A soda and a single cigarette.
That’s about as much as 33-year-old Abdullah Wasfi can afford at his local corner shop in Ein ’Arik, a small village just west of Ramallah.
Before Oct. 7, 2023, Wasfi said he had a great job working in construction in Israel, making about $4,000 a month. But since then, he’s been unemployed. Now, his savings are almost gone.
“Five months I’ve been sitting at home, and no one is helping us.”
“Five months I’ve been sitting at home, and no one is helping us,” Wasfi said.
The father of three is one of thousands of Palestinian laborers facing major financial insecurity after their permits to work in Israel were suspended following the Oct. 7 Hamas attacks against southern Israel, which killed about 1,200 people, and took over 250 hostages.
Since then, the Israeli government has barred most Palestinians from entering Israel, citing security concerns. Before the start of the Israel-Hamas war, some 200,000 Palestinians — mostly from the West Bank — came into Israel every week for work.
Nasser Khalil, the corner shop owner, has been seeing the impact of all this frustration play out first hand.
“Before, customers were buying things like chips and Coca-Cola,” Khalil said. “Now, they’re just buying the basics — oil, seeds, beans and rice.”
He took out his accounting book and turned to a page with a list with dozens of customers who are buying on credit. Khalil said that he is struggling, too.
“I have to pay rent for this shop, I have to pay for electricity. … I have kids who are at university and I have to pay for all this.”
“I have to pay rent for this shop, I have to pay for electricity,” he said. “I have kids who are at university and I have to pay for all this.”
But the shop has only been taking in a fifth of the amount of daily revenue compared to before the start of Israel’s war with Hamas.
Before the war, Palestinian workers who held jobs in Israel contributed more than $3 billion annually to the Palestinian economy. The loss is having a severe economic impact on the Israeli economy, too.
“I can say that everything has stopped,” said Shay Pauzner, the deputy director of the Israeli Builders Association. He said that the loss of Palestinian workers has brought the construction business in Israel to a near standstill.
“Fifty-four percent of our industry has stopped completely since Oct. 7,” he said. “The rest of [the industry] is working at a 35% capacity on a normal day.”
Pauzner and other industry leaders have appealed to the Israeli government to start letting Palestinian workers back into the country.
But the Israeli government has come up with its own plan.
Since October of last year, it has signed agreements with several countries, including India, Sri Lanka and Uzbekistan to bring about 65,000 workers into the building industry. Only about 400 Indian workers have arrived in Israel so far, but builders say they aren’t happy with this scenario.
According to Pauzner, Israeli bureaucracy means it could take up to seven months before the thousands of workers needed to arrive in the country. On top of that, Pauzner said that constructors favor the already long-standing relationships with Palestinian workers.
Pauzner said, “In many cases, these are people they worked with for decades. There are friendships among Israeli constructors and their workers. They know the families. But this is a governmental decision.”
In the meantime, low-income families like that of Mousa Abd-Razzak’s are becoming more frustrated by the day.
Before Oct. 7, Abd Razzak also had a job in construction in Israel making about $2,000 a month. It’s a job that gave him meaning.
“If there’s work, there’s life. I liked it because it meant life.”
“If there’s work, there’s life. I liked it because it meant life,” Abd-Razzak said over tea at his home.
Normally, he’d also serve biscuits, but he said that he can’t afford them right now. His family can barely afford bread.
The 38-year-old lives with his wife, mother and three small children.
These days, the whole family spends their time glued in front of the TV watching Al Jazeera Arabic. The channel has become a 24-hour loop of the tragedies unfolding in Gaza.
“I have no other power other than to watch TV,” Abd-Razzak said. “I’m incapable of doing anything else.”
Abd-Razzak blames Palestinian politicians for not doing more to help him and the tens of thousands of other people out of work. He’s angry and fed up about his situation, and depressed about what’s happening in Gaza.
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