Standing Witness

More on the New Checkpoints

2006-01-21T23:57:00.000+02:00

It's not all in the details
By Amira Hass

Each detail described here, every shred of reality, is liable to be
considered as a whole, which would dim its severity. Detail:
hundreds of people gather each morning at three narrow steel
revolving doors, and the gates do not turn because some unseen
person has blocked them by pushing a button. The number of people
crammed behind them grows and grows, and they wait for an hour, and
the anger at another day being late for work or for school is piled
on top of previous residual tensions brought on by anger, bitterness
and helplessness.

However, it is not the crowdedness and waiting and anger that define
the checkpoints and roadblocks, or in this specific instance, the
new Qalandiyah checkpoint. Nor is it the crowdedness and compressed
atmosphere of the rest of the inspection route, before the
magnometers and the closed rooms in which the soldiers sit and
inspect documents, or the other revolving doors. Or even the
other "details": the cameras that make the soldiers and commanders
seeing and unseen, the snarling voice in the speaker that issues
commands in Hebrew, the terrifying concrete wall above and around,
and the devastation left by Israeli bulldozers and planners outside
the cage that Israel calls a "border terminal," in what was once,
and no longer is, a continuous stretch of residential neighborhoods,
soft hillsides and the Jerusalem-Ramallah road.

Nor are the 11 "detainees" at the inspection route's exit an
adequate detail: nine teenage boys aged 18 and under, one adult, and
a 23-year-old university student, all of whom committed a serious
crime on Monday: After waiting in vain for the steel gates to turn,
which would lead them to the inspection route, on their way to
classes and work, they decided to jump over the fence - one hoping
to get to an English test on time, the other fearful of being fired
if he again arrived late to the printing press where he works. But
they were caught. The student was handcuffed from behind, and was
sat down next to a guard booth in the closed military compound. The
other ten were placed outside the compound, in the mud that became
thicker with every drop of rain. And the soldiers demanded that they
sit down. They could not sit, because of the mud, and only went into
a kneeling position. After half an hour, the bent knees begin to
hurt more and more, and the pants are soaked with water and grow
tight over the knee. The hands turn cold, but the soldiers don't
change their tune: "Sit, I told you. Sit."

But the cold and the rain are not the story, nor is the soldier
eating his combat rations and watching the detainees apathetically,
nor the telephone calls by this writer until after two hours they
are permitted, how compassionately, to stand up, nor their release -
including that of one individual whose frozen hands are imprinted by
deep red cracks from the handcuffs, nor the fact that the 14-year-
old in the group had to wait another 20 minutes after his release
until the soldier who took his birth certificate (after all, he does
not yet have an identity card) could be found. The question of
whether the detention would have continued longer had the writer not
been present is also marginal.

Also of secondary importance is the decision to open
the "humanitarian gate" (which is intended for the passage of those
in wheelchairs, parents with baby strollers, and Palestinian
cleaning workers employed by a contracting firm), in the morning to
women and men above the age of 60. Another detail that in itself
diverts one's attention from what is important.

What is important is that the army and the Israeli citizens who
design all of the details of dispossession - and the roadblocks are
an inseparable part of this dispossession - have transformed the
term "humanitarian" into a despicable lie.

Through the checkpoints, road closures, movement ban, and traffic
restrictions, through the concrete walls and barbed wire fences,
through the land expropriations (solely for the purpose of security,
as the High Court of Justice, which is part and parcel of the
Israeli people, likes to believe), through the disconnecting of
villages from their lands and from a connecting road, through the
construction of a wall in a residential neighborhood and in the
backyards of homes, and through the transformation of the West Bank
into a cluster of "territorial cells," in the military jargon,
between the expanding settlements - we Israelis have created and
continue to create an economic, social, emotional, employment and
environmental crisis on the scale of a never-ending tsunami.

And then we offer a little turnstile in a cage, an officer who is
briefed to see an old man, a bathroom and a water cooler - and this
is described as "humanitarian." In other words, we push an entire
people into impossible situations, blatantly inhumane situations, in
order to steal its land and time and future and freedom of choice,
and then the plantation owner appears and relaxes the iron fist a
bit, and is proud of his sense of compassion.

However, even the important matter - that is, the humanitarian
deception - is only one detail in a full set of details in which no
single detail is representative in itself. Isolated fragments of the
reality are read as being tolerable, or understandable (security,
security), or may make one angry for a moment and then subside. And
among all the details, the reality of colonialism intensifies,
without letup or remission, inventing yet more methods of torture of
the individual and community; creating more ways to violate
international law, robbing land behind the legal camouflage, and
encouraging collaboration out of agreement, neglect or torpor.

http://www.haaretzdaily.com/hasen/spages/663138.html

New Beit Lehem Checkpoint

2006-01-21T21:58:00.000+02:00

New Years Eve I traveled from Beit Lehem back to Ramallah. I finally took some pictures at the new Beit Lehem checkpoint, so you can all see how awful these new border crossing terminals are. I was the last person to leave of the international conference staff, so I hit the checkpoint by myself. I got there around 10am, which is apparently a quiet time because I was the only person there. I took pictures of some of the signs around the checkpoint; my favorite is the one advertising for the Israeli Ministy of Tourism and is pasted ONTO the Wall. I also got a couple of good pictures of the turnstiles that people have to go through.

When I got to the turnstile, there wasn’t anyone in sight. No soldiers to be seen, no voices, nothing. And, of course, the turnstile is electronic and locked so that I can’t go through. These new terminals are creepy because the soldiers are completely kept behind bullet proof plastic – so you have no actual contact with them – but there are surveillance cameras everywhere. I knew that they could see me, even though as far as I could tell I was alone. So, I did what any American would do. I started yelling “Hello” at the top of my lungs after about 2 minutes of waiting patiently (and taking more pictures). When that didn’t get a response I tried “Shalom” (Hebrew) and finally, just for fun, “Marhaba” (Arabic).

Eventually an unseen finger pushed a button and the light above the turnstile changed from red to green, so I was allowed to pass through to the next section of the checkpoint. Next, I had to put my bags through an x-ray machine and walk through a metal detector. Only, the little conveyor belt on the x-ray machine wasn’t on. Now, I could see the soldier, sitting in her little plastic cubicle, ignoring me. So, I decided to walk through the metal detector with my bag. The soldier didn’t like that, so she told me to go back in Hebrew – I waited until she said it in English – then she turned on the conveyor belt. So, I put my bag through the x-ray machine and walked through the metal detector again.

As I was pulling my bag off the machine, I noticed a second plastic soldier cubicle. In this one, the only thing that you could see was feet in the window because the soldier was sleeping while on duty and using his desk as a footrest. I took a picture of him.

Needless to say, that didn’t go over well. There was a second set of turnstiles that I needed to go though, and the female soldier locked both of them and started yelling at me that pictures aren’t allowed. I thought that was interesting because she had been watching me take pictures on her surveillance camera since I entered the facility. So, I’m not supposed to take pictures of sleeping soldiers, I guess. Now she was pissed at me, so I had to wait almost ten minutes for her to unlock the turnstile.

After that turnstile, I finally got the area where they inspect your passport and visa. Again, there was total silence and no one around. I was seriously considering just jumping the barrier when I realized that there was a soldier slumped down in one of the booths, asleep. I was debating how I wanted to wake her up – the thought of landing in an Israeli jail the day before I was supposed to leave wasn’t really that appealing, so I opted against hopping the barrier – when the mean soldier from the previous section walked though and banged on the plastic separating me from the sleeping the soldier.

She sat up, rubbed her eyes, then waved me through after giving my passport a cursory glance.

This is security?

Once through the checkpoint I caught a bus to Jerusalem and said goodbye to city. Then I headed to the new Kalandia checkpoint, which is exactly the same as the Beit Lehem checkpoint except that it was crowded so it took forever to get through the damn turnstiles.

Then I went back to Ramallah. I had just enough time to pack up the rest of my stuff and finish my errands before it was time to celebrate New Years Eve.

Celebrating Nonviolent Resistance

2006-01-21T21:57:00.000+02:00

I wanted to write about the Celebrating Nonviolence Resistance conference in Beit Lehem – but all I can remember of it clearly is a chaotic endless blur of running, a freezing cold building, three days of working from 7 -11 and then drinking beer before turning around and doing the same thing again. It was good.

I think, overall, the conference was a success, although we definitely a few less than graceful moments that could have been avoided with better planning and a little foresight. I ended up working really hard – I was running the schedule and schedule updates for 300+ people by de facto . . . I was also creating/ running the film festival and then working as everyone else’s personal slave. I also became the coordinator between HLT and Abuna Marwan (Father Marwan) who was in charge of the facility we used for the conference. It paid off though, both literally and figuratively. Holy Land Trust decided that I did such a great job as a volunteer that they are going to pay me for my time – WOOHOO – and I was encouraged to apply for a paid internship when I get back to DC by the VP of the NGO. All in all, I think the slave labor paid off.

We had a good turnout for the conference, between 350-400 people, about half of the participants were internationals and about half were Palestinians. I managed to convince the ISM kids to come, even though there is bad blood between HLT and ISM (someone said something ages ago and no one can remember who said it or what it was but now they don’t get along), and I helped get two of them time on panel discussions, in order to inject the ISM experience into the dialogue of nonviolence resistance at the conference. After all, ISM utilized nonviolence in Palestine on a daily basis, and is arguably one of the best known movements in Palestine. It just didn’t make sense to have the conference without them.

We also had some big names: Gene Sharp (the academic heavyweight on Nonviolence), Bernard Lafayette Jr., Mary King, Cindy Corrie (Rachel’s mom), and Mubarak Awad. I didn’t get to participate in most of the conference activities because I was working, but I did manage to sit in on part of Gene Sharp’s workshop and all of the Corrie discussion. On the last day of the conference the participants marched from the conference hall to the main checkpoint in Beit Lehem and managed to march into the checkpoint without being stopped by soldiers. The next day, ISM managed to march completely through the checkpoint in Nablus. Funny, I don’t think any of this made the news.

High points

Satisfaction of a job well done, and getting paid for my efforts
Internship offer
Meeting Rachel Corrie’s parents
experience in planning/holding an international conference (now I know why everyone groans at the thought)
They used some of my photos of olive trees as the background for the program/ info booklet and all of the big banners and displays.
I know have the contact info of people in Gaza who can help me get inside the next time I am in Palestine
My Arabic was actually very useful on several occasions

Low Points

When the woman from the American Friends Committee screamed at me (so much for nonviolence) because her movie wasn’t on the film festival list).
When Michael Beer blamed me for a mistake that he made to the VP of the company that later told me to apply for an internship.
The building was so cold that by the last day my feet were swelling (lupus) and I couldn’t go on the march to the checkpoint
There were a lot of speakers that I wanted to see but couldn’t.
When I was told to stop speaking Arabic because it is easier for everyone if I stick to English. That really hurt my feelings. (it is frustrating because one minute I’m complimented on my Arabic, and the next insulted.)
I’m glad I was there, but I would have liked to spend my last couple days in Palestine traveling, and not working my butt off.

