Well
my friends, the nightmare on Ma’arif Street (my street)
in Al- Bireh/Ramallah came to an end today at around 6pm. Our
unwanted and uninvited IDF “guests” left the house
across the street and took with them all the tanks, jeeps and
armored personnel carriers. I hope they also took away a valuable
lesson, how easy it is to withdraw and yet live and let live!
Yesterday we had a never-ending coming and going of tanks and
armored personnel carriers (APC). The sound and diesel smell got
on all of our nerves by nightfall. We were just starting to recognize
the faces of the soldiers. We started classifying them, he is
good, he is mean, he is stupid, he hates us, he looks disgusted,
and on. We would have liked to put names to the faces but that’s
not possible under occupation. Areen even had a few of the white
printed identification numbers on the tanks memorized (Areen stands
behind me as I write and wants everyone to know that the least
disturbing group of soldiers came in a tank numbered 756689).
One new
armored personnel carrier joined the group early yesterday morning
and had a group of soldiers that took joy in being part of the
occupation. They were loud and one of them that had guard duty
came out in the middle of the street in full daylight and urinated
in full view of all. I was in another room at the time but my
family had to witness this sophisticated form of humiliation.
I’m not talking about a soldier that just had to do it and
hid his act. I’m talking about walking out in middle of
street, point to houses and let it all hang out. I guess it was
only a Palestinian street and neighborhood! Disgusting, like the
orders that sent him here.
Today
(and yesterday), the Israeli army lifted the curfew from 9am to
2pm so people could shop and students could try to make up their
year-end exams. I can’t even imagine how students are expected
to concentrate. My cousin Ammar used the curfew lifting to make
it to Bir Zeit University where he will stay for 20 days with
the professors, at the request of the University, in order for
college to finish the semester. I have no idea where the University
will house a few thousand people. Ammar lives less than 10 minutes
from the campus but can’t travel every day due to closures
and checkpoints. Today, my father and I used the lifting to head
to Tel Aviv to renew our visas to Jordan. I use to go to Tel Aviv,
for business or pleasure, at least 3 times a week prior to the
Intifada. Today was my third time in almost 2 years. We were lucky
that the infamous Kalandia checkpoint was not packed and the delay
was minimal, unlike the humiliation, which has reached a climax
with every Palestinian. The whole trip took 4.5 hours. It should
take less than 2.5. As I said, today was a “good”
day at the checkpoint and we have US passports that allowed us
to go in the first place. It could easily take 6-8. Non- foreign
passport holders are not allowed out of Kalandia, i.e. my wife
and girls.
Driving
to the Jordanian embassy today I noticed things I never noticed
before in Tel Aviv. First, the number of times Areen called my
mobile to make sure we were ok. In normal times I spend a lot
of time out of the house and she never was so worried. On the
way to Tel Aviv we saw tens of bulldozers. Not the dark green,
bulletproofed bulldozers destroying building in Palestinian cities,
were bright yellowish-orange construction bulldozers building
Jewish-only settlements everywhere you turn your head. From Kalandia
to the 1967 border (Latrun intersection), mountaintops and valleys
alike were being cut up, diced up, dug up, and every other up
you can think of. New illegal construction is proceeding as if
nothing was wrong. My father went into a minor trance…with
every passing settlement he kept rhetorically asking the taxi
driver and me if the Israelis thought they would get away with
this. I was in my own little trance and just kept shaking my head
in puzzlement. The taxi driver, working on earning his tip, popped
in a patriotic cassette thinking it would help. It didn’t.
In Tel
Aviv I saw people working and going about the business in a natural
manner. For the last several months we rush during curfew liftings
to by bread, food and medicines, like animals let out of our cages.
We forgot what normalcy is. People sat in restaurants and were
relaxed. I was someone who would eat out for whatever reason 3-4
times a week. My family and I have not been out to eat at a restaurant
for over 5 months. The streets were so organized; light posts
all in line, traffic lights all working. Most, if not all, of
Ramallah’s traffic lights have been destroyed by tanks running
over them. Many of our street light posts lie on the roadside
waiting for repair number four. There was no dust and dirt in
the streets. Ramallah’s paved streets have become dirt-buggy
training courses. The Israeli army bulldozers have dug up the
pavement on many major intersections to slow civilian traffic.
