As the sun set on the northern village of Kafr Yasif on a recent evening, neighbors somberly gathered in the backyard of the Masadeh family to grieve the loss of their son, Nidal.

Relatives and residents took seats on white plastic chairs, men on the right, women on the left. A teenage boy quietly approached the guests, offering them a date and black coffee in a paper cup. Family members each wore a photo of the slain man clipped onto their black clothing.

Nidal Masadeh, 35, was working as a security guard for the Al-Bustan High School when he was shot and killed by unknown assailants the morning of October 15 on the school grounds.

The killing was shocking for its proximity to a school and the fact that it took place during the day. But perhaps just as disturbing was the mundanity of the bloodletting, one of over two hundred homicides that have rocked the Arab community since the beginning of this year.

Though largely linked to the criminal underworld, the unprecedently high number of homicides among Arabs have by now seeped into all aspects of life, leaving virtually no town or neighborhood untouched. For the past three years, murder rates have spiked to dizzying heights, with 2025 on pace to be the deadliest yet.

A week after Masadeh’s family and neighbors gathered to remember him, the scene repeated itself in the nearby city of Tamra, where mourners gathered outside a home to comfort the family of Muhammad Hejazi, 53. On October 23, Hejazi was shot and killed while sitting on the balcony with his wife, who was also injured by the gunfire.

At both gatherings, each person who got up to speak before the crowd and pay their respects had their own story to tell of a loved one — a cousin, child or partner — who had been violently killed.

“What did he do? He hadn’t done anything,” said Wafiq, one of Hejazi’s three sons. The mild-mannered bearded young man is a bus driver for Netiv Express, like his father had been. He was working a route when his cousin phoned to tell him his father had been killed.

Emad Hejazi, who works as a farmer on lands just north of the sprawling Arab city, described his younger brother as a quiet man who loved feeding the cats who came to his doorstep.

“He took a day off from work [the day he was killed], because his son was to be engaged on Friday,” he said. “I had been sleeping. My wife told me: ‘They killed your brother,’ and I turned around in shock.”

Both men’s families say they have no knowledge of them being involved in any criminal activity.

Fuad Masadeh told The Times of Israel that his slain nephew “worked hard in order to help others.”

“All the kids in school knew and trusted him. If a mother forgot her kid at school she would call him and at........

© The Times of Israel