A Strike and a Trip to Hebron

THE STRIKE

Last Monday, the student council staged a demonstration at the university which closed it for the day. They set car tyres ablaze at the university entrances and prevented both teachers and students from entering in protest for the raising of the fees for first-years. The university looked very ominous as I approached it for my morning class: black plumes of smoke rising in front of it. The air was foul with the smell of burning rubber. It took about half an hour before my classmates and I decided that our classes were indeed cancelled and returned to Ramallah. Having been given this unexpected day off, two other international students and I decided to take a trip to Hebron, in the south of the West Bank.

HEBRON SETTLERS

Hebron is the home of the most radical Israeli settlers in the West Bank. These are settlers of the worst kind: violent and blinded by their Zionist ideology. To many of these settlers, the native Palestinian inhabitants of Hebron are foreigners in their Jewish homeland. In 1994, during the month of Ramadan, an American-born Jewish settler called Baruch Goldstein, entered the holy Ibrahimi Mosque (which is half Mosque and half Synagogue and where it is believed that Adam and Eve, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and their wives have their tombs) and fired upon the praying Muslims, killing several before he was killed himself. Because the area closest to the entrance is where the women and children pray, they made up many of his victims. The settlers have since erected a statue commemorating Goldstein and his deed. They see it as revenge for a massacre of a similar number of Jews during the Arab uprising in the early 1900s.

A DIVIDED CITY

There are about four Israeli soldiers for every settler and the city is split into zones: some for only settlers, some for only Palestinians, and some shared. However, due to the military presence, the settlers are emboldened to enter the Palestinian areas and make their presence felt by shouting slogans, graffiti-ing stars of David and through violence. This in turn can lead to a violent response from the Palestinians.

Walking towards the Old City of Hebron, you are greeted by the sight of army encampments on the rooftops – camouflage faded green with the outline of a soldier holding an M16 just visible. The feel of the Old City is different from any other Palestinian city I have yet been in: it feels poorer, more bereft. Old men push cheap candy towards me and beg with haggard faces for me to purchase it. I spent more money that day on trinkets and sweets than I had yet spent for my whole stay. So many of the shops were closed: packed up and abandoned by their owners who left to search for better premises. The reason for this is immediately clear: above the market place is wire mesh, placed there by the Israeli army. Caught in this mesh were rotting foodstuffs, garbage, rocks and bricks. When I had first seen this, I had been confused: where did all this garbage come from? Then I was directed to look at the second-story windows that looked over the market place: Israeli flags hung in the window frames. Settlers had either purchased or forcibly moved into the second floor of the market-place buildings so that while the Palestinian shops still attempted to operate on the bottom floor the settlers inhabit the second (using different entrances of course). All that garbage and those stones and bricks had been thrown out of the settler’s windows onto the market place below. Before the mesh had been put in place, these projectiles had found targets in the crowds below. Even now with the mesh, smaller objects and liquids got through and struck passers-by. For this reason I had been advised by a young boy to stick close to the edges of the market and not walk down the middle of the road (which made you an easy target).

There is a permanent pedestrian checkpoint between the Old City marketplace and the Ibrahimi Mosque. Last time I had passed through here (in 2007) I had been with a Palestinian friend of mine and he had been holding my back pack. The soldiers had demanded to search it and he had complied, but as one of the soldiers went through the items, another standing directly behind my friend threw a cup half-filled with salted peanuts at my friend’s back. The peanuts spilled out over my friend on impact before dropping to his feet. My friend turned around and looked at the soldier who merely returned his gaze impassively (all the time aiming his M16 squarely, hand on the trigger). My chest screamed with fury at this scene, but I also could do nothing. A foreign passport gives you many privileges in this country, but it doesn’t stop bullets, and it can’t help you protect another. So we moved on, both of us humiliated by our inability to stand against these Israeli soldiers.

Back in the present, we passed through the checkpoint without any problems, just the annoyance of having Israeli soldiers aiming M16s at our chests. There was another checkpoint at the entrance of the Mosque. Here only one of us could pass: S., who’s a Muslim. Because it is the month of Ramadan, all non-Muslims are blocked from entering the Mosque. However, this is not an Israeli instigated restriction, this is a decision of the Palestinian Muslims themselves: they do not wish non-Muslims to enter the Mosque during their holy month, when many spend long hours in prayer. S. was asked three times to recite from the Quran even after passing through the Israeli checkpoint to prove that she was indeed Muslim. The other girl and I waited near the entrance of the Mosque, speaking with a local young man who kept trying to sell us trinkets.

