Dear friends,
I realize it's been over a week since my last update, but I have a good excuse: we had a power outage last week, and we're still recovering. I've also been away for a few days visiting friends in Israel. But now I'm back in Haris for my last week (I can't believe it's almost over), and I'm ready to work again.
In this report, I'll give you a few short stories, snapshots from this past week, some accompanied by photographs. The general setting: 1) Ramadan began last Sunday, which means no eating, drinking, or smoking (sadly this seems to be the most difficult for people) during daylight hours. Everywhere we go on the streets, kids ask, "Sayme?" (Are you fasting?). I'm generally honest – I say we don't fast in our house, but we do when we're out in the villages. 2) Winter began on Wednesday evening (the night of the cold windy rain and our power outage), but now it seems to have gone away again, if only temporarily. 3) Closure technically ended shortly after Sukkot, almost 2 weeks ago, but it seems the army is sporadically enforcing something quite close to closure. Our stretch of road between Haris and the Zatara checkpoint continues to see sporadic flying checkpoints and a relatively constant army presence, and at Zatara itself there have been hundreds of people waiting at times, something quite unusual for Zatara.
And now for the stories…
Qalqilya: We heard last weekend that there would be a large Palestinian demonstration at the checkpoint in Qalqilya (like near many cities, a severely restricted checkpoint), and we decided to go to support it. We arrived only to find out they weren't letting any internationals into the city. Interestingly, the reasoning given to me by one soldier was that my visa was only good for Israel, and this wasn't Israel. I asked if I needed permission from the Palestinian Authority, and he said, "No, from the IDF." "I thought you said this wasn't Israel. Why do we need permission from the Israeli army?" didn't seem to work as a negotiating strategy, so we retreated for a while. Suddenly the noise level increased and I looked across the checkpoint in time to see two soldiers swinging fists at people. We heard a loud noise and weren't sure at first if it was gunfire or a sound bomb (also known as a "stun grenade"). It turned out to be the latter. The commotion went on for a couple minutes and finally we managed to get a soldier to explain to us his version of what was happening. "Two journalists were making a problem," he reported, "so then there was some violence that happened from the soldiers." He tried to shirk responsibility a bit by stating this in the passive voice, but at least he admitted that the soldiers began the violence. At this point the army closed the checkpoint altogether. An ambulance pulled up and we saw two women clutching each other inside. When the army opened the doors to check it, we saw that one of the women was in labor. The soldiers didn't seem to care, and initially told the ambulance it couldn't go. Finally, after taking their time checking IDs, the soldiers let the vehicle pass. It seemed like hours, but was probably a matter of 5-10 minutes. I was just glad I didn't have to witness a baby being born at a checkpoint, something that happens far too often here in Palestine.
Marda: Back again… Kate and I went to Ayman's family's house for dinner last Monday, a wonderful treat. I had the 5 children draw pictures for me on pieces of cloth, which I'm hoping to do with a few other children I know and put into a small quilt when I get home. We left town after dark, hoping to find a Palestinian taxi but expecting we might have to hitchhike with a settler. Just as we were leaving, the army pulled into town. They usually patrol the streets, but don't often go into villages unless they're declaring curfew. Sure enough, this is just what they did. We followed them into town, but the jeep moved faster than we did on foot. When we got back to the center of town, some people were running from house to house and on small stretches of road, trying to make it home safely. Others seemed unconcerned and roamed the streets freely until they heard jeeps approaching. One teenage boy came to me and tried to convince me to come to his house because it was unsafe for me to be in the streets. I tried to tell him the danger applied more to him, but he wouldn't leave. He calmed down a bit when I told him I was from a peace organization (maybe it gave him a bit more confidence that I knew what I was doing), but I still had a hard time convincing him to go home. The situation seemed relatively mellow, and Kate and I decided we may be doing more harm than good at that point, because several Palestinians were trying to take care of us instead of themselves, so we left. We phoned a yellow-plated driver we know and he took us home.
