This should have been the day the farmers
got into their fields, but it wasn’t. There is hope however.
Our crew of four courageous women and one old man hiked up to
the main square in the old city of Hebron, and caught a cab down
to the big bridge, which we had crossed the day before—on
foot of course. This morning there was a Jeep with Israeli troopers
on the other side and firing an occasional round to warn people
off—harassment pure and simple (later in the day I picked
up an empty shell casing from where the Jeep was parked.) After
a bit of discussion between our leader Kathy and the driver we
headed to a detour. But at that crossing it turned out to be too
dangerous also. So the driver headed out again, and after several
kilometers took us to a steep “road” down the valley
to a crossing point. This road was hardly fit for a donkey, but
it was crowded with taxis. This man could not take us across,
but we were able to catch another taxi on the other side of the
barrier, and so what should have taken 60 seconds to cross over,
took the better part of an hour.
We climbed the hill on the other side of
the bridge that we couldn’t cross, and assembled at a farmer’s
yard, then waited and waited.
We were on the other side of this camp
during the confrontation, and Kathy and Diana had marched up to
try to talk to the commander—to no avail.
I found out that the Palestinian mayor
of Halkul, a small part of greater Hebron, would join us to try
to use his influence on the Army to let the farmers onto their
fields. Eventually he did arrive—a slight energetic man
with heavy eyebrows, black hair, but all in all a good-looking
and pleasant guy who spoke only Arabic.
It must have been 1030 when our intrepid
troop of Palestinian farmers, Christian Peacemaker Team members,
three ISMers, led by the mayor climbed up the back side of the
camp to try to negotiate access to the fields. Here are some of
the fields looking across from the guard camp to the settlement.
Surprise, surprise, the mayor finally got
to talk to the commander of the camp, a fairly burly officer,
who spoke what I took to be fluent Arabic, which is rare. Almost
all of them speak some English, and occasionally fluent English.
I did not get much of the negotiating details, but in the end,
the commander exchanged cell phone numbers with the mayor, and
told him that tomorrow morning the farmers would be allowed onto
their fields. He promised to tell the Army and the settlers about
the decision to allow them to proceed.
Kathy tried to get it in writing, but the
commander wanted no part of that. They had his word. But Kathy
says the word of an Israeli officer isn’t worth the paper
it isn’t written on. So we trudged back on down, and would
let the farmers approach their fields by themselves.
Did our presence make a difference? Kathy,
who has been spending her summers here for seven years, thinks
so.
Back at the apartment and a bite to eat,
I lay down for a little nap. Ananda from the ISM group at the
hospital woke me up and said that Dr. Ghandi would like a full
contingent of ISMers to stay up and negotiate with a possible
incursion of soldiers during the night. Since there are almost
no patients at the hospital, there is plenty of room, so Heidi
and I moved over here, where I am writing this report.
This
very likely ends my “activism” in Palestine. Five
of us ISMer will find a small bus back to Jerusalem on Friday,
where I will spend two nights, leaving from Tel Aviv early Sunday
morning.