Honestly, I’m relieved the conference went as well as it did – I was envisioning total disaster (as was at least one employee at NI). It also makes me feel better about the status of my thesis – a positive professional experience was in order after all of my difficulties with Palestinian academics.

Some asked me recently

2006-01-03T22:20:00.000+02:00

where my favorite place in all of Palestine was. I've seen some heartwrenching landscapes and met amazing people, but this is my answer.
jersualem sunday
by Suhair Hammad

jeru
salem
sun
day

three muezzins call idan
where one’s allah begins another’s
akbar ends inviting the last
to witness mohammad’s prophecies

church bells ring the sky
an ocean shade of blue above
christ’s tomb and the stones
of this city witness man’s weakness

boys run by the torah
strapped to their third eye
ready to rock their prayers

the roofs of this city busy as the streets
the gods of this city crowded and proud

two blind and graying
arab men lead each other through
the old city surer of step than sight

tourists pick olives from the cracks
in the faces of young and graying
women selling mint onions and this
year’s oil slick on the ground

this city is wind
breathe it
sharp
this history is blood
swallow it
warm
this sunday is holy
be it
god

Christmas in Hebron

2006-01-03T22:07:00.000+02:00

On Christmas Day, we decided to go to Hebron. We were all eyeing the weather cautiously – none of us wanted another experience like the day before – but we decided to risk it. I had already visited Khalil (Hebron) once before, but I wanted to try and replace some of my pictures from that area (lost them when my computer got stolen). We took a service from Beit Sahour to Khadar and from there we picked up a second service to Khalil. This was my first time in Khadar, although I had heard of it before. It is the equivalent of a service bus station in the West Bank. By the time we reached Khadar it was pouring down rain again, and we trudged through the mud and between dripped vegetable stands to find our service to Khalil.

Now, I’ve been to Khalil before, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to get to the old city. As one does in these situations, I asked. The man who answered insisted that we visit his home, have tea with him and his family, and then he would show us how to get to the Hiram Ibrahimi. He also paid for our service ride (for all 5 of us). In order to get into his neighborhood the service had to drive on the sidewalk, just barely squeezing between a wall and the cement blocks that the Israeli Army out put in the street to stop cars. His house looked like it was falling apart from the outside, but was actually very nice on the inside (although cold). We had tea with him, his mother, and his five month old daughter named Noor (light). From his sitting room window we could seem the mosque and a big part of the old city of Hebron. Inside the sitting room, he showed us where stray? bullets had come through the window and chipped the marble stonework, the walls, and furniture. I guess that is the price you pay for a view of the old city in Khalil. He insisted that we have tea, then coffee before we left. While he was out of the room, I spoke with his mother about life in Khalil . . . she said it was hard to stay, partially because there weren’t any jobs. Her son, the man who paid for our service fare, has been out of work for months.

After thanking the family profusely, we left, heading for the Hiram Ibrahimi. We went the wrong way, and ended up walking towards a checkpoint with very unfriendly soldiers. As soon as they saw us walking from the Arab neighborhood they had their guns cocked and aimed us, and were screaming at us to stop. Sadly, after 4 months in the West Bank, having a gun pointed at me didn’t really faze me. After a few minutes of yelling that we were Americans the soldiers let us approach. They examined our passports and wanted to know how we had gotten into the Arab neighborhood. We lied and said that we had gotten lost. The soldier replied that we were lucky we didn’t get killed in there. The Arabs gave us tea and coffee, the soldiers pointed guns and screamed at us – yet we should be afraid of the Arabs?

They let us through without too much trouble and we walked towards the mosque. Unfortunately, we arrived at the mosque during prayer time and we weren’t allowed to enter. The guys went over to the Jewish side of the mosque, but I didn’t. I had been once before, and the last time I had to lie and say I wasn’t Muslim to get in. While I’m certainly not a practicing Muslim, I don’t like being forced to lie about my religious heritage either . . . So I went to an Arab gift shop (the only one still open) next to the mosque and waited for them. The men in the shop were very hospitable. They insisted I sit by the heater and gave me a cup of tea. I talked with them about the situation in Khalil while they were painting new pieces of pottery to be sold. I decided to buy a gift for my father from them. The least I could do is spend a little money for their kindness, plus my father can’t visit the Hiram because of his citizenship, so I thought he might like a present from there.

After I met up with the guys we went into the Muslim side of the mosque, and then walked through the old city. Everything was closed because of the weather, but at least they got to see the fencing above the souq to keep the trash from the settlers from hitting the Palestinian storekeepers. Some Palestinian kids took us up a treacherous stairway to their rooftops. From there we could see the settlements, soldiers in a stand less that 50 ft away (also on a roof), and the mosque. It would have been a fantastic spot for pictures if it hadn’t been pouring down rain. And, to be honest, I was a little nervous about taking pictures of soldiers in their little hut on a rooftop in Khalil. They probably wouldn’t do anything, but I didn’t want to find out . . .

I’m still amazed that I managed to climb down that slick staircase without falling and breaking something, but everything went well. We left the old city and caught a taxi back to Beit Sahour.

Later that night, I met up with some of the staff from Nonviolence International who had arrived in Bethlehem the day before in preparation for our conference: Celebrating Nonviolent Resistance. I’ve been working with Holy Land Trust for the last couple months, but I worked with Nonviolence International before I came to Palestine, so I’ve been working on this conference for a while. I was particularly excited because my friend Sean who is in my MA program was also in town. So, I had a chicken sandwich for Christmas dinner and caught with the NI folks for a while.

Christmas this year was certainly different from any previous year. It was the first time I’ve spend the holidays away from my family. It was also the first time that I didn’t spend December 25 opening presents, giving presents, cooking, eating and laying on the couch after eating too much food. This Christmas I was cold and wet and I spend the holiday showing other foreigners some of the realities of Israeli Occupation in Palestine. I feel good about that.

Come All Ye Faithful

2006-01-03T21:57:00.000+02:00

On Dec 23 my friend Ben, and three of his friends, traveled from Beirut to Ramallah. They got held up at the bridge for 6 hours, and were only given 7 day visas, but they made it eventually. On Christmas Eve we traveled to Beit Lehem – after all, where else would you spend Christmas Eve in Palestine? We stayed at the Arab Women’s Union Hostel in Beit Sahour, which is a great, cheap place to stay as long as you aren’t too picky about hot water. We walked from Beit Sahour to Manger Square in the early afternoon; at that point it was still sunny, although cold. We caught the end of the parade, which consisted of boy and girl scouts and a marching band. Unfortunately, you had to reserve tickets in advance to attend the midnight mass in the Church of the Nativity (they are free), and we didn’t realize that we needed reservations in time to get them. Our plan was to hang out in Manger Sq., enjoy the festivities and try to sneak into the church around midnight.

It was a good plan, until the weather changed. Freezing rain does not really promote standing outdoors for 8 hours. So, we alternated between sitting in coffee shops to thaw/dry out and hanging out in the Peace Center which is where the performances had been moved because of the weather. The Peace Center was also freezing, but it was dry, so we were all happy to settle down in there . . . until we realized that the Peace Center was only allowing internationals and VIP Palestinians inside to take shelter from the cold and wet.

(As an aside, I’m writing this in Amman, and I’m listening to the WORST call to prayer I’ve ever heard. Ever.)

Of course, I felt horrible about staying inside the Peace Center after that, so I went outside again. Around 8pm we decided to attempt to get into the church. We snuck around the side of the church and made it to the door of the church just before the security guards blocked that entrance. I was standing in line, in the rain, ticketless and with no idea if they would let me in. While I was waiting the people around me were pushing and shoving, swearing, calling the priests names for making them wait outside . . . I left. I’m not a religious person at all, but the idea of spending Christmas Eve with people who were acting that way on the doorstep of the Church of the Nativity made me sick. If I had stayed, I would have gotten in – or at least I assume so because my friend Anselm made it in.

Also, after my experience at the Peace Center, I noticed that most of the people waiting with tickets to the midnight mass were internationals. Again, Palestinians were not allowed to participate unless they were VIPs. So, I went and got a cup of chicken soup and a beer, and then we decided that after all that time in the rain we could at least try to get into the church, even if we weren’t in the mass. Luckily, they let us in just before midnight, so I hung out with my friends and a bunch of Palestinians in the main hall of the Church of the Nativity. We found a place were we could head part of the mass, and I was surprised to find that it was Arabic. I guess I thought that it would be in Arabic. Then we went down to the place where Jesus was born . . . After that we called it a night.

Calm before the Storm

2005-12-23T14:47:00.000+02:00

Things have been quiet this week. I finished my classes and I've moved to Ramallah, which is so much better than living in Birzeit. Right now I'm waiting for some friends who are studying in Beirut to arrive in the West Bank, then tomorrow we will all head to Bethlehem for Christmas. Unfortunately, I did not realize that you have to arrange for tickets to the midnight mass at the Church of the Nativity in advance, but we will spend Christmas Eve in Manger Square if we can't actually get into the church . . . I do, however, hope that it stops raining before then.

I'm a little concerned about traveling to Bethlehem tomorrow because they have opened the new checkpoint at Kalandia, and Bethlehem, which will probably add an hour each to the travel time. Also, I will be traveling with a big bag because I will be staying in Bethlehem for the conference, which means I'll probably have to unpack it twice -- hopefully not in the rain.

Things are going to get pretty hectic in the next couple days, so I am trying to enjoy my down time while I can. I'm not sure if I will be able to post from Bethlehem, so if not, happy holidays to everyone.

Peace,
Sahar

Pilgrimage to 48 Land

2005-12-21T11:18:00.000+02:00

On Monday last week, I traveled for the first time inside Israel (not including Jerusalem). I took a train all the way to the north of Israel, literally to the border between Israel and Lebanon. It’s not that I’ve been boycotting Israel exactly, I just felt that there was so much to see and do in the West Bank, that I could explore Israel next time . . .

The reason that I traveled all the way to Lebanon, practically, was to visit a village called Al-Bassa. Well, it used to be a village. It is in 1948 land, which means before 1948 Palestinians lived there, and after 1948 Israelis live there . . . I went to Al-Bassa, now called Scholomo, because a friend of mine from Syracuse is originally from the village, and he asked me to bring him back some soil, if I had time. Of course, I made time . . .

By the time I arrived in Al-Bassa it was already dark, but having been to southern Lebanon and from the train ride I can image how beautiful the area must be in daylight. My friend Bob accompanied me on the trip, so once we got to the closest train station to the area, we hailed a taxi and asked the driver if he had heard of Al-Bassa. He hadn’t, but he made some phone calls and drove around for a while until we finally found the right place.

