Qalandiya, Sun 7.11.10, Afternoon

Translation: Ruth Fleishman

In front of each other at the entrance to the checkpoint were two BP armed police men and tens of people who had been blocked. The checkpoint was closed. Some people we knew came up to us at the parking lot and asked that we find out what had been going on. No one would talk with them. They only scream at them: "Lawara… Ruh' Lawara…". We were spoken to in an appropriate manner: they opened with "Mame", then they answered all of our questions and told us of an unidentified object which had been found at the pedestrian lane.
The checkpoint itself was empty and wondering about between the inner lane was a robot. After twenty minutes all the passage lanes were open and the crowd of people stormed towards them. The soldiers at the posts started inspecting those in front of them, in the usual rhythm which is only admissible for someone who has time. Time kept moving on and the lines grew long.  It was only after an hour that the pressure had faded.
On the way leading to the vehicle checkpoint, where all those who had been found to be Kosher and managed to make it to the other side, hurry to disappear from the maze of grates while buckling their belts back, putting their keys in their pockets again and the documents that indicate their existence in their wallets, I pointed at a door informing the person next to me that: "once there was a post office here", and  "I", he answered, "was once brought here. The captain sat here". And added: "perhaps he still sits here…"   
A soldier and a security man were checking a van that had been sent a side at the checkpoint. They inspected inside it, checked the papers and stretched every crack. Inside and outside and then again… once they hadn't found what they were looking for they released the driver, who instead of a greeting of farewell was told: "Now, it's like you passed a driver's test…".  

Abu-Abdalla's stand which is near the checkpoint seemed more neglected and dark then ever.
"A couple of days ago they came and took my things", the man said with acceptance.
"Who are they?- the army?- the police?"

"No", said Abu Abdalla", "people from Beit El. They came with a van and cart and took it".
The man doesn't have a peddler's permit and the source of income which provides for the many mouths in his family is in violation with the laws of occupation which this time was represented by the Civil Administration. Abu Abdalla who up to ten years ago was a guard at Petah- Tikva, had become a security risk, he isn't permitted to enter Israel and he and his older children are forced to improvise an alternative source of income.
This wasn't the first time that Abu Abdalla's is robbed and it certainly wasn't the last time.