Also, the several months of tank and APC’s and army bulldozers
running wild in our streets have created endless lines of tank
track ripples – the kind a normal country will install on
the sides of the road to wake up sleepy drivers. Worst of all
I saw a population that is operating, albeit with an increased
security presence, as nothing is wrong. Mothers shopping, not
seemingly worried that their country’s boys are humiliating
an entire foreign nation. I looked in the eyes of each man in
the street wondering how he will act when he puts on the uniform
of occupation. Anyway, the trip went ok and we were back at the
Kalandia checkpoint at 1PM, with an hour to spare before being
confined to our homes once again, for the umpteenth time.
At around
5pm Areen came running into my computer room and elatedly informed
me “they are leaving!” Her sister Nadine, hardly able
to speak full sentences, repeated the breaking news in the absolutely
cutest manner possible. When I asked Areen why she was taking
so much interest, she said “I know I said I’m not
scared of them anymore and that’s true but I’m glad
they are leaving.” I understood all too well. We proceeded
to watch as over 20 soldiers slowly exited our neighbors home,
each carrying boxes, mattresses, bags and the like. I went back
to my computer and was working away when I heard Areen and my
wife, Abeer, yell out, “They started a fire.” I jumped
to find that about 10-15 Israeli soldiers were standing around
the boxes they were bringing down and a small fire was gushing
out of the pile. I thought one of the flares they had might have
gone off, but later found that it was a box of tear gas canisters.
As my wife closed all our windows, I had to smile as these occupation
soldiers chocked on their own tear gas. It was all out in a few
minutes and no one was hurt, physically at least.
My simile
soon dropped away when two more soldiers came out of the house
with a Palestinian, handcuffed with a plastic strip and blindfolded
with a white piece of cloth with blue stripes. We had not seen
this person being brought to the house and seeing him emerge made
this saga all to real – we were watching an illegal occupation,
live in our front yard. A few minutes later, like the Indy-500,
they all started their engines, 8 monster machines in all, and
rolled down our street over the already torn up pavement.
One APC
quietly stayed behind on the side of the street. As I stood at
the window, all of my neighbors opened their windows and yelled
out, “Are they gone?” I gestured that it was not over
yet. People were itching to step outside, even though we are under
full curfew. After the last APC finally rolled away like the rest,
it wasn’t 2 minutes, the kids were in the street and some
adults, me included, converged on Um Khaled’s house. The
house had no physical damage other than a broken front door (and
a stuffy odor). We will not know if the contents were toyed with
until the owner, Um Khaled, returns from her vacation in Egypt.
I took Areen’s bicycle chain and lock and we secured the
house as we joked with neighbors that this lock was going to do
a lot of good in our situation. The reality of our personal and
collective insecurity is so sad, it forces us to joke about it
or explode.
One of
my neighbors whose porch looks down on the West side of the occupied
house revealed something that made us all angry. That detained
Palestinian that was taken away in the APC was there for 2 days
and 2 nights! He was forced to stay outside in the walkway that
led to the staircase of the occupied home. I could not see it
from my vantage point, but my neighbor spoke to him from the window
when soldiers were not around to give him strength. The solders
gave him a cardboard box to sleep on and there he was, a prisoner
of war in a world that cares less about political prisoners and
defines war to fit its personal needs, as if it was buying a personal
garment. As I close this saga on our street, I apologize if I
overloaded your inbox with details of our situation. But I felt
that this was a way to get past the word occupation that many
use but few understand. Well, I know that Areen will sleep better
tonight without the roar of tanks under her window. We will make
it sound better for her than it is, for we know better. The occupation
is alive and well and, as we still remain under curfew, the boiling
point of a nation is long past…we pray the next boil over
will be the last, for all our sakes.
Still
under curfew,
Sam
