Gwen Backwell in Palestine from October -December 2011

Newsletter from Deir Istiya No. 1
End of September 2011
In the Shadow of Tony Blair

Statehood?
The most significant thing to have happened to the Palestinian people as this momentous month comes to an end, is that they have stood up in the UN and demanded recognition as the 194th state. Whilst remembering that this is substantially Fatah-land and that Hamas support has been stifled by active persecution (loss of jobs, deprivation of income, bans on freedom of expression and association and even imprisonment and abuse): banners proclaim the 194th state everywhere I have travelled in the mid-West Bank; everyone is discussing it in private and in public; the village public speaker system blasts forth news reports on it; towns and cities all over the West Bank erupted in noisy and celebratory marches and rallies on Wednesday last week as the Security Council were meeting. And no longer is "Balfour" thrown in my face when I declare myself to be British – the new enemy is "Tony Blair", a much-hated figure here. And I have to agree.

But people have no illusions of course. They enjoy a chance to celebrate, but their feet are firmly planted on their beloved ground from which they will not move. Something far more profound has to change in order to give them real hope. But I think the general feeling was neatly summed up for me by our friendly man in the corner shop: "We have at least stood up on the world stage and demanded equality with all other nations. We can hold our heads high." And they know that it is the likes of Tony Blair who will go on endlessly creating smoke-screens behind which the Israelis can continue their brutal and frankly racist colonisation.

I was witness to a shocking example of this process on my fourth day here. It was our first call-out. We walked through olive groves in the hot mid-day sun to a remote hillside where the lands of Deir Istiya and the next village meet, and where an illegal Israeli settlement, Revava, super-imposed itself many years ago. The farmer, whom we met in order to interview him, had discovered a great gaping hole in the landscape earlier that morning. When he had last been to his land a few days previously it had been a continuous hillside of olive groves, all waiting to be picked. Now a whole section of 500 trees had simply vanished – chopped down to the ground leaving only the shortest stumps, and a few large branches scattered on the land; everything else had been removed and a casual glance might indicate simply an open area of rough ground. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Sitting in the shade of remaining trees we began to catalogue the details, but it was a heart-breaking task: the farmer was overcome with grief and anger. I was brought up-to date with a string of attacks on Deir Istiya land, crops, people and animals so far this year, involving the destruction of 2,000 olive trees to date. On the same day the news came through on the Ma'an News Agency (worth googling to get news of what's happening here) that soldiers had shot dead the father of 7 young children and severely wounded a youth with a bullet in the neck after settlers had rampaged in their village near Nablus, not too far from here. Such attacks have certainly increased in their intensity. And what has Tony Blair had to say about any of these outrageous crimes?

Approach of the Olive Harvest
As the olive harvest approaches – the time when both employees and school children are given official time off to work in their fields and which is traditionally the climax of the year, both economically and culturally for this deeply rural society – everyone is fearful of intensified settler attacks to punish this people who dare to show their face on the world stage. It is the danger from those attacks that we in the International Women's Peace Service will seek to ameliorate. Next week is going to be very intense for the 3 of us who are in the house at present. We've already spent many hours on the phone with contacts in our region; we shall be liaising with the villages we know are particularly vulnerable; and we shall be making some preliminary visits. We shall be working closely with other international and Israeli groups whose work is similar to ours at this time, so as to provide a co-ordinated response: to provide a protective shield against attacks by our presence and by calling on appropriate help should attacks and obstructions occur. In this particular area of the mid-north West Bank those groups include the International Solidarity Movement (ISM), the Michigan Peace Team based in Huwarra near Nablus, Yesh Din and B'Tselem – 2 important Israeli human rights groups, the Ecumenical Accompaniers from the World Council of Churches who have 3 teams in this region of the West Bank, and perhaps most significantly, Rabbis for Human Rights who are the real outside experts with their close and regular contacts with many villages throughout the year. Some of these organisations bring in groups of olive pickers for the season, as we shall do. Olive picking was my first experience of Palestine back in 2005 (organized by the YMCA/YWCA in the Bethlehem area) and I still think it's the best introduction any outsider can have to this country. I would encourage anyone reading my newsletter to consider doing it. Here at IWPS we are responsible for liaising with 2 groups who will be coming from Austria and Britain. We shall be meeting them in Jerusalem in the next 2 weeks, entertaining and briefing them at our house and ensuring they then get out to the villages where they will pick for two weeks. We will keep in close touch with them and be available to react if there are settler or soldier problems. No doubt the olive harvest will be the subject of my next newsletter.