It was obvious from the buildings around Al-Bassa that the area was very old, and we found the remains of both a church and a mosque, so apparently the Palestinian residents of Al-Bassa were both Christian and Muslim. Bob and I climbed down to the remains of the mosque, and I filled up my little plastic baggee with as much soil as it would hold.

The moment while I was scooping the soil with my hands and placing it in the bag was particularly poignant for me . . . I’m not Palestinian, but the thought of asking someone to perform this sort of pilgrimage, or ritual, for the sake of your family, your children and future generations touched something very deep in me. Sadly, this sort of trip is not unusual. There are many Palestinian families both in the West Bank and in the diaspora who have little containers of soil, old keys and ownership documention to houses that are inside Israel; and endless stories about their land, lives and homes before 1948.

A Little Christmas Cheer

2005-12-18T18:43:00.000+02:00

THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS (Occupation style)

On the first day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
An uprooted olive tree!

On the second day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Two trampled doves
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the third day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the fourth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the fifth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the sixth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the seventh day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the eighth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Eight gun ships firing,
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the ninth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Nine smashed computers,
Eight gun ships firing,
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the tenth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Ten WALLS a surrounding,
Nine smashed computers,
Eight gun ships firing,
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings,
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Eleven homes demolished,
Ten WALLS a surrounding,
Nine smashed computers,
Eight gun ships firing,
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the twelfth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Twelve assassinations,
Eleven homes demolished,
Ten WALLS a surrounding,
Nine smashed computers,
Eight gun ships firing,
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

**I did not write this and can't take credit for it, this came from a forward from a friend

Arrests and Soldiers

2005-12-15T19:50:00.000+02:00

Feeling very overloaded today. After the protest yesterday, teargas, rubberbullets and all – I went to Jenin today. We just managed to slip out on a backroad as the tanks rolled into the main entrance of the city. Then, I found out that my friend, Omar, was arrested by the Israelis. Twenty years old, he had just found out that he won a scholarship to South America to go on a speaking tour for his church. He’s not at all religious, but he is very smart, and any way out is a way out . . . He was arrested because he is active in the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. Apparently the Israelis wanted him because he had been hanging posters for his organization and spray painting (in Ramallah and Birzeit). He won’t be going anywhere now. They grabbed him out of car traveling between Ramallah and Birzeit after a celebration for PFLP (this week is their anniversary week), in the afternoon. Two of his friends were arrested with him, and two had been arrested the day before. He was expecting it . . .This is the same kid that I wrote about before – the one who said that each Palestinian life is only worth about 1 shekel, the price of a bullet.

We don’t know what will happen, but he will probably be held in detention for a couple months, then get a year or two in jail. For hanging posters. I’ve had several discussions with Omar about socialist political theory and the role of the international community in the conflict here. He reminds me a lot of Abdulla – but I guess I see my little brothers in most of the young men that I meet here . . . At one point he told me (after I had cornered him a discussion) that I was smart and cute . . . never mind that I’m 6 years older than him . . .

I feel sick to my stomach right now thinking of him in the interrogation cells of an Israeli prison. Especially considering that there was a suicide bombing this week and a soldier killed at Kalandia two days ago. . . not a good time to be in an Israeli jail. I don’t know what to think about any of this anymore. I’m glad that I will be going home soon – I’m beginning to lose my focus.

After I wrote this entry, I decided to go bed because my head was pounding so badly . . . I’d been in bed for about 15 minutes when I started hearing shooting, very very close. My street is a steep hill that leads down into a valley of olive groves, and the shooting was coming from there. It didn’t sound like the usual rifle shots, either – this sounded like heavier artillery (although I’m no expert). M and I got out of bed and were trying to watch out of her bedroom window (which faces the valley). She saw Israeli soldiers before I got there. We waited a while, then got back into bed. A couple minutes later I heard footsteps running on the street directly outside my window, and a shot that was so close I rolled out of my bed and laid on the floor with my head down until I was sure the footsteps had passed.

Jenin, Jenin

2005-12-09T19:46:00.000+02:00

On Saturday I traveled to Jenin with R and D because I wanted to see explore the north parts of the West Bank, and because I wanted to visit the refugee camp in Jenin that is famous for the house demolitions and massacre that happened there in 2002. We knew that traveling to the north would be difficult, so we all met in Ramallah at 8am. Jenin is only about 1.5 to 2 hours north, but depending on checkpoints, it can take a very long to get there, and an even longer time to get home (as I found out).

I bumped into Tamer, a guy from Birzeit who studies at the Arab-American University in Jenin while I was waiting for R and D – talk about good luck – so we all traveled north together. This was great because Tamer new a taxi driver from the area, and we all got a good deal. It was interesting, because I learned that currently, Palestinians are only allowed to travel in the immediate vicinity of their IDs meaning that Tamer isn’t allowed to cross checkpoints heading to his university because his ID is from the Ramallah area. This meant we had to circumvent as many checkpoints as possible, and cross our fingers at the rest of them. Luckily, I thought to keep track of the checkpoints and military presence that we saw on our drive, and I even wrote down the exact times. Check this out:

9:10 – We passed through the permanent Atara checkpoint, just north of Birzeit.

9:20 – Flying checkpoint at the village of Turumus Aye. We literally turned right onto a path, drove around the checkpoint, and got back onto the main road. Most of the traffic was doing the same thing, and the Israeli soldiers watched us do it. So much for security.

9:27 – We passed through a permanent checkpoint at a roundabout (near a settlement). The didn’t even check our IDs

9:37 – Flying checkpoint in the village of Jeet

9:45 – Flying checkpoint at Deir Sharaf. Again, they didn’t check our IDs. After this checkpoint we left the main road and started driving down dirt paths and tiny villages to avoid more checkpoints.

10:15 – Kabati checkpoint

At this point we stopped at the Arab American University and Tamer gave us a tour of the campus. Then the driver took us to the refugee camp. We passed army jeeps on the side of the road on the way into Jenin, but they hadn’t set up a checkpoint yet, if that was their plan.

The refugee camp was very similar to the other camps that I’ve seen. Lots of houses stacked together in very close quarters, but there were a couple of unique elements. First, there is a huge statue in the center of the camp. It is a horse made out of scrap metal from all the cars and buildings that were destroyed by Israeli tanks during 2002. It is interesting because you can see license plates, shop names, and even an ambulance sign incorporated into the structure. Also, someone has been going around the camp and painting the walls with beautiful murals of nature scenes. Many of the scenes depict a crumbling wall with trees and flowers growing though the cracks. One of the murals was of an older woman wearing traditional Palestinian dress grasping the key to her family’s home in a fist held above her head, with blood dripping from her clenched palm onto the ground. I asked a local shop owner who the artist was, and he said he wasn’t sure, but that is was someone from the camp.

We also visited the area where the homes were demolished in 2002. No one is clear on how many people died – between 50 and 100 – a whole area of the camp was bulldozed (sometimes with people still inside the homes) and Jenin was under siege for several weeks overall. NGOs have donated money for the families to rebuild their homes, so the area has houses again, not just rubble. Interestingly, the shiny new homes are only marred by one thing – bullet holes. Throughout the camp you can see evidence of the IDF through bullet holes and broken windows. The new homes are no exception.

We walked from the camp to the city (not very far) and ate lunch at a little restaurant whose walls were covered with political posters, cartoons, and commentary. The chicken sandwiches were awesome, as was the cappuccino. We walked around the town, took some pictures, and I bought Meshari’s Christmas present while we were there. I asked the store owner to pack Meshari’s gift carefully because I was traveling back to Ramallah that afternoon. He paused, and said, “You can’t go to Ramallah today – the soldiers are closing the roads south right now. They are here in the city already.”

Oh shit.

R, D and I raced to the taxi stand to find that the store owner was right – the roads were closed. Now, I like to think of myself as a fairly average person in the bravery department – and I had absolutely no interest in staying overnight in Jenin. I’ve heard enough about what happens in Jenin when the soldiers come in that I knew I didn’t want to be there. So, after some panicked discussion, R, D and I decided we’d rather take our chances in Nablus than Jenin, so we got into a service headed that way (still south, closer to home). Suddenly a man starts calling for Ramallah – I guess one crazy driver decided to try to make it to Ramallah despite the closures. We hopped out of the Nablus service, and into the ancient station wagon that would navigate me safely down deer paths and up mountains in ways that I didn’t think SUVs could handle.

Our driver was a young guy from a village north of Nablus. He didn’t say much, but he was an amazing driver and he seemed very determined to get to Ramallah. We think there was a girl there waiting for him, but it is all speculation. We couldn’t leave Jenin the same way we came in, so we ended up driving on a road parallel to the main road, but quite a bit above it. This meant that I had a fantastic view of Israeli army jeeps and tanks that were scattered across the road and blocking the entrance to the city – I even got a picture. Our return trip was longer, with more off-roading and checkpoints than the trip up to Jenin. Lucky for you, I recorded it.

2:32 – Main entrance to Jenin is closed by Israeli soldiers
2:38 – Off roading in ancient station wagon.

3:15 – Try to return to the main road, but another car, trying to get off the main road, is blocking the exit from our path. Our driver gets out of the car and starts moving a pile of stones to make enough room to squeeze past the other car. Our driver gets stuck, everyone pushes.

3:25 – Back on the main road. Hit checkpoint traffic jam. Our driver wants none of it, so we start off-roading again, get around the checkpoint, then car gets stuck on the steep incline back onto the road.

3:35 – Everyone pushes, then jump into taxi and take off quickly before we get caught.

3:36 – pass an IDF jeep on the road

3:38 – Flying checkpoint. This one isn’t letting any cars through, at all. Our driver decided to take a chance and use the settler road, which is illegal for Palestinians, because he has three Americans in the car.

3:45 – Another flying checkpoint. No way around this one, so we had to wait.

4:02 – cleared the checkpoint

4:04 – the infamous Zatara checkpoint south of Nablus. At this point, I and all the smokers in the car just get out to have cigarettes because it is obvious that we won’t be going anywhere for a while.

4:38 – we clear the checkpoint, but our driver isn’t allowed to pass. His ID is from the Nablus area, so he is forbidden to travel to the Ramallah district. We tried to talk to the soldier. The soldier said our driver couldn’t pass because he might be a suicide bomber. I said, well, check him and the car and let us through. The soldier refused. At one point he almost agreed that the rule was ridiculous, but he wouldn’t let our driver pass. I felt really bad for him, in the end all we could do was tip him well.

4:48 – checkpoint.

4:55 – clear checkpoint.

I think I got home around 6pm, almost four hours after I left Jenin. Of course, I was lucky to get home at all. According to the newspapers, over 1,000 Palestinians were trapped on the roads at checkpoints that day.

