holy places: i closure u, u riot, i shoot u

The title to this entry is New Profile's succint comment on the situation at checkpoints surrounding Jerusalem last Friday. We are in the month of Ramadan, and every Friday Muslims in the tens of thousands come to Jerusalem to pray by the Al Aqsa Mosque. Just as regularly, every Friday the Israeli army enforces strict regulations on who is allowed to pass.

"Profiling"

The restrictions are actually decided by the Minster of Defence himself on Thursday nights. The Minister of Defence most often decides that only men over 45 and women over 40 can go to Jerusalem on Fridays. The border police won't have time to check everyone going through, so they are instructed to do "profiling" - in other words, go for the usual trouble suspects. In this case that means any Palestian man under 45 years old.

The last two Fridays I've been at two different checkpoints on duty and seen what this policy means in practice. It's the strangest feeling to see young soldiers of 19-20 years lined up, and so much in power. They herd people around with their batons and shout through megaphones at people standing one meter from them. They turn back men with a nonchalant wave of their hand. They turn back boys down to the age of 10. The boys often arrive together with their family, and while their family is let through, they are left standing on the other side. I can only imagine the bitter taste of injustice it rouses in a child.

The women are actually all let through. I find myself grateful to the army that at least they are being lenient on this. My own reaction annoys me. The rules are wrong in the first place - how can I see generosity when the army is just looking through the fingers with already acuteley discriminatory regulations.

"Blanket closure"

The West Bank is under a blanket closure at the moment. Security is up because of religious festivals. Normal regulations can be wavered. A permit that normally lets you into Jerusalem can be judged irrelevant by the soldier standing in front of you. You might be a man of 43 who goes to Jerusalem every day to work, but on this Friday morning, when you want to go to pray, you are per definition a threat, and there is no way you are going to pass through that checkpoint.

You might get through six checkpoints on your way from Nablus but be stopped at the last one because the officer looking at your ID sees on his computer screen that your cousin has been detained by police earlier. Or you might get through, but your father or your husband or your son will be stopped from coming to prayer together with you.

Crowd control

The border police feel the pressure. Crowds of men denied access gather in front of the checkpoints. Sometimes it comes to clashes. When we arrive at Qalandiya checkpoint, the ground inside the car gate is scattered with stone. There has been stone throwing earlier in the morning and the border police have answered with tear gas and stun grenades. A tank with a water canon stands ready for use facing the crowd of pilgrims.

As the time draws closer to 11.30 when the midday prayer starts, the tension increases. At Qalandiya some youngsters of 12 or 14 years pick up stones. The soldiers fire at them with rubber bullets. I stand there and feel quite powerless.

From the minaret in Qalandiya village the call to prayer is heard and outside the checkpoint a group of 30 or 40 men line up to pray, facing Al Aqsa, and behind it Mecca. It is a mindblowing political statement. In front of them is a a row of 10-12 border police in full gear, including two cavalry on intimidatingly huge horses.

As the prayer finishes the police move forward, chasing the crowd off the parking lot they have gathered on. The crowd scatters, knowing what to expect. Five or six stun grenades follow, thrown indiscrimantely into the groups of people moving away. The border police brandish their guns, waving and pointing them at anyone still left behind. I stand safely on the Jerusalem side, observing through a solid fence. The praying crowd are only some meters away, but it's a world of difference today.

Ten minutes later everything is back to normal - as normal as anything will get at Qalandiya. The bread sellers peak their heads out and re-conquere the space in front of the checkpoint. Taxi drivers re-appear from Qalandiya village, back to their cars left stranded on the parking lot. In all its absurdity, life returns and gathers pace, preparing for next Friday.

ahlan wa-sahlan

My tongue has been struggling with Arabic and Hebrew sounds this week... The pronounciation of the Arabic "h" seems to require more capacity and coordination than my lungs and tongue can muster. I practice on my favourite phrase: "Ahlan wa-sahlan!" - welcome! Our Arabic teacher explained to us that the expression comes from "ahel", meaning family, and "sahel", meaning flat land or ground. Altogether, "ahlan wa-sahlan" then encompasses something like: "You are with family now, and the way ahead of you is flat, there are no obstacles in front of your feet". The European "well come" suddenly sounded quite flat...