Re-opening the IWPS House
I was one of 3 IWPS volunteers who came here on 15th September to re-open the house after a closure of 3 months when there were not enough volunteers to see us through the summer. So I'm here with Heather from Yorkshire and Karin from Berlin. Next week we shall be joined by Marlene from France and then by Rada from Montenegro. Last year I was the only British volunteer here and everyone else who came during those 3 months was American. So we are a much more mixed bunch this year. We have had a busy, and I have to say often frustrating time getting the house fit to live and work in again and it has taken much energy and time. We are all dab hands at cleaning, clearing piles of rubbish, shopping and cooking and all such domestic necessities, but none of us has particular skills when it comes to getting computer systems working again. Frankly it's a nightmare – by far the most difficult and frustrating thing I have to do here. Please will some computer savvy women apply to become IWPS volunteers!

In one way or another domesticity has pre-occupied us greatly – far too much – and we can only hope it will fall into a natural place soon. The computer may remain a problem but I can assure you that we are looking after ourselves well, cooking delicious food, getting an adequate number of hours in bed each night, if not asleep, and even coping successfully with night time mosquitoes. Day time wasps are another matter when we eat al fresco in our courtyard.

We try to build in regular time for paying social visits to renew and extend our friendships in the village. From the first day that we ventured out from under the house dust, we began to enjoy the sweet mint tea and Arabic coffee offered us by neighbours as well as an occasional meal. Yesterday Heather and I had a delightful and most unexpected experience. We were out walking when a young boy we know by sight, Mustafa, who has tried to engage us with his beautiful big brown eyes on several occasions because he comes our way to play football in the street with our neighbours' boys, invited us shyly to his house down the hill. We were a bit uncertain because we didn't know whether the adults he was undoubtedly taking us to meet would want us there. He took us to the edge of the village we didn't know and all the time we were gathering more and more children on the way – in true Pied-Piper style. When we arrived at a row of houses with amazing views over the rolling hills that surround our village, Mustafa brought out 2 plastic chairs for us and sat himself on the car in front of one of the houses, looking expectantly at us. In no time at all other children and teenagers of both sexes emerged from the houses, and came up to shake our hands, smiling shyly or giggling nervously. Heather was very good at engaging them and getting them to teach us some simple Arabic vocabulary. Her vocabulary is at least double mine and growing fast. (She can even ring up local bus drivers and get them to come and pick us up at our house instead of waiting forever by the road side for buses that never come.) So this mutual entertainment lasted for some time. When it subsided we got up to go. Just then an older teenager came out and beckoned us forward towards one of the houses. We were taken over some very rough ground, up and down precarious steps, children in tow, until we reached the covered loggia of a house at the far end of the row. There to greet us was the familiar face of our taxi driver whom we use every Friday to go to the demonstration at An Nabi Saleh. This was our first social occasion with him. But not only him. Very quickly this small space became crowded with 20 close relatives – I counted them - and we rehearsed all their relationships in English and Arabic. They had all come together presumably for the regular late afternoon family ritual of talking and tea-drinking. Mustafa had brought us to his uncle's home and he proudly surveyed the scene as he watched the adult banter and chatter pass back and forth between the men, women, teenagers and little children. There were 3 generations sitting there – from old blind grandfather in traditional kaffieh head-dress in the corner to a variety of his 7 sons and 6 daughters and then his daughters-in-law and lots of grand-children. All of this extended family lived in this row of 7 houses and there were 70 altogether! No-one spoke much English but there was enough to communicate and laugh. Then Tony Blair's name was mentioned and we knew we were into politics again! One of the young women brought out a laptop and we were able to show her the IWPS website and its Youtube links to the demonstrations her uncle takes us to. After this, Heather and I signalled once again that we would go – we had to get back to our own computers. But no, we were foiled again by the family insistence that we take coffee with them – it was already made. So again we sat down. The sun was setting over the village when eventually Mustafa and his little following led us back up the hill until we recognised where we were. Then he quietly left us and we returned delighted with such a warm and unexpected acceptance into a very Arabic family tradition.

