Qalandiya - 14-year-old boy not allowed to cross the CP for a treatment in Hadassah hospital

A 14-year-old boy struggling against a callous, brutal, cruel system insists on his own will even after being rejected and cursed, trying again – this is no incidental sight, anything but ordinary.

His name is Mohammad, Mohammad Jaber, a boy-youth arriving by himself from Shaja’iya in the Gaza Strip for treatment at Israel’s Hadassah Hospital.

I met him on the Palestinian side of Qalandiya Checkpoint. An adult who spoke with him called my attention to him and asked if I could help. Said that Mohammad returned from tests in the Ramallah hospital to which he had been sent by the Hadassah Hospital, and was not allowed to cross the checkpoint and return to Hadassah.

Perhaps it’s because they do not understand each other, said the man. You go talk to them, he said, and pointed at the vehicle inspectors. I answered that it was much shorter but way more dangerous, for before they inspect, they shoot anyone daring as a pedestrian to cross the imaginary line between here and there. I suggested I go with Mohammad to the pedestrian checkpoint, perhaps if I speak with those who prevent his passage, maybe…

We went together, slowly. Every step cost him torment, obvious from his boyish face. Around the metal detector inspection, I placed Mohammad against the wall and placed his crutches on the designated conveyor belt.  We proceeded to the ID inspection booth. We were “welcomed” there by the security guard complaining, oh it’s you again… Just a second, I said. Let’s talk. Who are you anyway?  the guard said/yelled. I’m with him.  If you’re Israeli you are not allowed to be there, he yelled. He sequestered my ID and summoned the police. A policeman checked me and ruled that I was “okay”, in their language. At my request she turned to Mohammad, checked his documents carefully and ruled – he doesn’t pass.

I asked her to look at him and think, how a boy who can hardly walk endangers our state security to the extent that he is not allowed to reach the hospital that treats him.

Yes, I see, she said. He is a poor soul, but that’s the law. Let him come to the DCO tomorrow morning and ask for a special medical permit, said the policewoman and left.

We remained, helpless.

Then the security guard yelled at Mohammad: Go on, git!... I know that Mohammad understood not a word, but I did – and told the guard that no human being should be addressed this way. Go on, git.. you too, he yelled at me.

There was nothing left to do but achingly take my leave of Mohammad.

Leaving the Checkpoint compound, I felt a deep nausea that would stay with me for quite a while.