Barta'a-Reihan, Tura-Shaked, Ya'bed-Dotan
Two families, men, women and children arrive at the seamline zone, waiting for transportation. A few workers return to the West Bank. Two maintenance workers, father and son, cleaning the checkpoint, return from the soldiers’ station. The area around the checkpoint is “theirs” and it remains asfilthy it was. The cloth of the ceiling that is in the shape of a tent, is torn and flaps in the cold wind.
We go down with the workers to the sleeve in the direction of the terminal. We discover there is no line because the vehicle inspection is locked. “How nice, there is no inspection,” I burst out with joy (sorry Shuli) and immediately, I came to my senses: “What’s so nice? To walk 3 kilometers by foot, that’s nice?” One of the workers said that the three hundred meters between two parking lots seems to him ten times as long now that he is rushing home.
We pass through Barta’a Checkpoint that is filled with cars, also on the sides of the road, and we travel to Ya’bed Checkpoint, from which we have been prevented from visiting for several months. The checkpoint isn’t manned and there is no delay there. Perhaps there is a soldier at the top of the pillbox. On the way to the checkpoint there is a standing army jeep--in this pastoral area.