An Nabi Saleh
So tomorrow is Friday and I screw myself up as usual to go to An Nabi Saleh as I did last week - to the onslaught of gas, bullets, sound bombs, skunk water and a new weapon, "the scream". I described these demos in my newsletters last year, and will no doubt do so again later on. They are an important anchor in our week. I'll just say 2 things now:

Heather and I amused ourselves at last week's demo by indulging in the fantasy of taking clothes soaked in skunk water through Tel Aviv airport when we return home. That would be a spectacular thing to do – and wonderfully provocative. Although I have seen the vehicle that sprays this noxious stuff I have never personally been sprayed, but I am assured by those who have that the smell is not only unbearably foul but that it cannot be removed and clothes have to be burnt.

But far more seriously, my friend Naji Tamimi, whose house I have had many meals in, has been in prison since January and his cousin, Bassem, in a neighbouring house, is in the middle of his trial. Both are organizers in the Popular Committee Against the Wall in An Nabi Saleh (such committees exist in villages and towns all over the West Bank to protect themselves from settlements and to resist the Occupation). Both men are indicted on the evidence of young lads who were snatched from their beds in the middle of the night and illegally pressured and threatened to say what the Shabak wanted them to say in order to present a case against these 2 men. Naji is now serving his prison term in the Negev desert where conditions are very harsh. We went to have coffee with his wife, Bushra, before the demo. She is due to visit her husband next Monday – the first time in 2 months because of Ramadhan. She is allowed to take 3 of her 5 children and it is a long day's journey there and back on a bus with crowds of other prisoner families. Naji is due out in January but on the bus she meets women whose husbands/sons/brothers have been incarcerated for 20 years. Families have to talk to their loved ones behind a sheet of glass by phone. Only her youngest son, Hamoudi, can have direct physical contact with his father because he is under 6 years old. This family and this tiny community are paying a heavy price for their non-violent resistance. Many have paid a greater one. Almost every single person we talk to here has their own story of awful suffering when they open up. But Tony Blair isn't interested in any of it.

Gwen
29.9.2011

Newsletter from Deir Istiya 2
The Olive Harvest 2011

It's mid-October and we're in the thick of the olive harvest. It lasts for the whole of the month, different villages having their own starting dates, and by now almost all have begun. When a family own hundreds of trees it is a very long and arduous month. It's impossible to say how many trees can be picked in a day because the size of picking groups varies of course, and at weekends when every able-bodied member is on board, including young children and elderly members, an extended family can be many people. I was picking on a weekday with at least 12 members of an extended family. Also the trees vary enormously in their yield. It seems a good harvest this year and mature trees are dripping from every branch with the little green and black jewels. They are pulled off individually and have then to be separated from the twigs and leaves that fall with them before putting them into sacks, so it can take more than one hour for a large team of people to pick and pack the fruit of one bountiful tree, everyone working co-operatively doing different tasks from high in the tree to ground level. The tree is pruned at the same time and I watched the practice of "winnowing" the other day, which I've never seen before. The oldest woman there (considerably younger than me!) filled her bucket with the olives and their ditritus, held it high above her head and slowly dropped them onto the ground sheet. As the pile grew on the ground I realized that the falling process actually separated the olives from the leaves so she ended each bucketful with a pile of olives and a separate pile of leaves. I must have been watching an ancient, ancient practice – one which the machinery at most olive presses (often imported from Italy) has now made redundant.

I will now save myself a bit of time by pasting below an account I wrote a few days ago for the IWPS team about my experiences so far:
. . . . . The village is dead during the day with almost everyone, except the very old and infirm, and a few keeping essential services going, either at school, at work or in the fields. There is little unemployment at this time of the year in the countryside. Even the farm animals are silent, which seems to indicate that it's the donkeys (now in the fields) that provoke all the usual noise!

