Qalandiya
“The Gray is very gray today – and a bit black”
- Leah Goldberg (canonic Israeli poet)
On the way home to Gaza:
His name is Walid, he is 5-years old. In the morning he was released from hospital in Aman, Jordan, his face mask is dropped on his chin, for hours he and his mother have been rocked among physical barriers and bureaucratic ones, and they still have a long journey ahead and deep and invasive inspections as is wont at the Erez Crossing – and still that face shows this heart-warming smile.
It was stormy, rainy, very wet and cold – and only the wood planks burning in a broken, abandoned wheelbarrow somewhat warmed the frozen hands of children who – even when the temperatures sink – do not cease to seek sources for a few shekels to bring to their family’s aid.
On the way into Palestine, with blue lights flashing, rode an armored convoy of the Border (what border??) Police (policing??), the roof of every such vehicle sporting a weapon called Malkosh (Heb. for the last rain of the rainy season), “Venom” in English, armed with 24 barrels and able to ejaculate teargas grenades fast and remote-controlled.