Onions and Tear Gas

2005-12-08T19:05:00.000+02:00

Today, I participated in my first strategic nonviolent action. I’ve been to plenty of protests, rallies and marches in the US, but this was a whole new experience. After today, I have decided that I am going to start running when I get home – I got lots of running in today, and some climbing, falling and yelling.

Every Friday for the last year, the International Solidarity Movement (ISM) stages nonviolent actions in the village of Bil’in which is about a half away outside of Ramallah. The Wall is being built directly next to the village, and has cut the residents off from their farmland and other resources. Once a week for the last year, the villagers have thought up different actions to implement at the protest. They have used different tactics like carrying mirrors so that the soldiers could see what they looked like . . . today the goal was to plant three olive trees in the area that has been destroyed by the Wall. The Palestinians are the one who think of the initiatives and carry them out; the internationals are there to provide a barrier between the Palestinians and the soldiers and to try and keep the level of violence down. Unfortunately, the life of an international is of higher value than a Palestinian life in the eyes of the Israeli government (or at the international media), so that is where we came in.

We (R, D, Dave and I) arrived in Bil’in a little after 11 and we met up with the ISMers. I had met some of them during the training or in other places around Ramallah, but there were a lot of people there that I didn’t know, including a big Israeli citizen presence, which impressed me a great deal. These are Israelis who oppose the Wall, and they were the ones who took the biggest risks during the protest, from what I could see. When the noon prayer ended, the internationals joined the locals and we all started marching towards the Wall. We were singing songs and chants in Arabic, clapping, and carrying signs, one of which said, “We are not your enemies”. As we marched down the road towards the Wall, we could see a group of soldiers standing and waiting for us.

We didn’t get very far down the road – we were still pretty far from the soldiers – when they started shooting tear gas canisters at us. Now, I’ve never experienced tear gas before, but the ISM training warned us about it so I was prepared. D and R and chopped about 4 onions into halves and put them in a plastic ziplock bag before we left Ramallah. The onions help cut the tear gas fumes. That said, the first round of canisters was close enough to me that I ended up with tears running down my face and I had difficulty breathing for a couple minutes, even with the onions. I guess some of the more experienced protesters said it was unusual for the soldiers to shoot the tear gas so early on in the afternoon . . . they were probably a little trigger happy because of the soldier that was stabbed and killed at the Kalandia checkpoint the day before – but that is another story . . .

We all sort of scattered when the soldiers started shooting the canisters (which can actually be really dangerous if you get hit by one, or if you are too close. Some people were vomiting from the fumes). But, after about 10 minutes we regrouped and continued with our march towards the soldiers. Now, I would be lying if I didn’t say that this is one of the scariest things that I have ever done. I was shaking from the adrenaline, the tear gas, and my fear of walking towards people carrying very big guns . . . the terrain was very rocky, and we had to climb onto an area that was basically a big pile of broken rocks – not the best time to be feeling shaky.

We climbed up onto the rocks, and some of the protesters started singing and chanting, and some of them were engaging the soldiers in conversation and debate. I hung back a little because I knew that if things got messy, a whole lot of internationals and Palestinians were going to come flying, falling, and slipping down the pile of sharp rocks. After a while, I noticed some of the young Palestinian boys, ranging between 7 and 12, were taunting one of the young soldiers. I started edging over towards the boys, climbing up onto the rocks, and pulled out my camera. I wanted to make sure that the soldiers saw me taking pictures of them and the boys. Eventually, one of the soldiers grabbed one of the boys (who was saying insulting things to him in Arabic, but hadn’t touched him or physically threatened him in any way) and before I could even move, one of the Israeli protesters was there, screaming at the soldier in Hebrew and dragging the boy away from him. It was a sight that I will never forget: an 18 year old boy in full soldier gear (helmet, camo uniform, guns) grabbing an 8 year old Palestinian boy and trying to push him down the sharp rocks. I especially won’t forget it because I got a picture of it.

The ISMers decided that it was time to try and plant the trees – and that is when things started to escalate. The soldiers wouldn’t let them plant the trees, so Palestinians were passing the trees between them, trying to get to a place where they could plant it; internationals were trying to keep between the soldiers and the Palestinians; and I was trying not to kill myself on the damn rocks.

Eventually, one of the soldiers grabbed one of the internationals and threw him down onto the the ground. The other internationals jumped in and grabbed him – they actually managed to pull him away from the soldiers. Then, another soldier grabbed another guy; he was hitting the man, and the man was trying to back up and get away – they both ended up falling down part of the rocks. Once the soldier landed on the ground he pulled out his gun and everyone started running. Fortunately (and I really mean that, I was lucky) I had moved slightly away from the place where the two guys fell down just minutes before this happened. R, D, and I found each other and started running together.

This is when the Palestinian boys started throwing rocks. It took R, D and I a minute to realize that we were running in the same direction as the rock throwers, and we were between them and the soldiers – not a good place to be. I figure when all the Palestinians are running for their lives, I should too, but I would prefer to not be between them and their soldier targets when they start lobbing rocks at them. The soldiers started shooting rubber bullets and tear gas canisters again. We crouched down behind a wall and an ambulance and kept our heads down for a couple of minutes. I guess the Palestinians started throwing rocks when the soldiers started following the running protesters to keep the soldiers out of the village.

Damages: one guy got hit in the foot with a rubber bullet, one protester got hit by a rock (friendly fire), and the Israeli guy who got between the soldier and the boy was arrested.

The internationals regrouped after a while and headed back towards the soldiers, but things were winding down by then. The Palestinians kept throwing stones, even though the soldiers were too far away to hit, and the soldiers kept throwing tear gas canisters at us. I think we managed to plant two of the trees, although I’m sure the soldiers ripped them up after we retreated.

The protest lasted about two hours, and R, D and I were back in Ramallah just after 3pm. I fully support what ISM is doing, and I knew that nonviolent resistance is hard, dangerous work, but I didn’t fully comprehend what it is like to voluntarily stand in front of someone with a gun – to stand between that gun and another person – until today. I’m not sure that I have the guts to do nonviolence resistance. I guess I’ll have to go back next week and find out.

Random Thoughts

2005-12-07T19:05:00.001+02:00

1. I want to make a bumper sticker that says: Jesus was Palestinian

2. I feel like I’ve been flying a fighter for the Rebellion during my time here, but when I go back and do my year service requirement with the US government I’ll be working on the Death Star.

3. Why is it historically inaccurate to make comparisons between the checkpoints in the Palestine and some of the techniques used by the Nazis pre-holocaust, but it is okay for Seinfeld to make an entire episode about the Soup Nazi? Why is it socially acceptable to use the term femi-nazi, but not to point out that color coded ID cards that state religion are reminiscent of Nazi Germany?

4. Why am I a foreigner to the Arabs, an Arab to the Israelis, and exotic to Americans?

5. Why do Palestinians love Celion Dione?

6. Why does being pro-Palestinian equal being anti-Semitic?

7. It is very important to enunciate the word al-Quds (the name for Jerusalem) in Arabic, because al –Cus means something else entirely.

8. How is the wall securing Israel when it is trapping over a million Palestinians inside the wall, on the Israeli side?

9. Why can I remember the words to hundreds of songs, but I can’t remember my weekly vocabulary words?

10. Why do these lists always come in tens?

Cycles of Violence and Retribution

2005-12-07T19:05:00.000+02:00

There was a suicide bombing near Tel Aviv a couple of days ago. Five people were killed, and about 50 injured. The bomber came from a village in between the cities of Tulqarem and Jenin, in the north of the West Bank. This is the area that the Israeli army has been focusing on the last two months. There have near daily arrests and weekly shootings/ killings/ assassinations for almost eight weeks. Funny how that doesn’t seem to make it onto the 11 o’clock news. Apparently the IDF has requested permission to bulldoze the home of the family of the suicide bomber, as a form of punishment. They have already arrested his father and brothers.

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

The night of the suicide bombing (which happened around 11 am in a shopping mall) the IDF retaliated not only by arresting the family of the bomber, but also by shelling Gaza City. Now, I haven’t quite figured out the Gaza connection – Gaza is hours south of Tulqarem. This has become a new tactic since the Israeli settlers were removed from Gaza; whenever something happens in the West Bank, Gaza gets hit.

I wish that I could have visited Gaza during my time here, but it is nearly impossible to get permission to enter Gaza from the IDF without proof of sponsorship from a company that is employing you. Even then it is difficult. Gaza has very few international observers or journalists, so when things happen there no one knows what is going on. To be honest, I’m a little relieved that I couldn’t get into to Gaza, I’m not sure how well I would handle it.

On Friday I’m planning on attending a protest against the wall in a village called Aboud, then on Saturday I’m going to head up to Jenin. I’ve heard that the northern parts of the West Bank are absolutely beautiful, especially during the rainy winter season – I can’t wait.

Strange Bedpartners

2005-12-02T14:50:00.000+02:00

Today I feel sad. And no, it is not because of the Arabic midterm that I took today – although I would like to complain about having a midterm two weeks before the final . . . Today is Dec 1, and I will be traveling across the border to Jordan in exactly one month. I think that during the last three months, my emotions regarding the occupation have pretty consistently ranged between outrage, anger, frustration and helplessness. Now, I’m starting to feel worn out. I am looking forward to seeing everyone at home, but I am disappointed by how little I’ve done during my time here. I’ve been busy, but I feel that there is so much work that needs to be done . . .

I’d to share a story with everyone that another student told me about his teacher. One of the teachers at Birzeit wrote a poem that has been nominated to become the national anthem of Palestine if/when it becomes an independent state. The poem is about one of her experiences while she was imprisoned in an Israeli jail for three years. Apparently, the prison was overcrowded, so for a while she was sharing a cell with a Palestinian man. They each spent 12 hours in the cell, but never the same twelve hours. He had the cell during the day, while she was moved to a separate part of the prison, and she had it at night, while he was being tortured. She never met him during her time in prison, but she shared a bed with him, and she heard him screaming every night while he was tortured. At some point during their imprisonment, she starting singing Palestinian revolutionary and folks songs at night, so that he could hear her voice and know that he wasn’t alone.

Tonight I went to an art exhibit in one of the cultural centers in Ramallah. The artists were all local people who participated in a workshop this semester. During the workshop the artists were exposed to the stories of Palestinian women who suffered from abuse, both domestic and from the occupation. The students used the stories to create images around the theme of women and abuse in Palestine. There were some really moving pieces, especially since each print was inspired by a real woman’s story. I thought it was an interesting way to address the very serious problem of domestic abuse. Many of the artists concentrated on images that highlighted the strength of women survivors, although there were also images of pain and suffering. I bought a print that shows a line of women marching across the bottom of the page in single file. The women are vague stick figure shapes, and an ominous crimson sky is pressing down on them. I think the figures represent generations of women following in each others steps, and the sky represents the repressiveness of society on women’s individuality. Of course, I could be wrong . . .

