Azzun - the work permit was confiscated from the father when his son was arrested with no reason and then released
The Knesset has been dissolved, but outside all proceeds as usual – whatever “usual” means during the pandemic.
We reached ‘Azzun around noon. The streets are fairly deserted. No children in the street even though schools are closed. Some stores are shut, the few people we saw weren’t wearing masks, not even pulled down to their chin. Our old friend welcomed us happily. He works only occasionally when he’s notified the Einav settlement is accessible – he’s employed there as a foreman by his brother. His permit was confiscated when his son was arrested and detained for two weeks, with no reason, and then released. Since then his son, an automotive electrician who’d worked in Qalqilya and Tulkarm, and whose permit was also confiscated, has been traumatized. He’s frightened, doesn’t want to leave ‘Azzun even for nearby Qalqilya. It’s hard. We brought many items, but the shop isn’t very busy. People fear to buy goods second-hand because of corona. He doesn’t understand why people fear used items. The children are home, schools closed. We bought olive oil.
We drove to Habla. At 12:50 soldiers already stood between the fences and a military police vehicle arrived. A large truck waited on the Habla side, and people waited on both sides. We understood it would be a while until the gate opened, so we went to the plant nursery. The two sons greeted us. One is studying physics at the university, in his second year. “You need a good brain for that (motioning with his hands)…" which I have!” he says. His brother is in the last year of high school. Neither is now in school, except to conduct experiments. They work during the day and study in the evening.
Few go through the checkpoint. The young men complain that there are sometimes soldiers who behave rudely.
We left with many purchases.