Hebron – a condolence visit at Idris’ family

We drove to Hebron quite apprehensively because, after almost half a year of not having been there, we didn't know who from our forces we would meet and how. Hebron is a ghost town more than ever. The graffiti expresses the spirit of the place.

It was important to finally get to the family of the late Idris Zahda* for a condolence visit and also to help a little. There they are also under a kind of siege. Only on certain days and at certain hours are they allowed to go out to do shopping and errands. The children have not been in school for a long time. Now there is school twice a week. Idris' granddaughters also receive two hours a day of Zoom lessons. Because of these conditions, we preferred to meet briefly and give them money to buy what they need in their free time. We entered the family home overlooking the army base on Shuhada Street, knowing that the big brother's watchful eye would see, know and react. and so it was. A quarter of an hour after we arrived, three armed soldiers arrived to check who the Jewish women were who entered a Palestinian house and why.

They came to protect us too. So, they said. I went out to them. They were tense and frightened. We "jumped" them, (gave them a start) according to them.

The best defence is to take the offensive, we were taught.

So, I asked: “To what do we owe the privilege of this visit?”

Do you know whom you are visiting and why, we were asked? His son shows them the certificate of appreciation awarded to the late Idris from the Jewish settlement in Hebron. His son immediately finds the article about him that was in Walla network.

"Have you heard about this man to whom every man, no matter where he was from, was precious to him and he even went against his own people and saved Jews?"

"No, we didn't know, we didn't hear," they answer.

The soldiers are wide-eyed, silent.

 When they took off their helmets, large yarmulkes which covered the entire head were exposed.

The soldier hurries to report to the missing commander. They whisper to each other.

"Okay, okay, everything is fine. You could have just coordinated first," they tell us. "Why coordinate?" Smadar asks.

“Because you are entering a Palestinian home," they answer us.

The son also dares to ask why gas grenades had been thrown the previous nights. "We didn't do anything."

"Yes," they stammer. "There was a mess there."

They hurry to go, to return to the base, after we agreed that pre-arrangement means just telling them at the base gate that we are going up to the family.

 An energy of extremism and hatred is always to be found in Hebron, the city of the ancestors. It is hard to always be there.

We went to Yusri Ja’bari who lives in great hardship in what is hard to call a home, in the valley at the foot of the Nofei Mamre neighbourhood in Kiryat Arba. Thanks to your donations, we brought groceries to him, his wife and his four children, the fifth on the way. He also says that his 6-year-old daughter only attends school two days a week.

The road to it is blocked, and getting to it requires a difficult and troublesome detour. Why is it that those who are there who are not Jewish will have an easy life?

Ramadan? This is how it is being experienced now.