Ras Abu Ammar | Ras Abu Ammar over the years | The Ethnic Cleansing of Ras Abu Ammar
📍The Location of Ras Abu ‘Ammar
Ras Abu ‘Ammar was ethnically cleansed in 1948, like so many Palestinian villages, yet paradoxically it is through the meticulous surveys and colonial curiosity of Western powers — German, British, Ottoman — that we’re now able to reconstruct its evolution with clarity. For decades before its destruction, Ras Abu ‘Ammar appeared in travelogues, censuses, and land registries compiled by Europeans and imperial officials who likely never imagined the historical weight their records would one day carry for descendants like us.
The exact location of Ras Abu ‘Ammar has been difficult to pin with final precision, in part because administrative lines shifted often. My grandfather, like many elders of the area, simply said he was “Rasi” — “from er-Ras.” It was a common term of identity, not bound by the fluctuating districts assigned by conquerors. Some sources placed Ras Abu ‘Ammar under the Jerusalem subdistrict, others — like a 1879 German survey — placed it under the Hebron district. That German document also placed the village north of Kabu, consistent with the account of French explorer Victor Guérin, who visited a place called Er-Ras on his journey southwest from Jerusalem in 1841. The names match, and so does the terrain.
Today, many sources claim that the Israeli settlement Tzur Hadassah was built directly on the ruins of Ras Abu ‘Ammar. In reality, it appears that Tzur Hadassah was built on lands belonging to the village, not necessarily atop the original stone homes. The same is true of Begin Park, which sprawls across portions of the 8.3 km² that once defined Ras Abu ‘Ammar’s agricultural footprint. The village’s core housing cluster was likely further south, nestled between olive groves and rain-fed terraces.
Further supporting this geography: Mevo Beitar, a moshav shitufi, was built on the ruins of nearby Kabu, and Ras Abu ‘Ammar lies north of that site by all credible accounts. The village was bordered on three sides by Wadi as-Sarar — literally, the Valley of Pebbles — a defining natural feature that shaped both its economy and its isolation. And crucially, an old footpath and road ran south from Ras Abu ‘Ammar to Bethlehem, passing by Battir and Beit Jala — a route still traceable on satellite maps and Mandate-era surveys.
All of this — the hills, the wadis, the ruins and the roads — is part of the landscape my grandfather once knew by heart. And it is in this geography, shaped by empire and remembered in exile, that we can still find traces of Ras Abu ‘Ammar.
