In the so-called unrecognized Bedouin villages in the Negev, where women are confined to their homes, the greenhouses they’re tending are often their families’ sole source of income – and hope
Ronit Vered Jan 9, 2025
On a low table, carefully wrapped in glistening oilcloth, Umm Hani sets down a meal as marvelous as it is modest: fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, olive oil, labaneh (strained yogurt), a za’atar (wild hyssop) blend of herbs, pickled za’atar and three types of bread – thin saj flatbread; thicker taboon-baked pita, dotted with fresh za’atar leaves; and manakish, topped with za’atar.
For those living in a Westernized world of abundance, it’s hard to understand za’atar’s contribution to this simple repast. But those who are going hungry – and in the so-called unrecognized villages of the Negev Bedouin, there are many whose daily menu is based on bread and tea – learn to value the diversity the silvery-greenish leaves of the local herb lend to their meager, monotonous diet.
Umm Hani, who is 57 and the mother of nine, divorced her husband after years of distress. In her traditional society, divorced women (a rare phenomenon among Bedouin) are typically forced to move from being in the husband’s custody to that of male relatives – father, brothers or sons.
In her case, her children built “a room of her own” near their homes, in a family compound. Next to that small, separate structure, a patchwork of bricks with a temporary roof, is a shed that serves the same role as a traditional Bedouin hospitality tent, in which we are received. Although the meager dwellings in these unrecognized villages, which lack infrastructure, are surrounded by sand dunes, not so much as a grain of dust can be found on the polished floor of the hospitality shed.
Around the canvas sheets that serve as walls, Umm Hani has placed a row of flowerpots – splashes of color that are as rare as they are heartrending in this arid region, in one of the country’s most impoverished communities. Seeing this, an outside observer may forget for a moment that the homes aren’t hooked up to the national water supply. Indeed, water is a precious resource here – it has to be purchased from private sources, sometimes at exorbitant prices – and thus cultivating plants as Umm Hani does for decorative purposes, rather than for consumption, is testimony to the human need for beauty, even amid the hardships of daily existence.
In the “yard” of the compound are two lemon trees and a clementine tree. (These days the branches of the trees in orchards of the coastal plain are bending under the weight of the yellowish-orange fruit, but seeing a fruit-bearing citrus tree in the desert does far more to gladden the eye and the heart). But the highlight here, and the greatest source of pride of this homeowner, is a small greenhouse, near the shed, in which she grows za’atar on a small scale for commercial purposes.
Umm Hani is one of 25 members of Raya, a pioneering agricultural cooperative of Bedouin women from unrecognized communities (the name comes from the Arabic word for irrigation). The cooperative’s members have undergone instruction in growing za’atar as well as vegetables and other herbs. Adjacent to their homes, small greenhouses of 6 square meters have been erected, in which they grow and harvest the herb.
Most of the harvest is used in various food products that are collectively prepared and marketed by Raya. The revenues help support the women’s families. But the satisfaction and heightened self-esteem that derive from tilling the soil and involvement in joint, productive activity are something that cannot be quantified.
“Most Bedouin women live without hope,” says Noor Al Sana, the project coordinator of Sidreh, the nonprofit association that established the Raya cooperative, and which manages various other projects for the advancement of women in Bedouin society.
Like other women in these villages, Umm Hani did not venture into the labor market or into social circles outside the family framework. She left school after sixth grade and until her divorce hardly left home at all. Women in her society need a man’s authorization to make a foray in the public domain – but it is not always forthcoming, for reasons relating to perceived family honor. Moreover, there is no public transportation in and between these communities, which are far from the main road. Few Bedouin women have a driver’s license or own a car that would enable them to come and go on their own, assuming they have permission, something other Israelis view as a basic right.
One of Sidreh’s most impressive projects is a weaving venture, which has gained it international repute, whereby Bedouin women create stunning handmade carpets (and other textile products) by traditional methods but with modern designs. The first part of the task – processing sheep’s wool into yarn – allow many of the participants to make a living right at home. The next stages in the process – dyeing the skeins and weaving them on looms – take place at the nonprofit’s center in the Bedouin town of Lakiya, which affords women in the area with supportive husbands a chance to leave their homes and to make new friends. (“Sidreh is my life,” one of the weavers told me, eyes sparkling. This woman has three daughters and divorced her husband at age 22; today, at 47, the only place her brother allows her to go is the nonprofit’s center or to activities it organizes for its workers.)
Raya’s agricultural output, which revolves around za’atar, follows a similar format. The women grow, harvest and dry the plants in their greenhouses, scattered in various communities, while the grinding and processing stages are undertaken collectively in the Lakiya center.
The result is seven za’atar products, among them the popular seasoning blend that includes sumac and sesame seeds; a za’atar tea infusion; honey made from za’atar flowers (there are beehives inside some of the greenhouses; the women have been trained there to extract honey); and fresh za’atar leaves that are pickled and preserved in olive oil, according to a special recipe devised by the Raya women.
Many of the cooperative’s members, who have come to see their greenhouses as a place of refuge – as does Umm Hani – have also started to cultivate small gardens that provide their families with vegetables and herbs. Creation of these small patches, lovingly tended and particularly noticeable in the dismal landscape of these impoverished locales, has led relatives and friends to take an interest and to grow some of their own food. The output typically includes tomatoes, cucumbers, squash and a host of herbs, which also improve the nutritional value of the residents’ diet.
By any measure, just two years after it was introduced (the learning and training lasted a whole year), the za’atar project can be considered a success. Yet in the past three months, the state – indifferent to the disgraceful conditions in which 100,000 people live, abandoning them to the whims of private, but resource-poor nonprofits, and failing to find overall solutions to their plight – have issued demolition orders for three greenhouses.
It’s beyond belief that little agricultural greenhouses, whose sole purpose is to allow people to make a living while imbuing these hardscrabble owners with a rare feeling of satisfaction, could pose any threat to the Israel Lands Authority. But the three women whose greenhouses were targeted, immediately dismantled them, with the aid of Sidreh staff.
The fear is that the razing of the greenhouses will be a prelude to destruction of the Bedouins’ houses. “The State of Israel remembers us only when it’s related to demolition orders,” one of the women noted. Others shared stories about the anxiety and trauma experienced by the Bedouin who live in simple, temporary structures that are totally unprotected from incoming missile attacks.
The war and its resultant economic crisis have destroyed nonprofits that are trying to assist weak population groups such as Bedouin women living in unrecognized towns, in part because of donors’ changing priorities. “This is the first year in which Sidreh hasn’t received a single donation,” Al Sana says. But the women involved in Sidreh are determined to continue, and also to start training younger women in sustainable agriculture – even though principal funding for the project (supported by a donation from the Yad Hanadiv foundation) is due to end soon.
“When you see the transformation that occurs in the women’s life,” says Al Sana, “you just can’t stop working with them, and you hope to see the same thing happen in the life of other women, too.”
The za’atar products can be purchased via the cooperative’s website: www.rayastore.co.