All 4 of us in the house have had at least one day out picking and have the feel for its rhythm, its camaraderie and its exhaustion. It's been particularly hot this week so full sun protection has been in order in the fields as even the trees don't provide that much shade and sometimes we have to walk a long way to them. So by the end of the day, when we return home covered in dust from the trees and the dirt of the earth, we are pouring with sweat, filthy dirty, and fit for nothing but a shower and a rest. It is a delight to work with families. The men shin up and down the trees, and use tall, substantial ladders that can reach every last high branch with a bit of stretching. We tend to keep to the lower branches. Every olive is stripped individually and since it appears to be a prolific harvest this year, each tree takes a long time, even with several people descending on it like a swarm of locusts. The olives fall with a gentle tap like falling rain onto large sheets spread below to catch them all. They are eventually scooped up into large piles so that at the end of the day they can easily be loaded into sacks to be carried by car or donkey back to the village for immediate milling. We have yet to witness this final process but we will do. The hot day is punctuated by frequent breaks for sweet tea and coffee, brewed in a black kettle that's constantly on the little fire nearby, and served in delicate glasses on the red earth. 11.30am seems to be the time for lunch and we are certainly ready for it – a banquet of mezze dishes, some warm, some cold, eaten with khoubis bread and washed down with icey water and coca-cola.

The work isn't hard in itself but to do it hour after hour from 7am to late afternoon and day after day, is very arduous, and of course, family members come and go, especially the children. I was with a family that was waiting all morning for their son to get out of bed and show his face - which he did about 2pm after sleeping off a hangover from drinking coffee in the Deir Istiya coffee-house until 3am! I've heard several young people complain bitterly about parental demands on them at this season. . . . . .

But in spite of all I have written above, we are not here to pick olives! We did so in the first days of the harvest to get a feel for the whole process and an understanding of what our role actually is. It is to try to make the most effective plans to get help to those farmers, in a wide regional area, who need the protection of internationals (and Israelis) who come into the country at this time every year to help with the picking. Olive harvesting is not a rural idyll for the many farmers who have the grave misfortune of needing to harvest their land close to settlements or behind the Wall – and who have had their land stolen in order to build these places. In this Salfeet/Nablus region we are mainly dealing with ideological settlers who are intent on disruption by one foul means or another. In other areas where farmers have to pass through an agricultural gate in the Wall they have the vagaries of army decisions to contend with: maybe the gate is only open at a particular time and this depends on the whims of the soldiers on duty, maybe permits to go through are given only to the elderly, maybe they are given permission for 3 three days when they need 10 etc.etc. It is the Rabbis for Human Rights in Israel that do a lot of the direct negotiations with the army and the "civil administration" which administers this military occupation regarding these problems.

In our area too there this considerable contact with the army on the ground. In the last week there have been 2 instances that we have been involved in when they have come and ordered the farmers to stop picking, both times at a weekend, the time of maximum opportunity to pick for families, but also the time this month of Jewish holidays of Yom Kipur and Sukkot when presumably the army operates on reduced man/womanpower. On the whole, our experience of soldiers on the ground has been friendly and it's clear that some Palestinians know their local regulars well.

It is the settlers who are most feared as their attacks are unpredictable, swift and vicious. They bring with them their dogs and their automatic weapons as they storm down from their hilltop strongholds to terrorise, slash and burn or steal the picked olives. If the police or army are there their presence is also unpredictable because sometimes they do act as a restraining influence and interpose themselves to keep off the marauders, but often they do not, standing by to watch the onslaught. It is these attacks which our presence as internationals (and in some areas, Israeli groups) is meant to deter. So you can imagine my wariness yesterday when, after picking for an hour or two on the slopes below the huge settlement bloc of Ariel, I suddenly realised we had reached the last line of trees and there in front of us was an outpost settlement. It was for this reason that I and 2 members of the Michigan Peace Team were helping this particular family (who have asked for protection for 10 days to keep them safe) because last year they were attacked from this outpost. We shall never know of course, but we can only assume that our presence is noted in the outpost settlement and they stay away. So far, with all the picking groups we are involved with, there have been no direct attacks on them. But I was out in the field when I received a call from a Palestinian friend in the village of Bruqin near Salfeet, to tell me that settlers had burned down 600 olive trees in broad daylight, just as the 3 affected farmers were about to start picking.

