Summer Vacation — Mudeif Productions

Vacations are a good chance to get away, revitalize, re-create. We were lucky enough to do that in June, savoring tapas in Madrid for our eighth anniversary and enjoying a rare visit with family in the States. We came back, replenished in body and spirit, relieved at having gotten away for a while. Our friends here, however, are usually not so lucky. Like them, we feel the strain of living under the shadow of this violent place. Unlike them, however, we know that we can always leave.

At least 65% of Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip are now unemployed; 75% are under the poverty level ($2 a day); 30% of their children under five are chronically malnourished. Obviously few of them still have the means to travel. But even those who do have the resources are frequently not allowed to leave. In our region, the Israeli military's District Coordinating Office (DCO) at Salem is the gatekeeper, the arbiter of all requests from Jenin District residents for permission to move within the West Bank, to go to Jerusalem, to leave the West Bank.

We have been to Salem. From a distance, you can see and hear the bulldozers working feverishly to dig a trench alongside a high concrete barricade. This is the starting point of the Wall, the twenty foot high, 230 mile long, three million dollar per mile barrier being built around the West Bank to prevent uncontrolled entry of Palestinians into Israel. Controversy surrounds the Wall, particularly about its location, which does not follow the "Green Line," the internationally acknowledged border between Israel and the Occupied Territories. Rather, it is winding its way deep into the West Bank, effectively annexing another 10% to 15% of the Territories, cutting towns off from their farms, water, and each other as it goes.

The entrance for Palestinians to the DCO at Salem is a soon-to-be-electrified gate, which has been closed every time we have been there. Instead, Palestinians seeking permissions currently have to negotiate their way along a six-inch wide crumbling dirt path between the gate and the six-foot deep Wall trench. Most hold onto the fence to keep from falling until they can get to the edge, and then swing themselves around and into the military camp. From there, its ID checks at a concrete bunker then up to the queues. One line is for purchasing magnetic IDs, another for getting travel permissions, and yet another for families and lawyers of prisoners held there. Equipped with metal benches, the waiting area is open on two sides, topped with a large tin roof, offering minimal protection from the summer heat and winter cold.

*A typical Palestinian commute home along destroyed roads.*

Last weekend, "Amal" came here twice. On Friday, not sure offices were open, she sent a family friend to swing around the fence and inquire while she waited on the other side. At the concrete bunker, the soldier told the young man that the offices were indeed open, but Amal herself would need to come. She did, the sixty-five year-old grandmother scrambling like a mountain goat to get to the other side. Once there, she presented all of her various papers to the soldier. "But you need an Israeli permission." "Yes. That's why we're here." "But they're not open today." There was nothing left to do but turn around and leave – the young soldier didn't seem to see anything wrong with making her go through all of that for nothing.

Amal went back to Salem on Sunday, leaving vacant her usual place in the church's front pew. The offices were open, and the lines long. Eventually, she presented her documents – a paper with her doctor's request to go to Nazareth to see a physician following recent surgery – along with a copy of her ID. That was at 9:00. The soldier took them and placed them on the gathering pile of applications. Some, like her, were trying to go to doctors – in Jerusalem, in the Galilee. Others were trying to get permission to travel within the West Bank itself, to pass from Jenin to Ramallah, for example. Some applications were not accepted for this or that detail – the hospital in Jerusalem had written one of the digits of the ID number incorrectly, there was no date on the Palestinian doctor's note, no confirmation of an appointment from Nazareth, a name was spelled incorrectly in Hebrew. Amal’s was taken, though, and she was told to wait. "How long?" she asked, but the queue had pushed her aside by that time, so she took a seat with dozens of others on the metal benches.

Hours went by. A young Palestinian man who spoke good Hebrew was constantly called up to translate. He joked that he should open an office: "Of course, I'd need a different permission to do that." Folks in the magnetic ID line were getting turned away, too, for a reason that seemed extremely capricious. In order to submit their applications, they had to buy stamps worth thirty-eight shekels as a fee. When the stamp office ran out of thirty-eight shekel denominations, they started selling thirty-nine and forty-shekel stamps. The soldier receiving applications would only accept ones with thirty-eight shekel stamps. Those who had overpaid were turned away. They were less than pleased, and were sharing their frustration with whomever would listen. The irony of it all being that these people who come to Salem, who come and wait hours and sometimes days and are regularly turned away, are the compliant ones, those who are trying to follow the rules of the Israeli Occupation. And they feel punished for doing so.