Azzun checkpoint: Yup, the same one I've written about many times. We stopped by just to see what was going on and to show a few new volunteers what it looked like. There were 7 men being held, and we gave them the phone number for an Israeli organization that helps in these situations. The soldiers approached to ask what we were doing, and Kate immediately handed them a Yesh G'vul brochure (this is the primary organization that promotes refusing military service). They read it cover to cover before crumbling it up and throwing it on the ground. I pointed out that there was a newly-installed dumpster for trash, but the soldiers ignored me. Finally one said, "What about the US occupation in Iraq?" I told him I opposed that as well, and he said, "Then go to Iraq." Kate responded that she's planning to (she is), and he said, "Go as soon as possible." He remained relatively nasty for the few minutes we stayed, but he was not threatening. It started to rain and I approached the soldiers again, pointing out that 7 Palestinian men were sitting in a field in the rain. One said, "Well, we're standing in the street in the rain." "So you can both go home, you and those men," I replied. The nasty soldier answered: "I will decide when to let them go. Rain, snow, whatever, they will stay here. We need to punish them." I told him that these men aren't terrorists and he agreed. "But," he said, "we have to punish them. They have to learn that they can't work in Israel." I posed one last question: "So if they can't work in Israel, why can you work in Palestine?" He actually smiled for a split second, but then told me again to go to Iraq as soon as possible. We decided our work there was done (we had distributed the appropriate phone numbers to the Palestinian men and made our presence known to the soldiers), so we left.
On the road to Mas'ha: After our visit to the checkpoint, we began to walk up the road towards the village of Mas'ha, the first place in Salfit to be touched by the Wall, and the site of the large peace camp last spring and summer. On the way, we saw the following graffiti on the side of a bus stop: PHOTO. Several posters were pasted on top of each other, but the bottom clearly reads, "Transfer = Peace and Security." We see plenty of racist graffiti like this in Palestine, but then we noticed something else on the same bus stop. Inside, on the glass part, was this: PHOTO. Translation: The Occupation = terror. I picked up the phone and called an Israeli friend from Black Laundry who I knew had been picking olives in that area the week before. I explained the sign and asked if he had anything to do with it. "I can't really answer that on the phone," he replied, "but I believe it was done last week… Keep your eyes open, there may be more." Well, we didn't see anymore, but that one sighting was enough to inspire another great idea. When we approached Elkana, the settlement right next to Mas'ha, we noticed a hill of dirt at the entrance with the name "Elkana" written in Hebrew with rocks. "I think that should say Kibosh [Occupation] instead," I declared, and 5 minutes later it did.
Mas'ha: Munira and Hani live with their children in a house that is stuck between the fence of Elkana settlement and the almost-completed Wall. Their village of Mas'ha is on the other side of the Wall. As I have explained before, the Wall is a 30-foot concrete wall in certain places, particularly cities (Jenin, Tulkarem, Qalqilya), and everywhere else it is a series of fences and ditches and security roads. The Wall through Mas'ha is mostly fence, as can be expected in a small village. Upon arriving on Wednesday, however, we noticed something new. Was it a large metal structure? Construction? As we got closer to Munira's house we froze in our tracks. Right in front of the house was about a 120-foot stretch of 30-foot-high concrete wall, just like the wall that surrounds Qalqilya. On both sides of this wall was fence, but directly outside their door, obstructing Munira's and Hani's view of their village, was this monstrosity. There is clearly no reason for this other than spite. Was it because of the peace camp earlier in the year? Or was it simply the fact that Munira and Hani had stayed in their home, defying Israeli hopes and expectations that they would move? We entered the house and sat with them for a while. Hani told us they had no idea the concrete wall was coming until it popped up one day two weeks ago. We briefly discussed the potential for protest, specifically the International Day of Action Against the Wall on November 9 (anniversary of when the Berlin Wall fell). They seemed skeptical of the effectiveness, but open to the possibility.