Traffic Jam

2005-12-02T14:49:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I decided to skip my colloquial Arabic class and head down to Ramallah in the morning. Now, before you accuse me of being lazy, I’d like to explain that I was heading to Ramallah to use my friend’s high-speed internet connection to do research, work on conference stuff, and look for an apartment in DC (okay, and send out some emails, download some music, and just surf). Marcy had been staying with my for a couple days (she’s based in Amman at the moment) and she was heading back to Jordan, so we set off together. Because she had a huge bag with her, we decided to splurge and take a private taxi. . .

We got about 10 minutes outside of Birzeit before we hit a checkpoint. Well, we didn’t actually hit the checkpoint, we hit the traffic that was backed up for over a mile in each direction of the Surda area. This is one of the Israelis favorite places to set up flying checkpoints in the Ramallah area. Our taxi driver became very agitated and started insisting that Ramallah was closed (which was nonsense) and wanted to drive all the way to a town just outside of Jerusalem and try entering Ramallah from the other side. Most of the people in public transportation were just getting out of the taxis and services and walking. This is nothing new for them, last year or the year before this section of the road between Ramallah and Birzeit was closed by the Israelis for months. No cars were allowed to pass, and everyone had to walk 2 kilometers each way. My Arabic teacher told us that at that point, the value of donkeys increased dramatically because they were the only way to transport goods, the sick and the elderly between the two places . . .

I was in a bit of dilemma because my computer was already at R and D’s, and I knew that they had plans to leave Ramallah early that morning. If they left before I picked up the apartment key, my plans of a very productive day were going to be destroyed. After a few minutes of discussion, I said goodbye to Marcy and decided to walk through the checkpoint and hopefully catch a service on the other side to take me rest of the way. Marcy’s bag was much too heavy to walk (it was down into a valley and then back up) so she backroaded it with the taxi towards Jerusalem.

It was an absolutely beautiful morning for a walk, not too cold and sunny, and it would have been really enjoyable except for all the exhaust fumes from the traffic jam and weaving necessary to avoid cars and droves of people. On the way I ran into B, who lives in Ramallah and was walking to Birzeit – to attend the very class that I was skipping. We talked for a couple minutes, and he decided to ditch the class and walk back to Ramallah with me. We had a funny moment when he asked me where the checkpoint was, thinking it was closer to Birzeit, while I thought it was closer to Ramallah. While we were discussing this oddity, a truck crammed full of Palestinian police drove by. Palestinian police are never around when Israelis are around, so that was when we realized that it wasn’t actually an Israeli checkpoint, but was some kind of Palestinian Authority checkpoint/ security measure.

We walked along and eventually caught a service into Ramallah. Once there we stopped in a little store and I asked the owner what was going on. He started going off about the Israelis . . . so we stopped in another store and the owner there told us that the PA was checking all the services to make sure they only had seven passengers per van. No one seemed to know what was going on for sure, so B and I met R and D for breakfast, then I headed to their apartment and soaked up all the internet time I could.

On the way home that night, I noticed that the service I was riding in had removed one of the benches of seats . . . leaving only seven seats for passengers. I’m really surprised that the PA would set up a checkpoint, in the same place that the Israelis do, and hold up all the morning traffic just to check the number of seats in the services. I’m not sure if that is the whole story, but it seems pretty ridiculous if it is.

Mountain of Fire

2005-12-02T14:45:00.000+02:00

On Sunday I traveled about an hour north into the mountains to spend the day exploring Nablus. For those of you who have seen the movie Paradise Now, this is the city the movie is set in. Nablus is famous throughout Palestine for her kanafa, a traditional dessert. The city is nicknamed “Mountain of Fire” because of its citizen’s activism during and before Intifada and their resistance to the occupation. Nablus has paid dearly for her activism, being one of the hardest hit by the Israelis during this Intifada – literally by bombing and invasions into the city – and economically. The bombings in 2002 killed dozens of inhabitants and damaged over 500 buildings. Unfortunately, the bombing was concentrating in Nablus’ old city, Al Casbah, which is residential area, and it destroyed some of the oldest buildings in Palestine. Directly next to Nablus is Al-Balata refugee camp, the biggest refugee camp in the West Bank with most of its residents originally coming from Jaffa and the Galilee. Al-Balata is know as being a very rough place, even when the Israelis aren’t around . . . one of the things it is famous for is the number of stolen cars from Israel that seem to find their way there . . .

Nablus is also completely surrounded by settlements. There are seven of them dotting the hilltops around the city, and each of them has a checkpoint. Settlements are areas in the West Bank, on the Palestinian side of the Green Line, where Jewish Zionists squat on the land. They start out small, and it doesn’t take long for them to grow into cities, complete with barbed wire and electric fencing surrounding the settlements, soldiers stationed to protect them, and tax exempt status. Once settlers are in an area, the Israelis create special roads that only settlers can travel on (by taking more Palestinian land), reroute water supplies, and demolish homes and confiscate land that is too close to the settlement – for the safety of the settlers, of course.

I traveled to Nablus with three other students, one of whom is actually an American-Jewish student at Hebrew University who has described himself to me as a Zionist. I wasn’t sure what to expect from Nablus, but it wasn’t the incredibly warm welcome that we received. After walking through the infamous Hawara checkpoint, we caught a cab into the Old City and wandered around for a while. Hawara is infamous for the severity of the soldiers who man it. About a month ago a Palestinian woman attacked a soldier with a knife and cut her. The soldiers shot her in the legs and left her there to bleed to death. They wouldn’t allow anyone to help her.

After eating some falafel, we decided to go in search of one of the soap factories (another thing Nablus is know for). We asked for directions from a local man, and were led to the site where the 13^th century soap factory had existed before 2002.

While at the site (which is basically an empty lot) we met a local man at the adjacent site (an ancient hotel that had also been damaged in the bombing, but was still standing) who was doing restoration work. He gave us a tour of the site, in Arabic, then insisted that we join him in his office for Arabic coffee. After the coffee he assigned two of his students/ employees to give us a free tour of the city. The guys were between the ages of 18-20 and they gave us a three hour tour. They showed us two Turkish baths, one of which had a vividly colorful modern mural on the ceiling, a candy factory, and a pre-Ottoman palace that had been bombed during 2002. The ruins were pretty cool, we got to climb around and go exploring. Only two of us got to see everything because you had to climb over a narrow catwalk at one point to access the rest of the palace (the walkway had been damaged in the bombing). One of the guys was afraid of heights, and M is always more sensible than I am. But, I did get some awesome pictures. When is the last time you saw an orange grove growing in the middle of the ruins of a palace?

Our guides also showed us the memorial put up by the local people remembering the massacre of 2002. The plaque says in English and Arabic “Never Forgive, Never Forget”. It is across the street from a home that was bombed and a family was buried alive underneath the rubble. Because of the bombings and curfews, uninjured people weren’t allowed to help people trapped in destroyed homes. In the open area next to the plaque, a group of youngish boys were playing a pick-up game of soccer.

There aren’t a lot of foreigners wandering around the streets of Nablus at the moment (wonder why) so we were attracting attention everywhere that we went. At one point, an older man dressed in a suit and smoking a sheesha stopped us because he wanted to know where we were from etc . . . In near perfect English, he explained to us that while he wanted to be our friend, he couldn’t, because of what the US government is doing to his people. He talked about Condy, Chainey and Bush in great detail and how disappointed he was with the West for their continued financial and political support of Israel. At one point he pulled a 15 year old out of the growing crowd of listeners and he said, “This baby deserves the same opportunities, the rights to live as your babies in America.” I couldn’t have agreed with him more.

Next our tour guides led us to Al-Aqsa Sweets, which is the most famous kanafa restaurant in all of Nablus, and therefore Palestine. They insisted on buying kanafa for all four of us, and after we ate they took us across the street and showed us where an elderly man was preparing the trays of kanafa from scratch.

After a few pictures we parted with our guides to head to the summit of the mountain, the home of the Samaritans. Yes, I mean The Samaritans, as in the Good Samaritan, the ones from the story in the Bible. The Samaritans are an interesting group of people. They are Jewish, but consider themselves Palestinians. They speak Arabic amongst themselves, but they also speak both modern and ancient Hebrew. A very small community, they have a reputation for being a little odd – partially due to their isolation and partially due to a lot of inbreeding (although I can’t verify that). We climbed to the very top of the mountain and saw the site where Abraham supposedly brought his son to sacrifice him on God’s orders, according to the Old Testament. The view from the top of the mountain was one of the most beautiful that I’ve seen during my time here. I think I must type that line in every entry in my blog – but this was really breathtaking.

We stopped for tea, and G asked one of the Samaritans working at the restaurant how the relationship was between this community and the Palestinians. He didn’t even hesitate before responding, “Very Good”. When he was asked the same question about the settlement that is just past the Samaritan village, he said, “Very Bad”. The Israelis put up a checkpoint to protect the settlement on the other side of the Samaritan village, but instead of putting it between the Samaritans and the settlement, they put it between Nablus and the Samaritans. So far it doesn’t seem to have driven a wedge between the Palestinians and Samaritans, but who knows how long it will last.

We left the village just as it was getting dark, and none of us suggested staying in Nablus any later. The Israelis enter the city almost every night, so went straight down the mountain from Samaria to the Hawara checkpoint. Unfortunately, we bypassed the checkpoint because we on a settler road. I really wanted to experience Hawara first hand after all that I’ve heard about it . . .

Yesterday, the Israelis entered Nablus to arrest two Palestinians and ended up injuring 10, including a 14 year old boy who got hit in the head with a bullet. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was one of the kids that I saw playing soccer on Sunday . . .

Signs of Occupation

2005-11-25T14:55:00.000+02:00

Today I went to Jerusalem to check out a potential apartment for a friend of mine who will be working in Beit Hanina for the first three months of the new year. The trip was uneventful until we got onto the bus heading from the Kalandia checkpoint to Jerusalem (third transportation vehicle necessary on this trip). There is a checkpoint that the buses have to go through on their way to the city, and the length of time it takes to clear the checkpoint depends on the soldiers’ moods. There have been times when the soldiers just wave buses through. Other times, the get onto the bus, collect everyone’s passports and we sit for 20-40 minutes while they verify the paperwork.

I knew we were going to be waiting a while when the soldier climbed onto the bus wearing his mirror sunglasses with his regulation crew cut. He took his time collecting the passports, and then disappeared with them. One man got off the bus voluntarily – I don’t think that he had permission to enter Jerusalem (most Palestinians don’t) but he had some kind of special paperwork with him. I assume he got off the bus to try and protect that special piece of paper – it takes most Palestinians months to get special permission to enter Jerusalem – and he never did get back on.