Amal continued to wait, periodically checking on the status of her application. "It's with the captain." "It's with the intelligence." "It'll be a little while longer." After five hot, dry, dusty hours, her application was handed back to her. "It's incomplete." She climbed down the stairs, back across the construction site, swung her way around the fence, and caught a taxi back home.

Last December, before the Wall was in construction, Marthame had visited the bureaucratic black hole of Salem on behalf of "Sawsan." With a broad smile and long wavy hair, Sawsan was enjoying her first year in college. Her studies did not stop her however, from deep involvement in church activities, especially as a leader in the parish's scouting program. Sawsan was one of two Palestinian scouts invited to the World Scouting Jamboree in Bangkok, Thailand, a worldwide gathering of 30,000 young people. All of the arrangements were made, tickets purchased, and visas acquired. One thing remained: permission for her to travel to and through Ben Gurion Airport near Tel Aviv. Despite verbal promises from Israeli authorities that her application would be accepted, she didn't get permission. Sawsan didn't go.

*Tayasir checkpoint in the West Bank. Palestinians without travel permission are not allowed to pass.*

With this and other experiences in mind, we had encouraged our friend “Tamara” to travel through Amman - and not Tel Aviv – on her way to Chicago. She had been invited to represent the Middle East at Fourth Presbyterian Church's May conference titled, "Creating Global Connections: Conversations with Women of Faith." Her deep involvement in Jerusalem's Women's Studies Centre and experience with other non-governmental organizations in the northern West Bank made her an ideal candidate. We were excited by her invitation, especially excited to tell her about Chicago, the places and people she should see, the pizza she should eat. As a West Bank Palestinian, she was refused entry to Jerusalem, where the US Consulate is. But with some luck and the use of the local equivalent of FedEx, she still managed to get her US visa. The ticket was purchased, Israeli military permission granted for her to travel to the Jordanian border, as was Jordanian permission to enter. She arrived at the border to find that the Palestinian Authority was strictly enforcing Jordanian limits on the number of Palestinians allowed in. In the abstract, she had permission to enter, but in reality only two busses were allowed across each day. She was told her turn would come in another two months. Her flight was in a matter of days. No amount of arguing or using connections could get her across the bridge in time for her flight. Tamara didn't go.

"Jamal" is one of our favorite students. A tall boy with an excellent singing voice and a winning grin, he is bright, confident and polite – a refreshing combination for a ninth grader. He was among the handful of students whose dedication and academic promise brought them to the Roman Catholic Seminary in Beit Jala, where students receive an excellent – and virtually free – education as they discern the possibility of going into the ministry. The seminary was closed this past academic year, for the first time in its 150-year history. The Israeli government refused to issue or renew visas for the Latin Patriarchate's foreign Arab priests or students, comprising a majority of the school. While we enjoyed having these bright young men back in Zababdeh, we are hoping that the Israelis will issue these needed visas, and that the Seminary can re-open this fall. Last month, Jamal headed down to the Red Sea with a group of Palestinian and Israeli students for a peacemaking program in Egypt. The Israelis had granted the Palestinian students the necessary travel permits. At the border, however, the Egyptian officials refused entry to the Palestinians. Jamal didn't go.

These are only a few stories from a very small village in a remote part of the West Bank. But it illustrates a general reality here for Palestinians. Those who have the means to travel are regularly prevented from doing so, even within the West Bank. As we write this, "Fadi" is preparing to begin his freshman year in Chicago. One of our brightest students, he has a scholarship waiting for him at North Park University. The visa process has been extremely difficult and slow, and he has yet to have the requisite interview at the US Consulate in Jerusalem, an appointment which will require travel permission from the Salem DCO, as will his permissions to leave the country, once the visa is secured. If history is any indicator, Fadi will need a miracle to get to his freshman year on time.

May God grant safe passage to us all this summer.

Salaam al-Masiih,
Elizabeth and Marthame