In the hilltop village of Turmus Ayya in the West Bank, a community of Palestinian Americans — many of them longtime US citizens who return each summer to tend ancestral homes — find themselves caught between the flag they carry and the government that carries it. Settler violence, emboldened by diplomatic signals from Washington, has claimed nine American lives since 2022 and reduced daily existence to a calculus of shutters, barbed wire, and unanswered embassy calls. The story asks an old and unresolved question: what does citizenship mean when the state that issued your passport has chosen
US Palestinian Americans face escalating settler violence as ambassador backs Israeli outposts
American citizens invading American citizens for land
Why does it matter that these are American citizens? Couldn't the same violence happen to any Palestinians?
It matters because they believed their citizenship would protect them—that the US government would treat them the way it treats any American abroad. Instead, they're discovering that their nationality doesn't shield them from the violence, and the embassy treats them differently than it would treat Jewish Americans in the same situation.
You mention Huckabee visiting Shilo twice. What's the significance of those visits?
They're a signal. When the US ambassador visits an illegal settlement and tells residents "we stand with you," it's read as endorsement. For the Palestinians in Turmus Ayya, it looks like Washington is choosing sides—and they're on the losing side.
The article mentions that the Trump administration removed settlers from sanctions lists. Why would that matter to people being attacked?
Because sanctions are one of the few tools the US has to pressure settlers to stop. Removing them signals that there will be no consequences for violence. It tells the settlers they can act with impunity.
Maisoon Ali's father made her promise not to abandon the house. Why did he foresee trouble in the 1970s?
He understood the trajectory. He built bulletproof glass fifty years ago because he could see where things were heading. His daughter kept that promise, but now she's living in a fortress, unable to leave, unable to live freely. The house that was supposed to be her retirement became her prison.
What would change things for these residents?
They want the US government to treat them as American citizens—to intervene the way it would for any American facing violence abroad. They want the ambassador to acknowledge they exist. They want consequences for the settlers. Right now, they feel abandoned by the country they thought would protect them.
El Pulso
- Nightly raids by settlers in off-road vehicles — gunfire, firebombs, flashlights through windows — have turned a summer homecoming into a siege for families holding American passports.
- US Ambassador Huckabee's repeated visits to the nearby illegal settlement of Shilo, where he declared 'you are not alone,' have been read by Turmus Ayya residents as a direct green light for escalating attacks.
- A 60-year-old retiree narrowly escaped being burned alive in her father's house two days after Huckabee's latest visit to Shilo, now living fortified and isolated behind fences she never imagined needing.
- Embassy responses to distress calls have ranged from form letters to occasional intervention — enough to prove Washington could act, residents say, but not enough to suggest it intends to.
- The Trump administration's removal of violent settlers from sanctions lists has shattered the remaining trust of residents who, in many cases, had voted for him, leaving them feeling abandoned by the very citizenship they once believed would protect them.
In the hilltop village of Turmus Ayya in the West Bank, a community of Palestinian Americans — many of them longtime US citizens who return each summer to tend ancestral homes — find themselves caught between the flag they carry and the government that carries it. Settler violence, emboldened by diplomatic signals from Washington, has claimed nine American lives since 2022 and reduced daily existence to a calculus of shutters, barbed wire, and unanswered embassy calls. The story asks an old and unresolved question: what does citizenship mean when the state that issued your passport has chosen a side?
The village of Turmus Ayya sits a few hundred metres from an illegal Israeli outpost, separated by scorched earth and a boulder that settlers have placed as a territorial declaration. About eighty percent of the village's residents are American citizens — families from New York, Chicago, and New Jersey who return each summer to reconnect with Palestinian culture and language. They fly the American flag from their balconies. At night, settlers arrive in off-road vehicles, firing guns, spraying "Revenge" on walls, and carrying bottles of flammable liquid.
Yaser Alkam, a family law attorney who spent thirty-five years in Anaheim before returning to lead the village council, describes the situation with quiet disbelief: "Only in Palestine will you find American citizens invading American citizens for land." The outposts radiate from Shilo, a hilltop settlement that has become a destination for Americans seeking Jewish heritage connections. US Ambassador Mike Huckabee has visited Shilo twice in two years — visits the UN classifies as violations of international law — telling residents there that President Trump loves the land and stands with them. The message was not lost on Turmus Ayya.
Nine Palestinian Americans have been killed in the West Bank since 2022. Ghaith Odeh, who grew up in Queens and whose family lives on the village's exposed border, has endured multiple nights of gunfire, six military raids on his home, and a rifle pointed at his son. When he contacted the US embassy, he received form responses directing him to local law enforcement.
Maisoon Ali, sixty years old, retired to her family home in nearby Deir Dibwan after decades in Virginia. Her father had built the house in the 1970s with bulletproof glass, foreseeing trouble, and made her promise on his deathbed never to abandon it. On June 14th — two days after Huckabee's latest visit to Shilo — she looked up to see three young men running toward her house with bottles of accelerant. She pulled down the metal shutters just in time. Her home is now ringed with fences and barriers. She no longer travels to Ramallah. "I'm 60 years old and I decided to retire in my family home," she said. "And I don't want to live like this, scared."