Once S. returned, and at the advice of the young man, we decided to pass into one of the Israeli sections of Hebron, which our international passports allow us to do. Since the other girl and I had not been able to go into the Mosque side, we decided to take a look at the Synagogue. I was nervous to be walking so near to the settlers, who were easily distinguishable by their dress. However, there were also a number of tourists, who were driven here from Israel in tour buses on Israeli-only roads. Trying to look like one such tourist, we passed through another checkpoint at the Synagogue entrance (handing in our bag to be searched), though this one was significantly more nice and relaxed. The soldiers asked us questions in a manner that suggested curiosity more than interrogation.

The Synagogue was loud! People spoke and prayed and yelled and wandered around animatedly. It was very different from what I had expected, having only before been inside the Mosque half (where I visited last time I was in Hebron), which was quiet and bare except for prayer mates. Here, book shelves lined the walls, there were seats and desks and other rooms in which people seemed to be studying or praying in groups. We only walked around once before leaving, as it was quite intimidating the way everyone seemed to know each other.

We met with S. outside and returned to the Palestinian section. We purchased some more items in the Old City before returning to the new city, which is a commercial centre of the Palestinian Territories and highly populated. After wandering around in the newer areas we found a servees to take us back to Ramallah and left.

ON THE ROAD

The roads around Hebron are overtly under the watchful eye of the Israeli Defence Forces: their ominous towers stand sentinel over the passing vehicles, always dark and always a sombre reminder of the occupation. Their presence is due to the large numbers of settlements in the area.

There are only two entrances into Ramallah (all other roads have been blocked) and on both these roads there are checkpoints. Usually these checkpoints are not so bad during Ramadan, as everyone is fasting. But that day it seems that the Israelis were restless, perhaps in need of some entertainment? Turning onto the road leading into Ramallah we were confronted by a traffic jam that in parts was four cars across and spread for as far as the eye could see. It was about 45 minutes till sundown and everyone was itching to get home to break their fast for the day. The soldiers made us wait an hour and twenty minutes. The frustration of the Palestinians was palpable, but they pulled together. When the sun set and the Mosques called out the official end of the day’s fast, people shared what food and drink they had. Though it wasn’t much, everyone got some. Cigarettes were also smoked, shared and enjoyed. Well after sunset, the traffic began to move again, until finally we were through.

For us, an hour and twenty minutes at a checkpoint was the longest we had experienced, and yet it can get so much longer. The amount of time it takes at a checkpoint (and whether you will be allowed through) depends on the soldier. There is no set Israeli policy as far as checkpoint procedure is concerned, unless it is merely to harrass the civilian population to distraction.

CONCLUSIONS

The journey to Hebron is not an easy one. Seeing the division and the hate between the two peoples there makes you lose hope for a solution. And seeing the gradual Israeli settler invasion of Hebron and the immense Israeli Defence Force presence leaves you feeling that the Israelis aren’t even interested in a solution, only gaining control over more territory and keeping the Palestinian population down-trodden and under surveillance. This may seem to be a cynical viewpoint, but I challenge people to see Hebron and its surrounding are and not draw this conclusion.

There was also another aspect of the trip that disturbed me: my exclusion from the Mosque and inclusion in the Synagogue. While I understood why I was restricted from entering the Mosque as a non-Muslim during Ramadan, I disliked the fact. All over Hebron there are divisions: checkpoints, streets walled in, razor wire and army outposts. Even the Ibrahimi Mosque is divided: half Mosque and half Synagogue with two separate entrances. And yet, with all these divisions imposed by the occupation, still others, such as this, are added by the Palestinians themselves.

And then I was welcomed into the Synagogue, the place where I felt most uncomfortable to go due to my fear and dislike of the settlers who inhabit it. This confused me: I felt that I was rejected by those I allied myself with and welcomed by those I stood against.

But such is Hebron. Its dynamic is different from any other place I have yet been to. It is a divided city and the scene of a terrible territorial dispute. And it is also the city of the Patriarchs, holy to Christians, Jews and Muslims.