On Nov. 4, as New Yorkers cast ballots in a mayoral race defined by a frenzy of fear, I, too, was afraid. But my fear came not in my home city, but in a tiny village in the West Bank, when Jewish settlers aimed their guns at me and other volunteers harvesting olives.

I was part of a group of American Jewish clergy, organized by T’ruah: The Rabbinic Call for Human Rights, participating in Protective Presence: placing ourselves by the homes of Palestinian farmers and shepherds. The shameful reality is that Palestinians are less likely to be harassed or attacked when Jews or internationals stand beside them.

We came unarmed; the goal is nonviolent resistance and deescalation. Despite the looming presence of IDF vehicles, there was serenity in that grove: the rustle of branches, the rhythm of rakes, the hum of strangers becoming friends. Then a drone appeared overhead.

After hovering for nearly an hour, it dove and struck an Israeli rabbi, leaving a deep gash in her arm. Moments later, two Jewish settlers in military clothing stormed toward us shouting with rifles raised. They demanded their drone, which lay among bushels of olives exactly where it had fallen. One grabbed it, and they backed away, rifles still pointing. Then, a shot — the sound sharp, deliberate, meant to terrorize.

There were screams; some dove to the ground. I froze, thinking the olive trees were too narrow to shield me from bullets. I wondered how to dodge what shots might come next. When the settlers finally retreated, I panicked, scanning the grove to see if anyone was injured or dead. Then I went limp.

The settlers told the Israel Defense Forces........

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