Qalandiya

Ramadan has begun. Traffic at
A-Ram is heavier than usual for this time of the afternoon. but it
is moving reasonably quickly.

Qalandya:
Permits for green and orange IDs are
being honoured, if after long and close scrutiny. The line of blue
IDs moves steadily. The woman soldier cannot resist screaming,
"Get back! Yallah! Get back!" as her colleague lets two
or three people through at a time. Off to the side, two more
soldiers each produce a sizeable pack of confiscated green and
orange IDs which they shuffle through, calling out a name here and
there, and a group of young men hanging around awaiting the return
of their invaluable documents slowly disperses.

Another young man is caught trying to evade the
checkpoint by crossing through the Tora Bora quarry. His ID is
impounded by G., the officer in charge. It will not be returned
before 9pm, as punishment.

A party of American evangelists comes through with their
two Palestinian guides whom they want to take back for a meal to
the nearby village where they are based. A woman officer explains
that they cannot do this, the Palestinians have no permits and may
not pass beyond Qalandya. The Americans try unsuccessfully to
persuade her, they cannot understand what the problem is, they will
be responsible for their guests. Finally, they all return, in a
show of solidarity, towards Ramallah.

A lame man limps past and stops to get off his chest some
feelings: "I can't understand your people. I see what wonders
you have done in Tel Aviv and then I look at the ugly hell of this
checkpoint! What have you made of this country! Where will it all
end? We are in despair. We have nothing left to lose, nothing to
hope for except an end to it all!"

A very sick-looking woman accompanied by her two sons,
one 15-16, the other 4-5, presents herself at the checkpoint. She
has no ID and the older boy has left his birth certificate at home.
The soldiers are prepared to make an exception for the woman, but
not for the teenager.

A young man and two or three boys in scout uniform appear
with a tray of dates and bottles of water-- it doesn't matter that
we are Israelis, that we are not fasting-- all are welcome!

The mother and her sons turn slowly away and move out of
sight-- where will they break their fast?

A couple of lines from a poem by W.H.Auden ring in my
ears:
"Once we had a country and we thought it
fair,
Look in the atlas and you'll find it
there:
We cannot go there now, my dear,
we
cannot go there now."