While we were waiting I noticed a roadsign in front of the bus. It said something in Hebrew, then in Arabic lettering it had the Israeli name for Jerusalem (Yerushalom), then in small Arabic lettering in parenthesis it had the Arabic name for Jerusalem, (Al-Quds) and finally it had Jerusalem in English. Sometimes the systemization of the occupation here floors me. They won’t even let the Palestinians call Jerusalem (a disputed city) by their name for it – even in Arabic script.

Eventually our Tom Cruise wannabe soldier (think Top Gun) came back onto the bus and started to read off the names of the passports as he returned them. Mind you, he was mispronouncing the names so badly that the Palestinians were having a hard time figuring out who’s name he was calling . . . At this point the driver reached forward to volunteer to take the passports from the soldier and distribute them himself (and quicker). The soldier responded by clenching his hand into a fist and drawing back his arm as if he was going to backhand the bus driver. Then he continued to mispronounce names. As this painful process continued, the driver’s foot must have slipped on the break a little. Not much, but just enough that the bus rocked. Our friendly representative from the IDF turned towards him, clenched his hand again, drew back to backhand the driver and halted his movement before hitting the driver. Then he started yelling at him in Hebrew . . .

After that uplifting experience, M and I went to check out this apartment in the Old City, just inside the Damascus Gate. I’ve never seen anything like it. It is off one of the narrow alleyways that permeate the Old City; terribly romantic but a pain in the ass to move big things in and out of. Anyway, the entryway of the apartment is kind of low ceiling-ed and dingy, but after taking a couple of steps you walk into an open courtyard. There are a serious of doors surrounding the courtyard – a master bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room and living room. It must be absolutely fabulous in the summertime. The living room area is very large, and has a little shower and small bedroom connected to it, so in the winter that part can be a cozy den, with fresh air just a step away. My new life’s mission is to live in this apartment and write a bestselling novel. Screw world peace. . .

Thanksgiving in the West Bank

2005-11-24T14:49:00.000+02:00

My American friends and I discussed how to celebrate Thanksgiving in Palestine for several weeks before the event, which is Eid al-Shukir (festival of thanks) in Arabic. At first we considered going to the swank American Colony Hotel in Jerusalem and shelling out serious money for a fancy meal, but in the end we decided it would be more fun to have a potluck Thanksgiving dinner at R and D’s apartment in Ramallah. We had a few discussions about how to work around the limitations of Palestinian supermarkets (from a Thanksgiving perspective) then we got to work. Wednesday I went to a fancy supermarket out of town and scored Betty Crocker pie crusts, brownie mix, and butter in stick form. Then I met R downtown and we went to collect the turkeys from the butcher. R had ordered the turkey’s previously, and they slaughtered fresh just for our consumption. When we picked them up they were hanging on hooks, de-feathered thankfully, but with their heads still attached. . . We transported the birds back to R’s apartment, then I went back to the fruit market and picked up two kilos of apples. I met MR at the center of town at 5pm, and then we went back to his place to make apple pie (‘cause I don’t have an oven). Turns out neither did he, but his landlady was kind enough to let us use her oven upstairs.

It is a bit challenging to make apple pie without any measuring utensils or pie pans. With a lot of guesswork and the help of a half full water bottle (needed a rolling pin) we created two rectangular apple pie type desserts. We did, however, burn the brownies a bit . . .

R and D had located a local bakery that agreed to cook our turkeys for us (they have big ovens) so that part of the dinner was out of our hands. Luckily, everything came out really well. We had stuffing (okay, it was rice stuffing but it was still good), green beans, sweet potatoes, couscous salad, mushroom salad, garlic mashed potatoes, pie, brownies, baklava, kanafa, and chocolaty marshmallow things. And a lot of beer, wine and arak. We invited most of our friends, so I think there were more people celebrating their first Thanksgiving than there were Americans, but it was a lot of fun. After some clean-up, we went to the only dance club in Ramallah for a little while, then called it a night.

Shabbat in West Jerusalem

2005-11-15T16:16:00.000+02:00

On Friday I had to choose between two itineraries: 1. Go to the Bil’in protest against the wall (a nonviolent resistance movement that has been taking place every Friday since this summer). 2. Go to my first ever Shabbat dinner. I decided to spend the morning working at HLT preparing for the nonviolence conference and then go to the Shabbat dinner in Jerusalem. I think that it is important for me to learn more about Jewish culture while I am in Israel, and I’m afraid I don’t get much of an opportunity to do that in the West Bank.

After working in Bethlehem I met G and A near the Damascus gate at 3pm. We walked around the old city for a while, then caught a taxi to take us to Meier’s apartment in West Jerusalem. Meier is a guy who I studied Arabic with this summer and who is currently taking classes at Hebrew University. I was a little nervous about going since I was pretty sure I would be the only Arab present and to be honest I have avoided West Jerusalem since I’ve been in Israel. Unfortunately, the cab ride into West Jerusalem did very little to alleviate my fears. Our taxi driver spent most of the ride telling us how all Muslims are bad and that Arab Muslims are trying to take over the world . . . We all pretty much ignored him until he started going on about how the Arabs/Muslims rioting in France are just ungrateful sods considering how the French were kind enough to let them immigrate. . . I couldn’t resist pointing out that the French colonized Algeria, killed thousands and thousands of people, destroyed the economy and were only driven out about 50 years ago. Of course, he didn’t want to hear any of that . . .

Needless to say I was very nervous by the time we got to the apartment. When we arrived Meier and his friend were running around doing last minute preparations before the sun went down. I didn’t get a full explanation of the Sabbath, but my understanding is that from sunset on Friday until sunset on Saturday observant Jews do not work . . . I think that this time is devoted for prayer, but I really need to read some more about this. The room slowly filled up with people, and I think there were 11 people in the end (I was, in fact, the only Arab). Most of the people at the dinner were American Jews studying at Hebrew University. Everyone was very curious about why on earth G, A, and I would want to study in the West Bank. The most common question was, “Aren’t you afraid for you safety living out there?” I said no, that I actually feel safer in the West Bank than in West Jerusalem, and then I bit my tongue before saying that there aren’t any suicide bombings in the West Bank . . .

All in all it was a little awkward, but the people were very friendly. We got some questions about life in the West Bank, but didn’t really talk politics until later in the evening after most of the people had left. Even then we all skirted around bigger issues . . . The Jewish prayers were beautiful to listen to and Meier was kind enough to explain the meanings of each one before they started. We drank a lot of Arak and wine and ate too much food and I generally had a nice time. Unfortunately, I never quite lost the feeling of being on guard, and watching what I said very carefully . . .

Below I have cut and paste a letter written by a guy I study with who went to the Bil’in protest. I thought it might be of interest . . .

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To my fellow Birthrighters on Kesher 4,I hope that you are all doing well. I’m writing to you from the West Bank town of Birzeit, north of Ramallah. I’ve been living in the West Bank for the past two and a half months, taking Arabic courses at Birzeit University and learning about the situation from the other side. I’m writing to you to describe an experience that I had yesterday in the>Palestinian town of Bil’in, which is northwest of Jerusalem in the West Bank. It was an experience that opened my eyes, and, to be honest, upset me and angered me. I think that it speaks directly to all of the things that we learned and discussed on our Birthright trip, which is why I’m sending this message to all of you.

For the last seven months, Bil’in has been the sight of weekly protests against the building of the separation wall, which, on its current route, will confiscate more than 50% of the villages land in order to allow for the expansion of a neighboring Israeli settlement. Many of you know that the International Court of Justice deemed the separation wall illegal in the summer of 2004, and ordered Israel to take it down (see http://www.commondreams.org/views04/0720-12.htm, see also www.amnesty.org, where you can find dozens of reports from Amnesty International. I worked in their Israel/Palestine office for two summers and can confirm the legitimacy of their research). The ruling was made precisely because the wall does not follow the border between the West Bank and Israeli, but travels deep within Palestinian territory. It cuts Palestinians off from vital resources such as water and, as in the case of Bil’in and dozens of other villages, takes their lands, and thus their livelihoods, from them. It also wraps itself around several settlements deep within the West Bank (putting them on the Israeli side of the wall), and completely surrounds several Palestinian towns and cities, cutting them off from rest of the West Bank.

Despite all of this, Israel’s high court rejected International Court’s ruling. I include this brief historical note so that, even if you support the building of the wall, you might understand why the people of Bil’in oppose it, and why they feel that they are in the right. Try to put yourself in their shoes for a moment. But back to yesterday in Bil’in. I attended the protest yesterday as a Jew who believes that continued violations of Palestinian human rights are not only despicable in and of themselves (and contrary to any non-fanatical interpretation of the Jewish religion), but are also contrary to the interests of the State of Israel and its people. The protest began with a march from the center of town to the site of the wall (which is not complete yet), about a ten-minute walk. Israelis and Jews from around the world made up one of the largest groups in attendance. Uri Avnery, a leader of the Gush Shalom (Israeli Bloc for Peace) was also in attendance. We marched down the road and then turned into a site where construction machines were working on the wall. The military was waiting for us. We chanted and cheered in Hebrew, Arabic, and English. Several of the Israeli and international activists sat down in front of one of the construction vehicles to temporarily stop its work as sign of protest. That's when the violence began.

The military threw stun grenades and began to severely beat the unarmed Israelis and internationals sitting on the ground in front them. I ran to try to help out, yelling at the soldiers that these people were unarmed, that they were participating in a peaceful and legal protest. I was met with batons, fists, and screams: “Fuck off!” I was hit in the face, I was grabbed and thrown and shoved and smacked. Those who were in front of the construction vehicle had their hair pulled, their faces scratched so badly that they bled, and their bodies kicked and beaten violently while they were lying helpless and terrified on the ground. They included many women and several elderly people. One young Israeli woman was hit with a baton in the throat and above the eye. She was in severe pain and almost in tears. The rest were dragged across ground (which in this particular place is covered in large, sharp stones) and thrown down towards the road, where the army had apparently decided they wanted us.

Once they got us there, calm was restored, though many of us were still in a state of shock. I can tell you without a doubt that not a stone had been cast, not a soldier or civilian threatened in any way, before we were attacked. However, we were not going to let the army scare us away, so we regrouped and started singing and chanting again, right at the soldiers line. The singing and chanting went on for 45 minutes, and once again, not a stone was cast, not a soldier threatened in any way. There is no way that our demonstration could have been called anything but completely peaceful. I was right there, a foot from the soldiers. Many of us were talking to them, having constructive political discussions as well as demanding to know why they had attacked a completely peaceful group. Many of them responded that they did not want to be there but were “just following orders.” I was absolutely dumbfounded. To say it was both to admit their fault, to admit that they opposed what was going on, and yet, at the same ntime, to admit that they didn’t have the courage to take a stand against it. But most shocking was that this “excuse” is, of course, the mantra that was used by those who oppressed and murdered Jews throughout the 20th century. I could hardly believe that these Jews had could bring themselves to say it to us. And yet, there it was, happening right in front of me.

