Nablus

We crossed Huwwara using the left lane,
the 'Jews only' lane used by the settlers, not slowing down, not
apologizing, not asking permission, which seems to work every time;
when you feel the 'lord of the land', look fairly fair, you can
move feely in 'Apartheid-land'.

9.45 a.m.

When we saw Beit Furik from afar people were gathering, waiting,
this seemed like a good sign, why would they stand there if no one
was allowed to pass.....

We stood there for a while, soldiers didn't seem to care, no one
approached, and the people standing didn't call out, just stood
there in this desolate place, under the bleak sun.

Finally we approached the soldier who was neither friendly nor
hostile. 'Why are they not passing' we asked, 'They were up until a
minute ago, now we received a phone call..... there is complete
closure' (curfew in Nablus). To our questions about sick people,
humanitarian cases he answered: 'How many times should I tell you,
NO ONE, even someone with no arms or legs... these are the
instructions, and that's that... what do you care anyway', he added
and went to pat the checkpoint's 'virile' well nourished
bulldog.

It seemed that from the Nablus side people were allowed through,
when their IDs read villages in the opposite direction (Beit Furik,
etc.). Maybe orders were lax but so was the soldiers' motivation.
Soldiers while sitting in the shade were using the Palestinians
standing in line as a 'remote control'; sending them to open and
close the gate for cars, to save themselves the 'trip'.

But on the Beit Furik side, where people were mostly on their way
to Nablus, the checkpoint was closed, sealed. Most people just
left, didn't even want help, didn't believe it was possible, but
were friendly, some accepted a drink of water.

A woman from Beit Furik with an X-ray, and a referral, on her way
to a clinic in Askar, stayed longer, hoping. We called the
Physicians for Human rights but no one was available, then we
called the Moked who tried to help, but she gave up too and
wouldn't wait...

Only one man wouldn't give up. His son, around nine years old
needed an operation. He told us that before we came he pleaded with
the soldier, telling him his son needed an operation, and that he
had been told: 'One more word and you'll be sitting under the tent
till noon'. But he was too desperate to give up. We called the
Moked who were trying to help them.

Just as we were about to leave an army Jeep arrived, a soldier came
out with food for the dog, cuddled him a bit and left, and we left
too.