Hebron, Tue 18.12.12, Morning

We left Beersheva at 8:15 and Meitar checkpoint was of course empty at that hour.  

Natanya reports that at the Tunnel checkpoint between Jerusalem and the W. Bank there was a huge traffic jam in the direction of the 'holy' city.  

Hebron

as usual dozing in the sun, except for the (male) children wandering around  because of the teachers' strike.  We visited with Abed who is trying to open a second shop next to the existing one, although his son, Mohammed, says that business has dropped off in the wake of the recent attack on Gaza. We also talked about the other Mohammed, the one killed by the Border Policewoman (he is a distant relative of Abed's on his mother's side) and there is no need to expand on the article by Gideon Levi in Haaretz on 19/12/ .

We were approached by a man asking for help in transferring cooking gas across the checkpoint - gas is purchased in H1 and brought across the Pharmacy Checkpoint but it can be held up there for hours according to those present in the shop.  Alas, we fear that we can do nothing about this as the gas is bought by each family according to need and there is no concentrated purchase. Every purchase and transfer is dependent on the whim of the soldiers on duty...

we continue to the Worshippers' Alley, where there is no change except for one blockade that may be new or simply repainted. The stables seem to be deserted.  However, at the top, to the left opposite the sentry box, the house has been refurbished, with a painted wall and an impressive door.  We proceeded to the Jaber family at the entrance to K. Arba, who are suffering the usual troubles of water shortages and harassment by residents of Kiryat Arba who have claims to their lands and greet them with the blessing"Welcome to Kiryat Arba'.  Unblessed land this. 

--

...Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world..

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and every where

The ceremony of innocence is drowned.

The best lack all conviction while the worst are full of passionate intensity...

From Second Coming  W B Yeats