Israel Advances 'Herod's Pool' Project on Palestinian Land in West Bank, Drawing Water Dispute Into Focus

Israel has begun development work on a contested outdoor pool in the occupied West Bank, transforming what began as an illegal water diversion into an officially branded heritage site. The project, referred to by Israeli authorities and settlers as "Herod's Pool," sits on privately owned Palestinian farmland near the village of Fasayil in the Jordan Valley, and its advancement has intensified concerns over land seizure and water monopolization in the territory.

The announcement came on Sunday from Israeli Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, a far-right settler who said that "development and preservation" work at the site had commenced. In a social media post accompanied by an image of laborers and wheelbarrows near the reservoir, Smotrich framed the move as part of a broader effort to reinforce Israeli control over historical locations. "The Settlement Revolution continues!" he wrote, casting the project as an achievement of his political agenda.

The reservoir itself is an ancient water structure situated beside a natural spring in Fasayil. It was given the name "Herod's Pool" by Israeli settlers, a reference to Herod the Great, the Jewish king who ruled in the first century BC. However, archaeologists have not determined when the pool was actually constructed, and no evidence has been produced to substantiate a direct connection to Herod.

Alon Arad, executive director of Emek Shaveh, an Israeli NGO that monitors the political use of archaeology and advocates for cultural heritage rights, told Reuters that the origins of the pool remain unclear. He cautioned that such naming practices are part of a wider pattern in which archaeology is deployed to foster the impression that the West Bank is exclusively Jewish. The absence of proof, he suggested, does little to slow the political momentum behind these projects.

The development follows a pledge Smotrich made in June to allocate more than three million shekels, nearly one million dollars, toward the site. That funding commitment proceeded even though the pool occupies land that belongs to a Palestinian farmer. According to the source material, the reservoir sits on property owned by Saad Nemer and his family, who say his grandfather purchased the land more than a century ago. Israeli-issued documentation and older title records reviewed by Reuters appear to support the family's ownership claim.

Nemer has described a sustained campaign by settlers to redirect water from his farm into the pool. He said settlers stole his irrigation pipeline to fill the reservoir, leaving his fields scorched and his greenhouses empty over time. He also reported that settlers threatened him and physically assaulted one of his employees, adding a layer of violence to the economic damage his family has suffered.

The Israeli military body that administers the occupied West Bank, known as COGAT, has acknowledged that water was diverted "without authorisation" and stated that it would investigate. That acknowledgment stands in contrast to the celebratory tone adopted by Smotrich and other Israeli politicians, who have promoted the pool as a heritage asset rather than a site of dispute. The gap between the two positions has fueled Palestinian distrust of any enforcement or remediation process.

Nemer told The New York Times that COGAT informed him his water supply would be restored. According to his account, however, the water returned for only a single day before being cut off again. He now fears approaching the reservoir to reconnect his pipeline, citing the threat of settler violence. His situation illustrates how even official assurances can be rendered meaningless when the underlying power dynamics remain unchanged.

The illegal diversion of water to the pool is part of what the source describes as Israel's broader monopolization of water resources in the Jordan Valley, a fertile area of the occupied West Bank. Palestinians argue that targeting their water sources fits into a comprehensive plan to seize the territory's resources and push them off their land. The redirection of water is therefore not an isolated incident but a component of a larger strategy that affects agriculture, livelihoods, and the viability of Palestinian communities.

The naming of the pool also connects to a wider Israeli effort to assert control over archaeological and heritage sites across the West Bank, which Israel refers to as "Judea and Samaria" in an attempt to separate it from its Palestinian population. Israeli politicians and settlers have similarly sought greater control over "Solomon's Pools," three ancient reservoirs in the Bethlehem governorate that Palestinians have used for generations. These campaigns share a common approach: invoking historical or religious significance to justify changes to the status of Palestinian land and resources.

The timing of the development work reflects the political priorities of Israel's current government, in which Smotrich holds significant influence over West Bank policy. His announcement was framed as part of a "settlement revolution," language that explicitly ties the pool project to the expansion of Israeli presence in the occupied territory. For Palestinians, the project signals that even private land with documented ownership is not safe from appropriation when it aligns with ideological and political objectives.

The involvement of workers and equipment at the site moves the project beyond the stage of rhetoric and into physical construction. This shift matters legally, politically, and practically, because it transforms the pool from a contested spot used by settlers into a built environment that Israel may present as a permanent fact on the ground. Such developments often complicate future negotiations and make any reversal more difficult.

For the village of Fasayil, the consequences are immediate and material. Without reliable water, farming becomes untenable, and the loss of irrigation undermines the household economy that depends on crops and greenhouses. The beating of an employee and the threats against Nemer himself mean that the dispute carries personal risk for those who attempt to defend their property or restore their water connection.

The case also raises questions about the enforcement of Israeli regulations in the West Bank. COGAT acknowledged the diversion was unauthorized, yet the development of the site has proceeded with government funding and public promotion. That contradiction suggests that the rules applied to Palestinian landowners differ markedly from those applied to settlers and their political allies.

International observers and heritage organizations are likely to watch the project closely, given the sensitivity of archaeological claims in the West Bank. The use of historical names to legitimize development on privately owned Palestinian land has drawn criticism from groups like Emek Shaveh, which argue that archaeology should not be weaponized to reshape the demographic and political reality of the territory. As work continues, the pool is set to remain a focal point in the broader struggle over land, water, and memory in the occupied West Bank.