Jenin: A Cinematic Story of Impunity, Indifference, and the Lives Caught in Between
The streets of Jenin are quiet, but not with peace — with fear. The early morning haze clings to the crumbling buildings as the distant hum of armored vehicles creeps into the air. A metallic voice echoes through the alleyways, bouncing off bullet-scarred walls.
Two men step out of a building, each raising their hands.
A shaky camera captures the moment — hands trembling, shirts lifted to show no weapons, their bodies bent in surrender.
For a few seconds, there is silence.
And then the shots ring out.
The camera shakes. The two bodies collapse.
And the world watches yet another chapter unfold in a story that has repeated itself for decades.
This is not fiction.
This is not exaggerated cinema.
This is Jenin, 2025.
And it is the latest scene in a long film of impunity.
The Moment the World Saw
The video released by Palestine TV spreads like wildfire.
Two men — Al-Muntasir Billah Abdullah and Youssef Asasa — crawl back toward the building as ordered by Israeli forces. Their hands are up, their backs exposed. Their only shield is the camera watching from above.
As they move, Israeli soldiers fire at point-blank range.
The scene plays again and again across phones, news channels, timelines.
People gasp. People cry. People rage.
But inside Israel?
A different script is unfolding.
Itamar Ben-Gvir, Israel’s far-right National Security Minister, steps forward to defend the shooters:
“They acted exactly as expected. Terrorists must die.”
In this political thriller, the villains aren’t hiding.
They speak openly.
They carry the flag.
They are applauded for violence.
And that is what makes the story darker.
A History That Echoes
Cut to a montage — fast, furious, heart-breaking.
January 2024
Six-year-old Hind Rajab sits in a car surrounded by her dead family in Gaza. Her voice trembles through a phone as she pleads for rescue. The ambulance sent to save her never returns. Days later, all are found dead.
March 2024
Two unarmed men in Gaza signal surrender again and again. They are still shot.
2018 — Tulkarem
Mohammed Habali, mentally challenged, walks away from soldiers. A bullet to the back of his head ends his life.
2020 — East Jerusalem
Eyad al-Halaq, autistic, runs in fear on his way to his special-needs school. He is killed by police who later say they “mistook” his phone for a weapon.
Each clip is a scene.
Each scene is the same story.
And then, a twist:
December 2023 — Gaza
Three Israeli captives escape. They wave a white flag.
Israeli soldiers kill them too.
The violence is systematic, not accidental.
Predictable, not rare.
Documented, not hidden.
For years, people have watched this film.
Most inside Israel changed the channel.
The System Behind the Trigger
Enter the analysts, the experts, the human rights workers — the investigators of this cinematic universe.
Tirza Leibowitz, deputy director of Physicians for Human Rights Israel, explains the psychology behind the killings:
“It’s the product of years of separation, subjugation, occupation. Israeli society has just gotten used to it.”
This line could be the thesis of the entire movie.
The occupation has created two worlds — one seen, one unseen.
Israelis can go months, even years, without interacting with a Palestinian.
They see them only through news designed to spark fear, anger, hatred.
When a people becomes invisible, their death becomes invisible too.
Inside the Israeli system:
-
862 complaints filed between 2018–2022 against soldiers.
-
Only 258 investigations opened.
-
Only 13 resulted in indictments.
-
Only 1 indictment for killing a Palestinian.
-
That’s 0.4% accountability for fatal cases.
It is not a flaw.
It is not a failure.
It is the system working exactly as designed.
Lawmakers, judges, politicians — the architecture of impunity stands tall.
The Parliament Scene
Inside Israel’s parliament, the Knesset, the tension is cinematic.
Aida Touma-Suleiman, a Palestinian member of parliament, stands to speak.
Her voice is calm but carries the weight of decades.
She proposes a bill criminalizing torture — a basic human rights principle.
A government minister attacks her viciously.
He accuses her of “trying to tie Israel’s hands.”
She fires back:
“Essentially, he was saying Israel uses torture and needs to keep doing so.”
Her words echo through the chamber, but they find no support, no traffic, no outrage.
The scene cuts to empty desks, silent politicians, a disinterested public.
Because the story of Palestinian suffering has never been a blockbuster in Israel.
It is background noise.
A static hum.
The Layer Beneath the Violence
A report submitted to the UN tells an even more chilling tale.
Palestinians describe:
-
Being shackled and blindfolded during medical care
-
Being starved deliberately
-
Being denied toilets and forced to wear nappies
-
Being tortured systematically
The UN Committee Against Torture writes:
“A de facto State policy of organized and widespread torture.”
These words are heavy — historic — devastating.
Israel denies everything.
But reality does not need permission to exist.
The Social Horror
Back in Jenin, the video of Abdullah and Asasa spreads.
But inside Israel, many respond with jokes, insults, celebration.
Shai Parnes from B’Tselem sums up the horror:
“A country can’t carry out a genocide without a large part of its society either supportive or indifferent.”
His voice is calm, but the truth slices like a knife.
Generations raised under a system of segregation, occupation, indoctrination.
Generations who learned to see Palestinians as shadows, threats, animals.
When people are dehumanized, killing them becomes routine.
Cheered.
Ignored.
Excused.
This is not a military problem.
It is a societal tragedy.
Return to Jenin — The Final Shot
Fade in again to the alley in Jenin.
Two bodies on the ground.
Dust settling around them.
A stray cat walks past, indifferent — the way Israel has been towards Palestinian death for decades.
The soldiers leave.
The camera keeps recording.
Around the world, outrage grows.
Statements are issued.
Investigations are promised.
Condemnations are drafted.
But in Jenin, nothing changes.
The wall bullet marks remain.
The families mourn quietly.
And the cycle of impunity continues, waiting to claim the next victims.
Because, as Tirza Leibowitz says:
“The only difference this time is that it was caught on camera.”
The Movie That Never Ends
This story — brutal, repetitive, horrifying — is not a single incident.
It is a franchise.
A long-running series produced by occupation and protected by impunity.
The scenes change, the victims change, the locations change.
But the script stays the same.
The Jenin killings are not shocking because they are rare.
They are shocking because they are routine.
And the world is watching yet another episode play out, hoping that maybe this time, something will change — even though history suggests otherwise.
The credits roll.
But the movie doesn’t end.
Because in Palestine, this film is on an endless loop.
0 Comments