As we chanted and sang, it became clear that the military was preparing something new for us. We saw the teargas canisters being loaded and the sound bombs being prepared. We saw attachments for rubber-coated bullets being clipped onto the end of M16s. And then, once again without any warning, not to mention provocation, they went mad. This time it was far worse. People were again thrown on the ground and beaten. Several people were hit with teargas canisters and were so consumed by the gas that they began to vomit and scream, and even collapase. This included the Mayor of Bil’in, who actually lost consciousness due to the gas. Those who were suffocating in the gas were actually beaten more and dragged along the ground. As we scattered, the soldiers began to cock their rifles and fire on us with rubber-coated bullets AS WE MOVED AWAY. Rubber coated bullets can be deadly at short range, and can severely injure people even at long range.

Then (and only then) the Palestinians began throwing rocks, an almost pathetic response in the face of the soldiers’ weapons. Scattering all throughout the olive grove, we ran for cover. The soldiers continued to fire. I watched as one of them cocked his rifle and fired live ammunition towards a group of Palestinian youth, though apparently he either missed or was firing over them. (We later found an empty shell casing where he had been standing, and I saw soldiers not more than a foot from me reloading their M16s with live ammunition about half an hour later). One Palestinian man was attacked by the soldiers, beaten and then carried away, while his wife sobbed and screamed at the soldiers to let him go. (Coincidently, he was released an hour later, which makes one wonder why he was arrested (not to mention beaten) in the first place.)

Before long, some of the soldiers had set up a sniping position on a huge mound of earth on the construction site. They fired on Palestinians who were so far away they could not possibly have posed any danger to them, and who, like all of us, were unarmed. Regardless, they had soon shot a 14-year-old boy in the head with a rubber-coated bullet. He was bleeding heavily from his head and was rushed in an ambulance to the hospital. (As far as I have heard, he has sustained no permanent injuries, though, had the bullet been an inch lower, he likely would have been blinded.)

Enraged and disgusted that anybody, but especially Jews, could act in such a disgusting way, I approached the hill where the snipers were and began to scream for them to stop. Every time one of them cocked his rifle, I yelled for him to stop. I was soon joined by a small group of other Israelis and internationals. And then something very strange happened. The soldiers not only un-cocked their rifles whenever I yelled, but they actually began trying to justify their actions to us. They were obviously embarrassed that what they were doing was being witnessed. They pointed down towards the group of Palestinian youth, whose stones (they had started throwing them at that point) never came within 50 meters of the soldiers. It was amazing that these soldiers, who despite the fact that they were firing on people with potentially deadly ammunition, were still so unsure of what they were doing that they felt that they needed to justify their actions to a bunch of protestors they had been beating and gassing only a few minutes before.

With all due respect to Joe (our tour guide), this was his “righteous” and “moral” army at work. This was the Israel “Defense” Force protecting the people of Israel. Of course, I have been reading and researching the abysmal human rights record of this so-called defense force for quite sometime, at Amnesty International, in the offices of the Palestinian human rights group Al-Haq, at school, and on my own. By comparison to their past (and on-going) crimes against the Palestinian civilian population (many of which I also witnessed in Ramallah in 2002, while the city was under siege), what I saw this week was minor.

However, it was the first time I had ever seen a Jew beat another Jew, helpless and unarmed, with batons and boots and rifle butts for sitting on the ground in front of a truck or chanting and singing on a public road. It was the first time that I ever saw a Jew gas another Jew, throw him onto the ground, beat him more, throw a stun grenade at his feet, and then fire on him as he tried to get away. And as for the internationals and Palestinians who were similarly treated, I think what I have recounted speaks for itself.

I am writing all of you, as a Jew and as a friend, to think twice about what we were taught on our Birthright trip. As a student of Israeli history, I can tell you that the history we were taught was extremely misleading, and contrary to the research of even the leading Jewish and Israeli historians. For any of you who are interested, I have attached a copy of my thesis, much of which was inspired by our Birthright trip, to this message. I recommend that you take a look at the books and articles in the bibliography. I also encourage you all to come to the West Bank and see for your own eyes what is going on here. I know many people who would be delighted to host you and talk to you, and I would be more than willing to put you in contact with them. You will be welcomed by the Palestinians as internationals and as Jews with the courage to really explore what is going on here. My best to all of you, and many thanks for reading all of this.

--Peter

Bridging the Gap, Part II

2005-11-14T16:15:00.000+02:00

My trip to Kuwait was uneventful (thankfully). I spent my last night in Beirut drinking at a bar until about 3:30 am. My flight to Kuwait was at 8 am, which meant I had to be at the airport by 6 am – translation: I got about an hour of sleep and showed up in Kuwait reeking of cigarettes and probably alcohol just in time for the first day of Eid. There is nothing quite as awkward as showing up a family gathering when everyone else in the room is wearing brand new designer clothes and you come rolling in, unshowered, wearing the same clothes you’ve been wearing for the last two days.

To be honest I had several motives for going to Kuwait. First, I was hopeful that if I showed up in Kuwait my father would take pity on me and loan me a laptop. Secondly, I knew that another visit to the family in Kuwait was mandatory before I head back to the US, so I figured it would be easier if I could get it out of the way now, rather than later (meaning I would rather spend New Years in Bethlehem than in Kuwait, where alcohol is illegal), and I wanted to spend some time in a place where I didn’t have to hand wash my clothes (Birzeit) and there weren’t any cockroaches running my room (Beirut).

So, I had a nice couple days in Kuwait and then began the trek back to Palestine, via Amman. MA met me at the airport Monday morning and took me out for breakfast in the city before dropping me off at the place where the services leave for the Allenby Bridge. Now the bridge apparently closes at 2 pm on Mondays, so I grabbed a seat in what was probably the last service headed to the bridge that day. Myself and two Palestinian boys are sitting in service waiting for a fourth rider when the driver hops in and asks the boys if they speak English (he asks in Arabic, of course). When the boys say yes, he tells them to tell me – his actual words were “the foreigner” -- that the price to the bridge is double the regular price, and then we can all leave now instead of waiting for a fourth rider. You can imagine his expression when I asked him in Arabic why he expected me to pay a higher price for the same service . . . both boys started laughing at the driver who looked as if he had the shock of his life. I guess my Arabic has improved . . .

The bridge was a nightmare, as usual. I sat there for 4 hours and was the very last person to get permission to enter Israel. Even the cleaning people had come and gone while I was waiting. The soldiers weren’t particularly rude except for the guy who, when they finally decided to give me a two month visa, started yelling at the girl stamping my passport to only give me a week’s visa. Bastard. I arrived at the bridge before 2 pm and didn’t make it back to Ramallah until 7 pm. Ironically, even all the Palestinians got into the country before I did . . . I guess I shouldn’t complain too much since they didn’t dump my backpack or strip search me this time.

When I arrived at my apartment in Birzeit I was happy to see that my landlord had put bars up on all of our windows. Hopefully this will dissuade any future thieves. Insha’allah.

A Bombshell of a City

2005-11-14T04:13:00.000+02:00

Beirut is more a nighttime city, so when I arrived at 7 am on a Sunday morning, not much was open. John took Mic and I to a little restaurant near the American University of Beirut where we had pizza-like thingees for breakfast, and then we caught a service back to his apartment. Tourists can visit Beirut and never find the little neighborhoods that tucked away, like the one that John lives in in Ashrafeet. The damage from the civil war is still very much in evidence – bullet riddled and bombed out buildings are common. I can only imagine what the city must have looked like 15 years ago.

After arriving at his apartment John plied me with coffee and gave a brief rundown on Lebanese politics, of which I am woefully ignorant. Most of what I know about Lebanon is related to the Palestinian Refugees, and the Sabra and Shatilla massacre in particular. After his explanation I understood that I will never really comprehend the complexity of the civil war. It seems that most of the fighters switched sides, or at least switched targets in the course of the war, and I was surprised to learn what I thought was a war of Muslims against Christians ended up being Christians against Christians in the end.

The situation in Beirut is tense right now. I was there just after the Hariri Report had been released and most of the people that I spoke with said they were waiting to see what would happen. There is a lot of speculation about who killed Hariri with some people blaming the Syrians, some the Palestinians, and some international forces, and of course a variety of potential coalitions.

In spite of all of this, Beirut is very much a party city and the locals were out enjoying life every night that I was there. It was strange to be in Beirut during the last days of Ramadan because no one in the city seemed to be fasting. In Ramallah if you walk down the street during Ramadan eating or drinking you will be told (maybe politely, maybe not) to go inside if you want to eat/ drink/ smoke while the sun is up. Hell, one of the international students got yelled at for chewing gum, but in Beirut anything seemed to go.

I also have to report that what people say about the Lebanese country and her people is true – they are drop dead gorgeous. Admittedly, both seem to going through some expensive facelifts judging by the number of construction projects going on downtown and the number of bandaged noses (nose jobs) I saw at AUB. The people dress to kill and I gorged myself on some of the best mezza I’ve ever had.

Beirut feels more European than Middle Eastern but you don’t have to go very far out of the city to be reminded that you are not in Europe. The mountains and sea are stunning, however traveling between the two is extremely dangerous. I thought Palestinian and Egyptian drivers were crazy, but the Lebanese take the cake for their insane passing maneuvers: three lanes wide down a mountain road (that is supposed to be two lane, two way) that is so foggy you can’t see 10 feet in front of you, much less who is flying up the mountain at the same breakneck speed. Good thing I have death and dismemberment insurance . . .

I didn’t get to see half the things I wanted to while I was in Lebanon, mainly because my trip was plagued by the same bad luck I had at the border crossing. There were several instances of miscommunication, our rental car got towed for being parked in an inappropriate location (a promising sign of Lebanese civil infrastructure, even if there weren’t any signs labeling it as forbidden in English or Arabic), and I did not have nice enough clothes to make it into one of the famous Beirut dance clubs.

After the string of bad luck I had between having the apartment broken into, the difficulties at the border, and the frustrations of the Beirut trip I decided to skip Syria and head to Kuwait for Eid. It seemed like a good idea to chill out with my family for a couple of days. Besides, Syria isn’t really the place to be (particularly right now) if you’re running on a streak of bad luck . . .

Bridging the Gap

2005-11-14T01:09:00.000+02:00

I think that I’ve mentioned once or twice before that traveling in Palestine-Israel is always a bit of an adventure, but entering and leaving this place is even more of a hassle. Myself and a couple of other students decided to go to Lebanon and Syria over the Eid al-Fitr break and we had numerous discussions and debates regarding the best ways to handle issues like visa problems, which of the three bridges between Israel and Jordan to use, etc . . . Part of the problem is that it is very difficult to get reliable information about bridge closing times, visa requirements and other important details because these things change constantly.

