss of homes, access to water, livestock, olive groves, and livelihoods that have sustained them for generations.

I'm Hana, a 27-year-old from Illinois involved in humanitarian work and advocacy. I have a bachelor's degree in political science with a focus on international law, and earlier this year I traveled to the West Bank as a human rights observer and stayed in the village of Masafer Yatta. I am now fundraising to stay as an international volunteer and unarmed protective presence in the village of Um al-Khair in Masafer Yatta (South Hebron Hills) of the West Bank this fall, as the community urgently calls for international volunteers during this time.

Communities across the West Bank are urgently asking international volunteers to stand beside them before and during one of the most vulnerable times of the year: the olive harvest.

For many Palestinian families, the olive harvest is far more than an agricultural season. It is a source of income, a tradition passed down through generations, and a connection to their land and identity. Yet for many communities, it has also become a time of heightened fear, when farmers face increased violence, intimidation, and damage to their olive groves while trying to harvest the trees that have supported their families for decades. They are asking us to not look away- to show up before it's too late.

For years, I've dedicated my life to learning about Palestine, advocating for Palestinian human rights, and trying to understand a reality that so many people only know through headlines. Early this year, I finally had the opportunity to spend time in the West Bank. I went because I wanted to learn directly from the people living this reality instead of talking about them from thousands of miles away. I also went to explore different ways I could help going forward.

What I could never have prepared for was just how impossible it would be to leave these people behind.

I think about the families who welcomed me into their homes without hesitation. People who had every reason to be exhausted, fearful, and distrustful still opened their doors to me. They shared what little food and water they had, insisted I eat first, made sure I was safe, and treated me with generosity I will never be able to repay.

They didn't know me. Yet they loved me anyway. If I'm being honest, they cared for me in ways I've rarely experienced in my own life.

What has stayed with me even more than their generosity is the love they continue to carry in their hearts. Despite everything they have lived through, they still laugh. They still wish peace upon those terrorizing and dehumanizing them daily. They still celebrate life's little joys. They still welcome strangers. They still dream of raising their children in peace. They still believe people around the world care enough to stand beside them.

They remind me every day what humanity is supposed to look like.

Since returning home, I haven't been able to move on with my life as though these were simply stories I once heard. Because they aren't. And their stories aren't over.

When I see another home demolished, another village threatened, another family forced from land they have lived on for generations, I don't see statistics.

I see people whose names I know.

I see children I have met.

I see homes I sat inside.

I see friends.

As an American, I carry a profound sense of responsibility. I know my government plays a significant role in policies that affect these communities, and I cannot separate myself from that reality. I don't believe caring ends with acknowledging injustice. I believe it requires showing up, listening, and doing whatever I realistically can to stand beside the people who trusted me enough to let me into their lives—even while my own country's support contributes to the military equipment and weapons that directly cause their daily struggles.

This fall, I am planning to return to Umm al-Khair in Masafer Yatta for three months as an international volunteer. The communities there have been urgently asking for more international volunteers as violence, displacement, and demolitions have intensified.

As an unarmed protective presence volunteer, I will accompany shepherds, help escort children to school, document settler attacks, home demolitions, and other incidents of terrorism, remain present with families experiencing harassment, and assist with rebuilding and cleanup after destruction and demolitions whenever possible.

I will also spend time visiting farmers and villages throughout the West Bank, including communities such as Al-Mughayyir and Um Safa, before and during the olive harvest. I want to hear directly from families fighting to remain on their land, better understand what they are experiencing every day, witness how their peaceful resistance is met, and continue sharing their stories so people around the world hear directly from those living this reality instead of only reading about it through others reporting after the fact.

One of the greatest lessons these communities have taught me is that listening is one of the most important forms of solidarity.

People shouldn't be reduced to headlines. They don't want fame. They don't want pity.

They want someone to know their names. They want someone to remember what happened to them and their land.

Many of the people I've spoken with have told me that international volunteers matter- not because we can solve every problem, but because when someone is there to witness what happens, it becomes harder for the world to pretend it never happened.

That is why I am going back.

Not because I think I can save anyone. Not because I believe one person can change everything. I'm going back because people who had every reason to turn me away instead chose to love me. They taught me what humanity looks like. They taught me what resilience looks like. They reminded me that even after everything they have endured, they still choose compassion.

I owe them more than simply watching from afar.

Because I know that if our roles were reversed, they would show up for me exactly as they have already done.

Your support will make it possible for me to spend three months alongside these communities during one of the most critical times of the year. The olive harvest, which should be a season of family, tradition, and celebration, has increasingly become a time of heightened attacks on farmers and their olive groves. At the same time, Masafer Yatta has experienced a significant escalation in settler violence and home demolitions.

Earlier this month, Congressman Ro Khanna visited the same village where I stayed and met many of the same friends I have written about here. During that visit, he and others were confronted and detained by settlers armed with U.S. made rifles, for over an hour before being released. Seeing that happen only reinforced for me how vulnerable these communities are. If internationally known public officials can face such treatment while visiting, I cannot stop thinking about what families living there experience every single day.

I cannot continue only advocating from thousands of miles away while people I know and care about are asking the international community to show up and stand beside them.

The families I met don't want to be remembered only after everything is gone. They want to remain on their land, raise their children in peace, harvest their olive trees, and live with the same dignity every human deserves.

Donations will help cover airfare, visa fees, transportation throughout the West Bank, food, travel insurance, communication costs, and other essential living expenses so I can dedicate my full time and energy to volunteering. I have created an itemized budget for every anticipated expense and am happy to share it with anyone who would like to know exactly how their donation will be used. If there are any donations that do not get used, they will be donated (with proof) to the people of Masafer Yatta.

If you're able to contribute, you'll be helping make it possible for me to stand alongside these communities during one of the most critical periods they face. If you aren't able to donate, sharing this fundraiser is just as meaningful. Donating to the village’s resources is possible through MasaferYattaSolidarityAlliance on IG.

If reading this has inspired you to become an international volunteer yourself, please don't hesitate to reach out to me. I would be more than happy to answer questions or connect you with the Masafer Yatta community (or DM the IG account mentioned above).

Thank you for reading, for caring, and for standing with the people of Masafer Yatta and communities across the West Bank.

Every person who learns their names, hears and/or shares their stories, and refuses to look away helps ensure they are not forgotten.