August 9, 2001

Days here gets stranger and more difficult. We had made plans after class to head to Qalandiya, a major checkpoint between Ramallah and Jerusalem, to connect with a member of Checkpoint Watch. Checkpoint Watch is a group of volunteers (largely internationals) who have responded to reports of human rights abuses at checkpoints. They watch, they record, and sometimes they intervene. Some soldiers seem to resent them; others simply disregard them.

As we left the university word came of an explosion in Jerusalem. The initial reports we heard were of a few injuries, and so we headed out, knowing that there would be some activity at the checkpoint. Terrorist violence by Palestinians usually prompts collective retaliation on the Palestinian public. To get to Jerusalem, we had to pass the Surda checkpoint (usually about four soldiers, a tank, a jeep, and several cement blocks) between Birzeit and Ramallah. When we got there, it was clear that something was afoot. We sat with a couple of friends from our program (also Checkpoint Watch volunteers, who came out at a moment's notice) to see what was happening.

We arrived at 4:15, and about five minutes later the road was closed to all Palestinian traffic and to and pedestrians leaving Ramallah (until now, we had not seen real closures on pedestrians - just delays and ID checks). The soldiers were usually letting old women and very old men walk through. We intervened in a few cases - a sick baby, an elderly man, etc. - but at first mostly watched, took notes and pictures (until Marthame was threatened by a soldier with camera confiscation). Our friend, who spoke a little Hebrew, asked why this was happening. "It's revenge," said the soldier.

It was after that when we learned the truth of what had happened in Jerusalem - the suicide bomber entered the pizza restaurant and killed fourteen people in addition to himself, and injured between eighty and ninety others. Our friend who carried the news to us kept shaking his head, saying, "Haram" - that is, totally contrary to the law and will of God. There's no other word for it, no emotion to express it, no way to justify it. More dead children; more dead parents and innocents - it makes our minds spin as the numbers increase; we cannot really fully comprehend the agony brought by the hundreds of civilian deaths in this tragic conflict.

For three hours we stayed there, kind of in shock both from the news and from what we witnessed at the checkpoint. We had learned about the bombing the way most Palestinians do - disconnected from it personally (the bomber apparently was from 'Aqaba, not far from Zababdeh, but very far from Birzeit) but living the consequences of the punishment. Six young men were detained, squatting in the hot sun near the army jeep for about an hour and a half, one with his arms bound behind his back with plastic ties. Elizabeth tried to give grapes to them, and was turned back by the soldiers - but she was allowed to give them water. When asked why they didn't have water for the detainees, a soldier said that they didn't have the resources with them to detain them properly - to do that, he'd have to send them to a center for at least 96 hours, and none of us want that, do we? Crowds of people, hot and tired after a day of work in Ramallah, persistently tried to get across, each time being turned back. Eventually, one of the soldiers permitted women and children across, so it was only men waiting to cross out of Ramallah.

An Israeli soldier watches as Palestinian men try to walk around the checkpoint.

An Israeli soldier detaining a Palestinian civilian.

During our stay, the army set off eight sound bombs (one of our number was hit in the leg by its plastic shrapnel; the soldiers quickly gave her a bandage) and four tear gas canisters (most of which were shot into the nearby fields, where people were trying to walk around the checkpoint. Not a single stone was thrown, not one shoving of a soldier, nothing. Everyone there was probably afraid of the consequences given the death toll in Jerusalem.

After an hour or so of teetering chaos, five more jeeps and ten more soldiers showed up. Several times, we saw one, whom we nicknamed "Rambo," put his arm around a Palestinian's neck in a headlock, and whisper in his ear, then manhandle him (shove him down on the hood of a car, twist his arm behind his back, shove his face into the jeep, etc.) and then usually send him back toward Ramallah (if not "unofficially" detain him).

The road was opened for a few minutes at 5:45 to all pedestrian traffic, so everyone who had been waiting hustled through, to the waiting shared taxis on the other side. After maybe ten minutes, the passage was closed again so that any man passing out of Ramallah had his ID checked; most were permitted to pass; some were not. Apparently the soldiers were checking if men were in the Barghouti family (perhaps out of concern for retaliation for the failed assassination attempt on Fatah leader Marwan Barghouti). We debated whether to proceed onto Ramallah, and finally decided to leave around 7:30.

We were glad we did, because we got into Ramallah in time for the Anglican Church's young adult gathering. The priest, Fr. Samir Isaid, led everyone in praying for those who were killed and injured today, for their families, and ultimately for peace in this land. Amidst all of what we experienced today - hearing the horrific news about the deaths and injuries in Jerusalem, seeing man's inhumanity to man (and it was almost uniquely male-driven) at the Birzeit checkpoint, and knowing that there is a deep connection between the two - it was somewhat restorative to hear that the dead were being mourned, and a flicker of hope remained especially within the context of faith. As we drank tea and ate chocolate cake after prayers, everyone watched the sky warily as airplanes flew overhead, hoping their city would not be bombed again.

Young Palestinian men celebrating the attack in Jerusalem.

As we headed back to catch our taxi home, we saw a procession of about fifty young men firing guns into the air and clearly celebrating that fifteen people had died - so much for visions of hope. We grabbed a late dinner at the Latin Convent, and Marthame chatted by phone with a friend whose writing at the start of the Intifada had given us some sense of hope. His ability to see the possibility for goodness and peace in this land, and his deep love for this place have been important to us. But for him, it's feeling more and more like never-neverland.

Palestine at night.

Our lullaby tonight was the F-16s coming to attack Ramallah.