Khirbet al-Marajim, occupied West Bank — The metal door of the Masallam family home still bears the dents from a settler’s axe. Inside, the smell of freshly made cheese hangs beneath a stone-domed ceiling. Mattresses line the circular room, spread across carpets on the hard floor. Prayer beads hang from nails beside the damaged door.On this particular evening, about 20 people are arranged in a circle — four generations of Masallams, plus relatives and a couple of friends — as young children pass small glasses of mint tea around the cosy den.“Quiet, everyone! Let Hajja speak!” called out Thabet, 24, grinning from across the circle. The side conversations and stifled laughter die down in a way only his voice commands around the household.Hajja Latifa, 66, adjusts her white hijab and sits up slightly, her back curved from decades of crouching to milk sheep and goats. She looks around the circle at her stepchildren, step-grandchildren, and step-great-grandchildren for a moment before speaking.“In the days of old, the world was safe,” she says quietly. Hajja Latifa prepares baladi cheese in the courtyard of the Masallam family home in Khirbet al-Marajim [Al Jazeera]That was before her husband was killed. Before the arson. Before the kidnappings. Before the beatings and theft and loss of livelihood.Before the Israeli settlers came.In all, 15 people live across three single-room homes on the family compound, though relati …