So, you might ask yourself, what can 4 women stuck in a house in Deir Istiya, none of whom have been here at olive harvest before, do! We can't save the world! This is the dilemma that constantly exercises our imaginations and this is what has happened so far:
One of us always stays in the house to receive any calls that may come through and to keep the home fires burning, so to speak.
We have all spent a bit of time in the fields, as described above, both in safe and in unsafe places.
We liaise with other international organizations here: particularly the Michigan Peace Team, a brave and tiny team of 2 people who have a house in the trouble spot of Huwarra near Nablus, and the International Solidarity Movement (ISM) who also have a small team of highly mobile people in Nablus. We also have contact with a field co-ordinator for Rabbis for Human Rights who is a Palestinian living in a village near here. Right now we are trying to deal with the inevitable tensions that arise within and between these groups and between us and Palestinians when trying to decide how best to spread around very limited resources when the needs are so widespread, diverse and unpredictable around the region. I'm sure that some-one could get a PhD in human resource management out of studying these dilemnas – and I would recommend that person for a Nobel Peace Prize if they could solve them.
Maybe our trump card lies with those people who arrive from a variety of countries to do the olive picking and who come prepared and trained to intervene in conflict situations. The only problem is that 1,000 more are needed. So in this village there are seasoned small groups coming each year from France, and last week a completely new group of 8 young Italians arrived. People in the village organise their movements but we have also picked with them and we socialise with them. IWPS liaises in a more hands-on way with 2 groups who are living in villages nearer to Nablus – a group of 6 Austrians and 2 French and a group of 18 people from Britain who are organized and trained by an ex IWPS volunteer. Both groups came to our house for half a day and we gave them a very respectable lunch to see them on their way, together with a briefing. Now they are living in very basic conditions in 3 villages and going out with families who need them. Our volunteers who have been out with them say there's a bit of a feel of the slave market about each morning's line-up when the mayor picks out 3 here and 4 there to go with each farmer. One of the questions we ask ourselves is whether these precious resources are always used as wisely and appropriately as possible or whether some families simply want as many hands on board as possible to get the work done. This is something we keep under review, especially as we get calls for bodies to go to other areas that are threatened. The groups themselves have to decide whether they are prepared to go to new places further afield, maybe with one of us, where they are more vulnerable. These are the issues of the moment. And since it is believed that our physical presence does actually deter settler attacks, we shall never know how effective we have been.

Meanwhile we are also dealing with other matters as well which may become the subject of another newsletter, chief among which are the growing movement in support of the many prisoners who are now on hunger strike in Israeli gaols, as well as the poisoned joy of those families whose loved ones are to be released in the coming days – but only into exile in a foreign country; and visiting 7 families in our neighbour village of Hares who have just received demolition orders on their houses.

I'll end this newsletter with a quotation sent me by John, my husband. It is by Miko Peled, the grandson of a Zionist leader who signed the Declaration of Independence in 1948 and whose father was an Israeli General in 1967 but later became a peace activist:
"So those people who want to associate themselves with Israel and drape themselves in the Zionist flag - the flag that has come to symbolise intolerance, hatred, racism, and brutality - they can feel free to do so. But, they need to know this: that when the trials begin and the tribunals take place, and when the truth and reconciliation commission begins its work and they are finally shamed into admitting they were wrong, they need to remember to go down on their knees and beg forgiveness from the people they so greatly wronged."


Gwen
15th October 2011

Newsletter from Deir Istiya 3
More Stories from the Occupation

Autumn is definitely drawing in. Sure signs are extra blankets on beds and something over the arms in the evenings. We are getting some overcast days too – but still no rain and the olives are disappointingly small this year. But olive picking is still hot and thirsty work and we are still eating all our meals al fresco in our peaceful courtyard – long may that last!

