THE ROAD TO
RAMALLAH
On Friday Omar and I set out for Ramallah where he has
many relatives.
Ramallah is the virtual capital of Palestine. Here Yassir
Arafat lived and for the last few years of his life was
sequestered in the Moqatta – the place which had
been the administrative center of the area for many
different rulers of Palestine.
The day was awful – cold, with a soaking rain.
Getting there was an eye-opening experience.
To leave Bethlehem, we would normally take a cab from the
center of town to about 100 yards from the Israeli
checkpoint. We’d walk through the checkpoint with
ease – courtesy of our US passports. The other side
of the checkpoint we’d get a shared taxi to the
Damascus Gate. But today we got a ride to the Damascus
Gate of Old Jerusalem from some MCC workers. That meant
we could wait in a vehicle to pass through the
checkpoint.
From the Damascus Gate we walked to the Palestinian bus
station about a block away. That bus took us north to
Ramallah. On the way there we saw the wall, part of which
goes right through the middle of the town of Abu Dis. We
got off the bus, walked to the checkpoint and proceeded
through. Then we sought a shared taxi which took us to
the center of Ramallah. There we walked to his
relatives’ business – where we arrived soaked
to the skin by the driving rain.
It took us three vehicles and two checkpoints to go less
than 20 miles. We were lucky since we were US citizens.
The Ramallah
checkpoint
One day while passing through the checkpoint I saw a
group of ten young Palestinian men across the road
waiting. Though they may have had the papers to leave
Bethlehem, the soldiers at the checkpoint were holding
their papers. Io do not know if they were allowed to pass
– but it is not unknown that people have been made
to wait hours in the hot sun.
Another day I saw an old man go through a hole in a
fence, trying to find a way to avoid the checkpoint. He
and others who may have business in Jerusalem or may be
seeking health care would need to have special permits to
leave Bethlehem, if they are not Israeli citizens or no
not the have special status of citizens of Jerusalem. And
even if they had permits, they might be denied access.
But tourist busses and busses of Israeli settlers pass
with ease.
I heard recently that there are 700 checkpoints in
Palestine. That number seems inflated but even if it were
half that number the indignity that this entails. For the
checkpoints are not just between Israel proper and
Palestine; they are even within Palestine. Furthermore,
Israeli forces will also set up random checkpoints where
they will stop vehicles and demand identification.
It’s for security, some Israelis say. But for the
Palestinians – especially for those who are stuck
in their towns – it feels like harassment. It
depends a lot where you stand when you look at the world.
I am glad we took the road to Ramallah the way we did. It
was uncomfortable – but that is the daily suffering
so many Palestinians experience.
Beer casts
out fear?
In Ramallah a Christian man in his early thirties gave me
a guided tour of the city, We passed by the Mokkata
– the compound where Yassir Arafat was confined and
is now buried. He pointed out the Jewish settlements
around the city. He passed by the remains of an ambulance
which had been crushed by an Israeli armored vehicle a
few years ago.
During the nearly ninety minute tour, he recounted some
of his experiences during the 2002 Israeli military
actions on the West Bank during “Operation
Defensive Shield.” He told me how the Israelis had
imposed a curfew. No one was permitted to leave their
homes for days on end. It was even dangerous to look out
the windows. The Israelis did let up the curfew for short
periods when people would run out and get food and
supplies.
But one day he and his friends had had enough. So they
decided that they would go to the pool at one of the
hotels. They put on their shorts and swim trunks, got a
few packs of beer, and set out for the hotel.
They encountered a squad of Israeli soldiers who pulled
them aside and asked them what they were about, violating
the curfew. In the course of the conversation this young
man, who had taught himself English, proceeded to ask the
Israeli soldiers what they were doing in Ramallah. Why
weren’t they on the beaches with their girl
friends, drinking beer, and enjoying themselves. Finally
he asked them if they wanted a beer. And sure enough,
they did share a few beers. The soldiers then let the
guys proceed to the hotel pool. The Palestinians only
requested that the soldiers tell their comrades in arms
to let them return home safely.
I marveled at such boldness. But I learned that this
young man was among the many who had been picked up in
the first Intifada and been held in detention for an
extended period. Fear no longer ruled his life.
It wasn’t beer that made him bold. I think that he,
like many others who are oppressed, sometimes get to the
point where they go beyond fear. Even prison cannot kill
the spirit.
I now also marvel at the risks the Israeli soldiers took
to let these men through.
Palestinian
ambulance crushed during the Israeli occupation of
Ramallah