J'barra: A few of us went to visit Azmi on Thursday. This is the man whose house is threatened with demolition because the Wall (fence, in this area), has come right past his house. We got a ride into town and to the security road, at which point we got out and began to walk the last kilometer to the house (only military vehicles and Azmi are allowed to drive on the security road). We were about ¾ of the way there when we heard a jeep approaching from behind. I was mildly worried until the jeep began to speed up slightly and I guessed that it would drive past us. Instead, it sped up more and then veered to the right and screeched to a halt to cut us off. I figured this unnecessary move wouldn't mean good things for our near future. Sure enough, the driver of the jeep told us we weren't allowed to be on the road. I told him we were going to visit Azmi (I figured he knew this already), and he said, "Well you could have gone through the olive groves on the other side of the barbed wire. You can't be here." I tried to reason that we'd be off the security road much quicker if we went to Azmi's house than if we turned around and walked back, but the soldier wouldn't hear it. "I'll call Azmi to come pick us up, then," I said. One man said that was fine, but the driver said, "No! Only he can drive on the road. He can't take anybody else!" No reasoning seemed to work with this man, and finally he said, "If I see you go towards that house on this road, you'll be arrested," and drove off. He screeched into Azmi's driveway and yelled something before continuing up the road. We decided to turn around and go back to the break in the barbed wire, where we would climb through the olive groves to get back to Azmi's house. This took almost an hour, but we did find our way there and were greeted by Azmi, his wife, and one of his sons. They quickly took us up to the porch, because apparently the soldier had threatened Azmi with "doing something to him" if he saw us there. While still in the backyard, however, I noticed a large new structure that Azmi and his son were building. "A new house?" I asked. "Yes," replied Azmi. If they knock down that house, we'll live in this one." Whether this plan will work or not remains to be seen, but I think Azmi figures that the army will at least have to go through the hassle of getting another demolition order and engaging in another legal battle if they want to demolish the second house. Small acts of resistance like this give me hope… or at least a little laugh.
I have several more stories I can tell, but I'll combine them all into one: I have spent the last couple days in Israel, and I have to say it was relaxing, stressful, angering, comfortable, and confusing. I saw so many soldiers on Friday, obviously on their way home for Shabbat. Most were women who looked no more than 15 but were most likely between the ages of 17-19. They talked on the phone to friends about where they were stationed, and I saw their humanity. I realized that a part of me had managed to ignore the humanity of certain soldiers in the West Bank. It's easier this way, of course. If I were constantly to acknowledge the humanity of each soldier, I would want to shake each one and say, "Look around! Look what you're doing! Look what you're part of!" It's easier to disengage. I admit this not because I'm proud of it, but because it's interesting to me how quickly my mind has done this. How must Palestinians feel about the soldiers? And the soldiers about the Palestinians?
So I spent Shabbat with a good friend from home, and about 30 people in her program who mostly asked questions like, "You're working with Palestinians?! Aren't you scared?!" and "They know you're Jewish and they haven't killed you?" These are intelligent people, but they have never been exposed to life in Palestine. Some have visited settlements, but none have any relationship to Palestinians. I went to services with them, ate dinner, and sang songs after dinner. I read the lyrics to these songs I grew up with, and noted the extreme nationalism in them, which at its worst was explicitly racist and at its best merely denied Palestinian existence. I thought about the Jewish liturgy and the little I know of Palestinian narrative, and thought, "Well okay, it makes sense in some ways that each group has an ideal vision of the entire land to its own group." But where does compromise fit into that? The majority of each group is willing to compromise. Most Palestinians say, "Okay, we'll give you the 78% of historic Palestine that was occupied in 1948. Just give us the 22% that was occupied in 1967." And most Israelis, according to polls, would also be willing to do this. Meanwhile, Sharon is building a wall through the middle of the West Bank that if completed as planned, would take over 50% of the land (leaving Palestinians with just 10% of historic Palestine) and would divide the West Bank into three separate enclaves. And, due to fearmongering, it seems that most Israelis support the Wall (even though they say they don't support settlements, and the Wall is being built specifically to annex the settlements into Israel)…
Well well, that's quite enough for now. If this seems confusing, it is. Nothing is simple here. I have more observations about Israel (more beggars on the streets of Jerusalem than I've seen before, etc.), but we can discuss these in person when I get home. I'm hoping to show pictures and speak to many groups, so please contact me if you're in Philadelphia, Baltimore, or Boston, or if you're able to transport me to your city.
Until next time,
Hannah
