Two Days of Travel, 2 Days of Occupation

Day 1.

We decided to accompany Huda and her two sisters to Lod, a town near Tel Aviv, where there was a large Greek Orthodox celebration of the Feast of St. George (1). We thought we would go along to film Huda as we are thinking of her as a potential character in a small film we would like to make. As it turns out, she has great camera presence, as she really seems to not even notice it is there, or doesn’t care. So we met up with Huda, Julia and Ofa at 6:45am and walked over to the church in Old Ramallah where we waited for the tour bus to pick us up for the day. The bus as it turned out was half empty because not all who wanted to attend got their visitor’s permits. As Huda explained, Palestinians must apply for a permit to enter Israel. In fact, they also have to apply for a permit to simply leave the West Bank, regardless of whether they are going to Israel or trying to get to any other country. Young Palestinian men are often denied these permits, but as it turns out, so are elderly Palestinian women.

So off we went, everyone clutching their precious permits as we neared Qalandia (2). The bus driver got out to talk to the border guard, got back in and drove through the checkpoint. Everyone cheered. It seemed a little too easy and sure enough, he circled around and back in we went. Apparently they weren’t interested in checking the permits on the bus and everyone was made to walk through the checkpoint on foot, through a metal shed housing a system of automated turnstiles and holding pens which shuttle you periodically by virtue of a green light and loud buzzer into another area of turnstiles and holding pens. I had been through this once before on a previous visit but this time, waiting in line for over an hour with all of these of the little old ladies felt extra humiliating. Despite the sign saying ‘Welcome to the Atarot Crossing’, it didn’t feel all that welcoming. Part of the dehumanizing experience was that all of the guards were behind glass, shouting periodically through loudspeakers at us. When we got through, Elle decided to film the checkpoint, which the guard in the watchtower was not too happy about. He started through the loudspeaker ‘NO CAMERA - NO CAMERA’ (imagine thick Israeli accent) but seemed too lazy to get down from the tower and Elle pretended she didn’t hear him.

So back on the bus we went, off to Lod, with the priest entertaining everyone with his singing and theological jokes (3). Once we got there, everyone made a beeline for the church, which was way too small for the crowd pushing to get in to see the bones, light their candles and do whatever else it is they do at the Feast of St. George. I’ve never been a fan of the mosh-pit experience, and I think this was worse. Yet the three sisters weren’t bothered at all, making their way into the thick of it. “Come on, Huda shouted, you haven’t seen the tomb!” We politely declined; happy to stay in the small corner we found where we could breathe.

Our next stop was Jaffa, where we had lunch at an amazing fish restaurant by the sea. We were then let loose around the beach just to wander around for a while. The afternoon felt more than a little melancholy in Jaffa, as the group didn’t really seem comfortable anymore — they were now foreigners there. Yet as we walked along the newly constructed boardwalk, Huda said something a bit surprising. She told us of how she used to visit Jaffa freely as a child before ’48 and then on occasion between ‘67 and ’86 (after Oslo, before Intifada). But then she said, “It’s true they took it all: they didn’t just take the meat and leave us the bones, but they took the bones too! But I’ll tell you one thing, if the Arabs were here, this place would be full of garbage, the Jews are much more organized”.

There were a few young people who looked like they had come just to get out of Ramallah for the day, and tagged along on the religious trip to get the permit. For some reason, we ended up at a park in a semi-industrial area of Tel Aviv, at dusk. The kids asked for 2 hours at this park for some unknown reason, and so when it turned dark, we sat at a picnic table at the end of parking lot, just waiting to get back on the bus. All the old ladies just wanted to go home at this point, but it was the kid’s day out, and they were going to take advantage of it. I was still thinking about the checkpoint, but everyone else was way past it. After some more shopping in Jaffa, we eventually drove back to Ramallah.

Day 2.

Today we went with our friend Neta to help her document the intricate system of roads in the West Bank. We knew this before, but there are basically two tiers of roads: those driven with yellow license plates (ISR) and those of the green (PAL). Yellow plates can pretty much travel anywhere, although Israelis are not allowed into Area A (4). Green plates are only allowed on a more third class road system, usually not in good shape, nor do they necessarily connect Palestinian areas. Finding an up-to-date map of the West Bank is difficult because the roads are constantly changing and are often blocked by either checkpoints or piles of dirt and rubble, sometimes accompanied by the Israeli army. Having our yellow plates, we could drive anywhere, and having our Canadian passports, we can go anywhere. We went to Jericho for lunch, speeding by all the green license plates in line waiting at the checkpoints. We felt like assholes cutting the line but that sense of entitlement is almost essential in these checkpoint situations (often, Elle doesn’t even look at the guards as we drive through, barely slowing the car). Jericho is known as the oldest continuously inhabited place on earth but felt like a ghost town. Once a thriving tourist destination, it is now nearly shut down, with most of the incoming roads blocked (5). The restaurant we sat in was huge and completely empty, the manager completely attentive and eager to make himself useful. After eating we left Jericho, driving past the manager waving to his only customers of the day, past the closed gift stores of Hebron blown glass, past Bananaland (7), and past the checkpoint. We had a whole story prepared on how to get out, because Neta was actually not supposed to be in Area A, but it was unnecessary. White faces and yellow plates were all we needed.

Footnotes

1) Dragon-slaying St. George who is the patron saint of England, and apparently, of syphilis (so says The Guardian). Lod is a town near Tel Aviv, known largely as the home of Ben Gurion airport. Lod (formerly Lid) is known as a bit of a pit, a poor area with a large mixed community of Palestinians and Israelis. When I say ‘Palestinians’ in this instance, they are often referred to as ‘Arab-Israelis’ as they have citizenship in Israel but are coming to identify more as Palestinians.
2) Qalandia is the checkpoint in and out of Ramallah.
3) Something about a priest who didn’t know Jesus was killed 2000 years ago. The humour got a little lost in the translation I think….
4) Areas within the West Bank are designated either A, B or C. Area A is Palestinian controlled and administered (no Israelis allowed). Area B is Israeli controlled and Palestinian administered. Area C is Israeli controlled and administered.
5) Jericho was punished with restricted access due to an incident in March 2006. Israeli Defense Forces held the Jericho prison under siege and captured six inmates, rumored to be released, who were accused of assassinating the Israeli Minister of Tourism. 2 were killed and 35 injured in this incident.
6) No idea….