Qalandiya, Sun 24.2.13, Afternoon
Translating: Ruth Fleishman
The Image of the reality at Qalandiya:
Burning tires were rolled towards the checkpoint, stones were thrown, soldiers responded by opening fire.
The gas fumes mixed in the black smoke the rose from the tires, and the combination of the two created a thick cloud that hovered over the grounds.
The protesting teenagers had the advantage for hight- most of them stood at the top of the hill that rises by the separation wall and a few of them came out from the allies of the refugee camp.
The soldiers' bodies were burdened with heavy weaponry and protective equipment. This made them run awkwardly and caused them to fall when trying to catch one of the stone throwers.
Frustrated the armed soldiers crossed the main road, using their vehicles as firing positions. From time to time they hunted down one the teenagers that stood across from them, they invaded with their hands and eyes into their privet sphere and checked them out with the GSS. Why?- Why not?
And during the whole time a police photographer was there.
Such bad fate will fall on the doors of the homes of the teenagers that had been immortalized with his camera, such bad fate will fall on their mothers and such bad fate will fall on them during their years of adulthood.
"They are heroes" a young man standing near me said as he pointed at the fighters on the hill, but he wouldn't join the ones he admired.
And in the meanwhile at the checkpoint arrived an ambulance with a baby in it that was to be hospitalized at Mukased hospital.
And during the entire afternoon Muhamed, a smart and serious boy was there, he observed it all and photographed it all mindfully.
Standing by and with Muhamed was a real pleasure to me.