Other favourite expressions that are supplied in my little book of spoken Arabic: "That's the way it goes", "You have a sense of humour", "The number is wrong", "Show me the width of your shoulders" (meaning: turn around and go away - quite useful), "Go jump in the lake", and "Wow!!!" (apparently transcribes as "yaa-baa-yyee-ee!"). I shall try to put these into practice soon.

The little book also gives a translation of "There is no hope", but seems to have forgotten the ever useful "Insh'allah!" - God willing! I suspect it was left out because it is so obvious you can't avoid learning it. You can throw it in at any appropriate or inappropriate moment to express a purpose or a longing for something. Sometimes it becomes a sarcastic comment to the disillusionment many feel at the situation here. Mostly it captures a sense of hope. Tomorrow will bring flat ground and no obstacles at our feet. Insh'allah.

ecumenical accompanier

I have come to Jerusalem as an Ecumenical Accompanier, a daunting and inspiring role to take on. Here is a sample of tasks my team will be tackling the coming three months:

Many early mornings will be spent at checkpoints, observing people's efforts to cross from the West Bank to Jerusalem. There is an intricate system of who is allowed in and under what conditions. Perhaps more than anything, the inpredictability of the rules of the game causes constant frustration. At our first checkpoint watch at Zeitun checkpoint, pictured on the right, our group of observers was held back for 45 minutes and not allowed to cross, although internationals should not have any trouble crossing these checkpoints. We'll be back there next week...

Our second task is tied to the building of the separation wall. As a response to legitimate security concerns, Israel has chosen to build a separation barrier in the form of fences & trenches or, in densely populated areas, enormous concrete slabs. The wall has disastrous effects on the human rights situation in Palestinian areas - it splits families, strangles the economy, and separates Palestinians from their fields, from schools, health centres, and/or religious sites. It works as an effective land grab, circling in Israeli settlements and ensuring they have space for expansion. Houses are demolitied and land confiscated in the path of the wall. At Ar Ram, east in Jerusalem, a small slot remains for people to pass through. There is no public information on when it will be shut. We'll be following the situation at Ar Ram and other places where the wall is under construction.

Lastly, we're in Jerusalem to support the Israeli peace movement and human rights organisations, and learn from them. This includes joining Rabbis on olive harvests in Palestinian villages, dressing in black to oppose the occupation together with the Women in Black, witnessing house demolitions, and attending events and demonstrations that might come our way. Add to this English classes with young and eager Bedouin girls, various advocacy work, and guiding delegations around, and there you have my average week. Not quite sure where this will take me, but ready to give it a go!

muddled world

Here I am in Jerusalem, holy city of unholy conflict. The stereotypes fly in your face on a short walk through the old city: black-clothed Orthodox Jews with twirly hair and solemn expressions; chubby nuns with thick glasses and virtuous spring in their step; cocky soldiers with too big guns; frustrated young Palestinian men hanging on the street corners, scowling at the world; loose-toothed old Palestinian men sitting on the street corners, smoking their water pipe; excited tourists in shorts and singlet staring at old stones and new souvenirs. And then of course me: blond volunteer for peace, oozing of naïve confidence in dialogue and solidarity.

This is a blog for the muddled world of Jerusalem. For the astoundingly beautiful city with a solid concrete wall gashing through it. For the people to whom it is a home. This is a blog for the disruption of stereotypes, of the perception that this is a black & white conflict where you are either against us or for us. I hope to locate some alternative voices: the raging grandmothers, the stubborn refuseniks, the impatient families living with daily humiliation, the Rabbis working for human rights, the perhaps unorthodox blond volunteers. I have no intention of being neutral - neutrality too easily supports the status quo. This is a blog to question the way things are, and the way they are portrayed.

And then, also, it is a blog to share some scenes from my everyday goings and doings with you - some glimpses from my world. It is a blog for muddled up words and worlds, for random thoughts and persistent search for constructive confusion. Welcome to join the disruption!