The embassy has occasionally intervened — most notably when the Israeli military occupied a doctor's home after a visit by Democratic congressman Ro Khanna, withdrawing after US pressure. But residents say these moments only confirm that Washington could do more. Alkam has contacted Huckabee at least four times requesting a visit to Turmus Ayya. He has received no reply. Many residents voted for Trump, Alkam said, but lost faith when the administration removed violent settlers from sanctions lists. The State Department says it does not support annexation and condemns violence by any party. For people living behind barbed wire and metal shutters, the words feel distant. "We never thought," Alkam said, "that American citizens in Turmus Ayya are going to be attacked under the eyes and the ears of the current administration."
Between the white-stone houses of Turmus Ayya and the corrugated metal shacks of an illegal Israeli outpost lies a few hundred metres of scorched earth. A boulder marks the boundary—a physical declaration that this land now belongs to someone else. On summer mornings, children who grew up in New York, Chicago, and New Jersey return to their family homes here to learn Arabic and experience Palestinian culture. About eighty percent of Turmus Ayya's residents hold American passports. Many fly the stars and stripes from their balconies. At night, settlers in off-road vehicles roam the village, firing guns into the darkness, screaming, shining flashlights through windows. They spray-paint "Revenge" on houses. They come with bottles of flammable liquid.
Yaser Alkam spent thirty-five years as a family law attorney in Anaheim, California, before returning to lead his village council. He describes the situation with a kind of bewildered precision: "Only in Palestine will you find American citizens invading American citizens for land." The outposts radiate from Shilo, a hilltop settlement across the valley that has become a destination for Americans seeking connection to Jewish heritage. In the past two years, US Ambassador Mike Huckabee has visited Shilo twice—visits the United Nations classifies as violations of international law. In 2025, Huckabee told residents there: "President Trump loves this land. You are not alone. We stand with you." The message was clear. The irony was not lost on people in Turmus Ayya: American dollars, flowing through Jewish charities and military aid budgets, help finance the land grab. Some of those attacking the village may themselves be American citizens.
Nine Palestinian Americans have been killed in the West Bank since 2022, either by settlers or the Israeli military. The violence in Turmus Ayya predates the October 2023 Hamas attacks, but has intensified sharply over the past year. Ghaith Odeh grew up in Queens and still spends most of his time in Paterson, New Jersey, but his wife and children moved to their family land in Turmus Ayya in 2021. They live on the village border, closest to the settlers. He has endured multiple nights of gunfire, six Israeli military raids on his house, a rifle pointed at his son. When he contacted the US embassy, he received form responses directing him to local law enforcement. "It's OK for an Israeli American to live over here," he said, "but not for an American Palestinian."
Maisoon Ali, sixty years old, spent decades in Vienna, Virginia, before retiring to her family home in nearby Deir Dibwan. Her father built the house in the 1970s, foreseeing trouble, and installed bulletproof glass. On his deathbed, he made her promise never to abandon it. On June 14th, she looked up from inside her house and saw three young men running up the driveway carrying bottles filled with flammable liquid. She ran inside and pulled down the metal shutters just as they began pouring the liquid on the exterior and setting fires. "If I didn't do that, I would have been burned alive," she said. Two days earlier, Huckabee had made a surprise visit to Shilo to back the settlers. Ali's house is now fortified with fences and barriers. She no longer travels to Ramallah to see friends or swim at the local YMCA. "It would kill him to see this," she said of her father. "This is our land and I'm 60 years old and I decided to retire in my family home. And I don't want to live like this, scared."
When Alkam contacts the embassy for protection during attacks, sometimes US officials help. In late July, after the Israeli military occupied a house belonging to a doctor from Syracuse who had hosted Democratic congressman Ro Khanna, the embassy intervened and the military withdrew. But these moments of assistance have only convinced residents that Washington could do far more. Alkam has reached out to Huckabee at least four times requesting a visit to Turmus Ayya. The ambassador has not responded. Many residents voted for Trump, Alkam said, but lost faith when the administration quickly removed violent settlers from sanctions lists drawn up under the previous administration. The State Department responded to inquiries by saying the US does not support Israeli annexation of the West Bank and that it condemns violence by any party. But for residents living behind barbed wire and metal shutters, the words ring hollow. "We thought we would never get to this point," Alkam said. "We never thought that American citizens in Turmus Ayya are going to be attacked under the eyes and the ears of the current administration."
Citas Notables
Only in Palestine will you find American citizens invading American citizens for land. There is no fight. One side attacks and the other side defends with the limited means that we have.— Yaser Alkam, Turmus Ayya village council head and former California attorney
If we were a Jewish Israeli American family who they had tried to burn alive, the American ambassador would have been here in two hours. But I haven't been contacted.— Maisoon Ali, Palestinian American retiree who survived a firebomb attack