We decided to leave Israel via the Allenby / King Hussein Bridge (the closest bridge to Amman). This is the obvious choice except for two small details: 1. We had been told that the bridge closed on Saturday at noon AND at 3pm, so we weren’t sure which was correct; 2. We didn’t have entry visas for Jordan. It is possible to get Jordanian visas at the Sheik Hussein bridge, which is more than an hour north of the Allenby Bridge (which means traveling an hour north in Israel to cross the bridge, to turn around and travel an hour and half south to get to Amman), but it is not possible to get entry visas to Jordan at the Allenby Bridge. However, one of the guys who was traveling with us swore that he had entered Jordan at the Allenby Bridge and had been able to purchase a visa there in the past (turns out he had Allenby and Sheik Hussein confused, but I’m getting ahead of myself). After much discussion and debate we decided to take our chances at the Allenby Bridge, but to leave very early in the morning, so that if we ran into trouble we would have time to travel north. This was very important because we had a 6 am flight to catch from Amman to Beirut Sunday morning.

Friday night, one of the guys who was traveling with us called and asked us to postpone leaving until mid-morning because he was still waiting for his second passport to arrive in the mail. You see, you can’t enter Lebanon or Syria if you have an Israeli stamp in your passport. This means you have to have two passports so that you can travel between the neighboring countries. Of course, if you travel overland from Jordan to Syria and you switch passports at the border, they will demand to know how you were traveling in Jordan without a Jordanian visa (which will of course be in the other passport). Thinking about this is like contemplating the paradoxes of time travel, if you dwell on it too long you end up with more questions than answers and a headache to boot. But I digress.

We decided to delay our departure in hopes that A’s second passport (without an Israeli stamp) would arrive. He called us around 10:30 to say that it had not arrived with the mail and that he had rescheduled his flight from Amman to Beirut so that he could wait for the passport. At this point the three of us who are still traveling are scrambling around looking for a taxi because we’ve realized that the bridge actually does close at noon and we might not have enough time to make it . . .

After an incredibly speedy taxi ride we arrived at the bridge at 10 minutes to noon. Surprisingly we cleared the Israeli side with very little difficulty. Unfortunately, the Jordanians turned us away because the other two people I was traveling with did not have the appropriate visa documentation. Apparently, because I had entered Israel through Jordan (and not the airport in Tel Aviv) when I arrived in September, I could have continued on to Jordan. Instead, like an idiot, I decided to stay with my friends.

Foolishly, I thought we would just reenter Israel, then catch a taxi to the northern bridge. I was not expecting to have to go through the entire border crossing process again. We had to reapply for visas, go through the interrogation process etc . . . It also didn’t help that when the soldier processing our information asked me what I had been doing in Israel for the previous two months, one of the guys I was traveling with chimed in and said that I was studying at Birzeit University. Mind you, this is the same guy who swore that we could get visas to Jordan at the Allenby Bridge . . .

We were the only people at the bridge at this point (because it supposedly closed at noon), and I guess the employees were pissed off that they had to stay because we got very thorough treatment. When the female soldier told me to follow her and entered a little curtained booth while pulling on plastic gloves I got a little nervous. Thankfully, it wasn’t a full strip search, just my shoes, jacket and shirt. This is especially lucky since I had my Kuwaiti passport in my money pouch beneath my jeans – I’m not sure what would have happened if I’d been caught with that . . .they probably would have decided that I was a spy and sent me away to molder in an Israeli prison. Next, they brought us to a big room where our bags were waiting for us and they proceeded to dump out everything in our backpacks and take it all into a separate room to be examined. Not only did they examine every article of clothing (my underwear got a lot of attention that week – first from the Birzeit police and then from the Israeli soldiers) in my bag, they also took swabs of all of my toiletries. I guess they were looking for chemical weapons?

All in all, we spent 2.5 hours trying to reenter Israel, just so that we could travel north and exit the country again. The best part is that we had never really left Israel since the Jordanians turned us away . . .

At this point we are all tired and hungry and it is probably around 3:30 in the afternoon. We grabbed the last taxi in the parking lot on the Israeli side of the bridge and headed to the Sheik Hussein Bridge (for $100). Once we arrived there, we had to go through the same process all over again. We sat at that bridge waiting for permission to leave for about 1.5 hours. We didn’t actually make it into Jordan until 7pm and didn’t get to Amman until 8:30. I would like to take this opportunity to point out that the trip that took me 10 hours would only take between two and three hours driving straight from Ramallah to Amman.

Thankfully, when I got to Amman MA met us at a restaurant and put us up for the night. After a shower and about 4 hours of sleep I was heading to the Queen Alia airport for my 6 am flight to Beirut (we decided to fly so that we could switch passports more subtly). I tottered off the plan at 7am and was greeted by my good friend John who was kind enough to drag himself out of bed to meet me at that ungodly hour.

Stay tuned for stories from Beirut . . .

Sahar and the 1(or 2) Thieves

2005-11-13T17:07:00.000+02:00

It is difficult to know where to start when this blog has been quiet for a couple weeks – It seems like so much happens in such a short period of time here . . . I guess that I will start with the story about why I’ve been so quiet for the last couple weeks. You see, I normally write my blog entries on my laptop, then upload them at an internet café . . .

On one of the last nights of Ramadan M and I decided to go down to Ramallah to meet up with some friends for post-Iftar tea. Ironically, I had not been feeling well earlier in the day and had almost decided not go, but since everyone was heading in different directions for the Eid, I decided to go anyway. Just after climbing out of our service in Ramallah, feeling slightly seasick fom the careening ride down the mountain, I looked at M and said, “I forgot my passport,” to which she replied, “Me too”. Now, I never, ever leave home without my passport, but we were already in Ramallah and late to boot, so we dwell on it.

After from tea with na’na (mint) we returned to our little apartment in Birzeit. As we were walking down the stairs to our apartment I commented that I had forgotten to bring my laundry in from the line. M said, “Well, at least you know that it is safe in Birzeit to leave it out all night,” HAA.

We walked into the apartment and I noticed one of the windows in our living room was open. Then I noticed that the screen on the window was ripped. The look of horror on M’s face was almost comical as we realized that our apartment had been broken into. The harami (thief – my new word for the week BTW) must have hit M’s room first because everything of value was gone – her birdwatching binoculars, her backpack with her passport, money, plane tickets home, credit cards, address book with all the important information that she needed, etc . . . They even took her cell phone charger. I assume they hit my room second, saw the laptop on the table and figured they hit the jackpot. They got my laptop and *sob* my iPod.

Luckily, they didn’t go through my room they way they did M’s or they would have gotten both of my passports, some cash, and my laptop case (which is where copies of most of word files, my USB memory, and my digital camera were). So, is when the fiasco began . . .

First, we tried to wake up our landlord, a very kind, very deaf man and his wife who live directly above us. After repeated banging and doorbell ringing, we abandoned that idea. Next we decided to call the police. Of course we didn’t know how to contact the police, or what our address was . . . so I called a Palestinian – Canadian friend whose family is here and asked him to help me figure out the phone number etc . . . Then I called a male friend who lived nearby because I knew that I did not want to deal with the local police at midnight without having a male figure with me.

Within 15 minutes our apartment was swarming with local police. We had about 5 officers, and then some random people who I think might have just been friends of the cops who decided to come and stare at the stupid foreign girls who had been robbed. We were asked questions like: What were we doing out so late? Who were we with? Why hadn’t we locked all of the interior doors in the apartment? (because we didn’t have a key). The police officers who came to help spent more time examining my underwear on the laundry line than they did the window that the thief had broken in through.

After a great deal of discussion, they decided we should all head back to the police station to give a report. They had 7 people pile into a little four door car and drive the three blocks to the police station. They sat us down, gave us tea, and proceeded to ask us the same questions they had asked us in our apartment about 4 more times. Admittedly the language barrier was a bit of a problem, but I did okay and Mat’s Arabic is as good as mine, so we were managing. While we sat there, the policeman who hadn’t already been to our apartment took turn standing in the doorway of the office we were sitting in, staring at M and I. After about 2 hours, they let us go. M and I spent the next hour and half canceling her credit cards etc . . . Luckily the thieves didn’t find the place where she had hidden her cc cancel info or her photocopy of her passport . . .

As far as my losses go, I lost all the research that I had done for my thesis to date, and the 300 some pictures that I had taken during my time here. And, of course, the iPod.

The second day of ISM training was scheduled for the following morning. Unforunately after dealing with the Birzeit Police (which may have been more traumatic than being robbed) and canceling all of M’s info I wasn’t feeling up to another 11 hour day of training on about 2.5 hours of sleep. Never mind that I was leaving for Beirut within 24 hours . . .

ISM Training

2005-10-26T19:44:00.000+02:00

Sunday I spent 11 hours at nonviolent resistance training with ISM. It was a very, very long day. The first half of it was pretty boring because it was all cultural awareness training – which is sort of unnecessary after 2 months of living in the Occupied Territories. The second half was very useful, we learned and practiced some techniques that might be useful with difficult soldiers at checkpoints and talked about power and privilege in our lives and as internationals in the Palestine. The training stressed the importance of not dehumanizing Israeli soldiers and of maintaining calm in all situations, if at all possible.

Another important point is that ISM only works in areas where they are invited by the local Palestinian community. All of the initiatives come from Palestinians and not internationals. It is not the place of an ISMer to criticize any Palestinian’s actions, even if they are throwing stones at a demonstration – it is their right to resist the occupation, according to international law. The trainers really focused on the point that we are here to support the Palestinians, PERIOD.

It was interesting to see how nonviolence techniques are taught, and which definitions are used by ISM. For example, ISM does not consider the destruction of the Wall to be a form of violence, but many other proponents and practitioners of nonviolence would argue that any destruction of property is violent. The second day of training should be even more useful because that is when the legal section will be covered which will include what our rights are as internationals as well as what Israeli soldiers rights are in dealing with us. For example, who can arrest us, who can take our passports, which threats are empty, which actions by soldiers are prohibited by their own laws, etc . . . This is the main reason that I organized this training session – I want to know what the rules are and what the consequences of breaking those rules are before I engage the Occupation Forces.

I would love to work regularly with ISM, but since I’m on a fellowship from the government at the moment it seems like a bad idea. So, this trip I will watch and learn and hopefully next time I will have the opportunity to be more active.

In unrelated news, I have decided to stay in Palestine for Christmas so that I can help with the preparations for the Nonviolence Conference in Bethlehem at the end of December. I won’t be back in DC until the end of the first week of January – probably. I was seriously thinking about staying here for the spring semester as well, but I have resisted the temptation. I know perfectly well that if I stay I will spend my time volunteering and not writing my thesis.