This newsletter will be a collection of stories taken from the last few weeks covering the painful issues of house demolitions, settlement expansion and the price paid by individual human beings for this interminable Occupation. Some of you may be disappointed that I don't cover the great issues of the moment such as the crucial political debates about statehood and strategy for achieving it, or the release deal of more than a thousand Palestinian prisoners in return for Gilad Shalit (is one Israeli worth 1,026 Palestinians, and where have the personal details and suffering of just one of them appeared in the mainstream western press?) I don't do so because unfortunately I have not been a witness to these events. I wish I had been at a fantastic party at An Nabi Saleh where we go for weekly demos to welcome back 2 of their 4 released prisoners. We were invited but I was in Bil'in and the other volunteers were out picking olives. If you want to watch these amazing scenes of communal rejoicing and emotional outpouring welcoming back long-term political prisoners then have a look at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gK90dhiOeE&feature=related
It is like nothing we ever experience in our own communities. I am the poorer for missing it.
The week before that, I was in An Nabi Saleh when the weekly demonstration started by marching to the home of a prisoner whose name was not on the release list and whose family will not know the joy of reunion. There, there was another outpouring of emotion, of grief and solidarity with the weeping women as they held high his photo. And then there are the families of the other 2 prisoners from An Nabi Saleh – those who have been released but exiled to Jordan and Gaza. Our own mayor, a Fatah member, described the deal as "shameful" because of the savage terms that send so many into exile for so long. Palestinians wait with baited breath for the list of names on the next wave of releases. They also fear the calls of some Israeli politicians for the extra-judicial killing of some of those being released.
Let me say here that every Palestinian family has experience of imprisonment. More than a half of all men have been in prison at some point in their lives and this is not because Palestinians are excessively violent people – actually it is the experience of all who come to Palestine, that the Palestinians are incredibly patient, long-suffering, steadfast and generous-spirited. It is because "they have a fire burning deep in their hearts", to quote our mayor, which is aimed, in most cases, not at Jews as individuals or as a group, but at the Occupation policies of the Israeli Zionist state which seeks to take what is not theirs to have. The prisoners (many of whom have been abducted and held for their non-violent political and community organizing and have either never been tried or tried by military tribunals in a sham trial process after routine abuse and humiliation) represent the heart of the resistance and the harsh price that has to be paid. The release of prisoners is a central and most urgent issue. There will still be more than 6,000 of them left inside when this exchange is complete, plus the bodies of some 300 who have died in prison and were never returned to their families for burial.

Bil'in
So let me begin my stories in Bil'in because there I was to witness yet another abduction of a non-violent resister which may well turn into full prisoner status. His case makes me wonder if the Israelis are intent upon filling up their empty prison cells with new victims. My Liverpool Palestine support group is twinned with Bil'in and we have several good friends there. So I went to stay with one of them last weekend on the 3 days 'holiday' I took. I was warmly welcomed including in the school where I helped with an English class. Our group has sent 2 English teachers to the village over the last year and in each case the villagers who met them fell in love with them. A third teacher will go in the new year and no doubt will receive similar warmth. (If any language teacher reading this would like to know about our programme of sending teachers to Bil'in I'd be only too happy to talk with you.)
Rani
While on the Friday demo, I introduced myself to Rani, a young man in a wheelchair who can always be found in the front line and who is one of their photographers – cameras are one of the most effective weapons against the soldiers. I knew his eyes would light up when I said I was a friend of Suzy and Keiko (our 2 teachers) and I was not disappointed. The next day I was round at his house and had to refuse lunch as I already had that fixed up elsewhere. Rani was shot in the neck and permanently paralysed (very lucky to be alive) when he was taking part in one of the spontaneous demonstrations that erupted everywhere when Sharon and his army swaggered onto the Haram-al-Sharif (Temple Mount) in Jerusalem's Old City (the site of the 2 holiest places to Islam in this country) which sparked off the second intifada in September 2000. He survived but is severely disabled and confined for life to his wheelchair. In Liverpool we had responded to an appeal put out by the village, for donations to replace this chair. Now old and a veteran of years of weekly demonstrations over rough ground, the chair is definitely beyond its useful life. Rani is not getting the support for his body that he needs and is suffering unnecessarily. His young wife who speaks some English explained that the replacement will have to come from Israel and that its price is equivalent to a small car. Donations so far raised have come nowhere near the price. Hainadi married Rani only 4 years ago and I was very moved when she explained that although she was a city girl, used to the freedom and independence that gave her, it was love at first sight for her when she met Rani at her sister's wedding in Bil'in and she had to persuade him to marry. She told him off however when he asked her parents for her hand in marriage before asking her! She finds life in the village quite frustrating but is determined, in spite of having 3 year old triplets, to pick up her interrupted studies again. So they share the care of the little ones, together with his family who live nearby. Surviving on a tiny government disability benefit ('it doesn’t even cover the cost of feeding and clothing the children') and help from the extended family, there is no way they can afford such a "luxury" as a new wheelchair. So I shamelessly appeal in a second way for your consideration for Bil'in.
Ashraf
I was much chastened in Bil'in that weekend – not only by Rani but by Ashraf. Lagging behind on the demonstration to take photos, I was caught up by a young man in a brightly coloured baseball cap and a large flag, walking slightly awkwardly, who immediately took me under his wing and motioned me to follow him taking a short cut to join the main body of the crowd. I was then introduced to him by my friend as Ashraf Abu Rahme, and immediately I knew who he was. He was the younger brother of Bassem, killed 18 months ago by a high velocity tear-gas canister in the chest, and of Jawaher, who died on new year's day this year from an overdose of tear gas as she stood on the balcony of her home. He was also the man I saw on video, bound and blind-folded as a soldier standing over him pointed his gun at his foot and shot it to pieces. I didn't know what to say to Rani and was suddenly overcome. Later that afternoon, as I was helping construct the usual email in English that goes out around the world after Friday demonstrations, I was shown all the photos that had been taken that afternoon. And there was a series of Ashraf, some time after we had parted, taken as he stood solitary with his flag in the air, in the path of oncoming army jeeps as they invaded Bil'in lands yet again. He stood to oppose their entrance to the village and reminded me for all the world of the famous photo of the flag-waver who stopped the tanks in Tiennenam Square and who paid a terrible price for doing so. The next photos show his arrest, being bundled into one of the jeeps handcuffed and driven off. The next news of him was contained in an email from Bil'in a week later:

