Israeli soldiers and their armored vehicles seemed to have disappeared from this neighborhood in Jenin in the occupied West Bank. So Jaber (who spoke to Le Monde on condition of anonymity), on Wednesday, September 3, set off for supplies, the first in a week. There was nothing left to eat at home, which it had been impossible to leave for a week. With his three little girls in tow, their pigtails tied above their heads and their matching Bugs Bunny T-shirts, the father of the family ventured out into the chaos of Khalid Ibn Al-Walid Street, ravaged by bulldozers that had broken up the asphalt in search of any hidden explosive devices.

Outside, silence reigned. The Israeli army entered Jenin on August 28, at the same time as it surrounded two other localities in the northern West Bank (Tulkarem and the area around Tubas), as part of a major operation against Palestinian armed groups. On the morning of Friday, September 6, the soldiers may have put an end to it. On Wednesday, in the eastern neighborhood where Jaber lives, after a final night pass, the soldiers already appeared to be on the move, moving to other parts of the city, to the Jenin camp below the city, for example. A little later, fire exchanges also took place in the center, near the traffic circle by the cinema, the now ravaged economic heart of Jenin.

Jaber, in his fifties, bearded, stocky figure, bald, hurried along with a few days' worth of food in his plastic bags. The little girls followed him in single file down the kilometer-long street gutted by the D9 armored bulldozers. Their father looked around and sighed. "For several days, there were soldiers everywhere. We couldn't set foot outside, or stand in the windows, without risking being shot at." He pointed out the positions occupied by snipers in the surrounding area, on the rooftops: "Before, the army targeted the men. Now it's everyone, women, old people and children. Just like in Gaza."

A dozen meters away, Tawfiq Qandil, an 82-year-old man who was no longer in his right mind and had left his home on Saturday, driven by hunger, hoping to find some bread, was shot dead not far from the mosque. "We shouted at him to go home, but he didn't understand. He was hit, and he stayed bleeding on the ground until he died," said Jaber, jaw clenched. The little girls stared into space, avoiding the mud, the rubble, the leaky sewers, the upside-down street of their childhood. And off they went, in a hurry, worried, past the iron crossbars that members of armed groups set up to barricade their streets, and which the bulldozers swept away like straw.

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