Hebron - the Old City and Tel Rumeida
We arrived at midday. We parked in the parking lot near the Cave of the Patriarchs. The area was empty of visitors. Two tourist shops were open and deserted. Soldiers sat and stood at every angle. Bored.
Amira's curiosity led us to the "Tomb of the Patriarchs" for a short tour. We saw the graves of Leah, Abraham, Sarah, and Jacob. Beside them the guard slept soundly. From the closed partitions we could see and hear the voices of the Palestinians praying or visiting the Palestinian side of the cave.
At the exit, in the allotted area for Palestinians which was about 50 meters long, S. and her duaghter waited for us. Together we went to their home, which is about a meter from the Tomb of the Patriarchs inside the Old City. The apartment was given to them by the municipality, which wants to settle Palestinians in abandoned areas, so rent is cheap and there is no payment for electricity and water.
in this way they also help the population which is very weak and settle the place abandoned because of the Jewish settlement in the region.
The Old City, in the narrow section where we toured, included narrow and covered market streets, shops displaying their wares for every eye., It was not crowded . Apparently, we fell on a particularly quiet Sabbath in the middle of the holiday. Or an hour in which they return to their homes to rest.
We were almost alone in the market, and every seller tried his best to interest us.
A glass artist who works in an atelier, which is also the store itself , continues to work all the time. He was proud to say that he sells all over the world and has already travelled with his goods to many countries. And he is a very famous Hebronite.
Due to lack of time we did not reach the depths of the market and went on our way but we will go again. There were other reasons too.
At the hosts we were honored and sang and sang (to the clapping of hands) for R. for his playing and singing together with the daughters of the house. This family was with us at sea last year and the owner of the house was the head of the group. He is a man of peace who has worked for many years in Israel, speaks fluent Hebrew which is studded with proverbs, and continues to believe in peace. Peace which comes from below. Connecting people, talking, by the things he does . Beyond that his life has not been lined with roses but he is full of positive energy and artistic talents.
On Shuhada Street, dusty, deserted, neglected and full with garbage and soldiers everywhere, we met members of TIPH, whose job is to document what is happening and pass the information on to a place that does nothing with the material. Their existence may be moderating the soldiers somewhat.
Later, we returned to the car and drove to Tel Rumeida to visit another family. Again the same sight of garbage piles that fill the corners of the street, soldiers, roadblocks, sealed shops, settlers walking around, and then Tel Rumeida, where Palestinians are forbidden to enter with a car but which is allowed to Israelis. I went to the parking lot of the owner, whose car is forbidden to enter and therefore he parks outside the neighborhood. The neighborhood includes some 200 Palestinian families, and houses that have been erected by settlers or empty caravans that occupy an area that does not belong to them. Everything is sealed with walls and barriers. When you make a mistake, you arrive at a settler center near Baruch Marzel's house, and on the other side of the street is a house built by a settler on private Palestinian land and no litigation helped.
We were honored with a good Palestinian meal in a pleasant and welcoming home. As well as detailed explanations of the living arrangements in this bubbling cauldron, which is dependent on the kindness of whichever regiment which is sitting at the moment and dominating civilian life. They know how to distinguish between Nahal and golani and the paratroopers, and they have even learned to know the soldiers by their names. From the roof of their house, they can see the newly constructed checkpoint (which has been open for a few months), and which opens and closes. From the other side of the roof, one can see the square where Elor Azaria murdered Abd al-Fatah a-Sharif. In the same place where the Jilber checkpoint once stood 10 people have been murdered in recent years. They know every detail about these events.
The impossible mix of soldiers within a civilian population, which is essentially devoid of civil rights, but this is their home, their life, is very painful . Everywhere there is a soldier with a rifle. In many cases the rifle is pointed. Next to him are children, girls, women and men. At any moment something could happen there.
The whole neighborhood has one grocery store. Here too, the goods are received on foot on a two-wheeled cart. Through the checkpoint there is no entry of a vehicle for the supply of goods.
On each roof there are water tanks through which the residents provide themselves with the water that Israel approves through Mekorot. At the beginning of the month, the owner of the house opens the main faucet with a pipe below, filling the containers. That is it. And this amount of water is supposed to last a month. And all this is meant for the shower, toilet, cooking and other everyday needs of a person. And if the water ran out before the end of the month? So for a large amount of money a tanker will provide the water. Maybe.
On the same day there was a celebration to open a new playground for the children of the neighborhood. We reached Ihtifal, towards the end. Synthetic grass filled the terraced surface (all Tel Rumeida built on the hillside rising above it ). Later we found a women's center, where there are lectures and women's circles and farther on a playground with swings and slides, all small and crowded and lacks breathing space. Many children dressed in festive costumes and quite happy, except for those who could not get on to the swing at that moment.
So let's talk about the children's happy smiles. For the beholder, the scene is an unbearably sad one. For those who live inside it is the reality of their life. When we talk to the man who is a local leader (heads a local committee that appointed the heads of the neighborhood's families), he can talk with both the children and the soldiers about the state of the neighborhood and what their options for change are. "We got to the checkpoint and sat there and did not get up until the army came to ask what we wanted, and we said what we wanted ..." and their desire was more like aspirin treating cancer. There was talk of easing the opening hours of checkpoints. Not much more.