Thursday, 27 October 2011
Military Court Orders the Indefinite Remand of Bil'in Protester who was Shot while Bound and Blindfolded in 2008
A military judge ordered the indefinite remand of long time Bil'in activist, Ashraf Abu Rahmah, on a trumped up stone-throwing charge. This despite testimonies and video evidence to the contrary. Abu Rahmah is the brother of Bassem and Jawaher Abu Rahmah, both killed by the army while demonstrating peacefully in Bil'in.
Captain Tzvi Frenkel, a military judge at the Ofer Military Court, ordered the indefinite extension of Ashraf Abu Rahmah's arrest, until the end of legal procedures against him. Abu Rahmah was arrested during a demonstration last Friday and indicted by the military prosecutor on Tuesday. The indictment charges Abu Rahmah with participating in an unpermitted procession and throwing stones at soldiers, both based on testimonies by two soldiers, among them a battalion commander who claimed to have identified him from a distance of 150 meters.
The judge ordered the extension of Abu Rahmah's arrest despite extensive evidence brought up by the defense to dispute the charges. The court was presented with two affidavits, by a B'Tselem employee and a lawyer who were present at the scene. The depositions stated that Abu Rahmah did not, at any stage, partake in the stone-throwing. Video footage supporting the affidavits was also filed, showing Abu Rhamah's arrest. The video clearly depicts him walking peacefully towards the jeeps holding a flag, and the soldiers initially ignoring him.
Abu Rahmah himself was the subject of gross military misconduct, when shot in the foot by soldiers while bound and blindfolded at the entrance to the village of Ni'ilin on July 7th, 2008. The event was caught by tape, and caused vast international outrage.

Now in the early stages of interrogation, he will almost certainly be being physically and mentally abused because that is standard practice. He can now be held indefinitely without trial in administrative detention, (joining the 700 odd others in that limbo) or they can eventually bring him to a hearing in a military tribunal where the only evidence against him will be from IDF soldiers, or he could be released at any time in the middle of the night many miles away from home. I suspect he may be one of the many who are daily being picked up in similar ways around the West Bank who will soon fill up the 1,026 empty Israeli cells.
And the final picture I want to give you of our twinned community is of the children. I read something recently which haunted me and I would like to share it with you. It's written by Abed Khaled, the young son of Iyad Bornat, the head of the Popular Committee Against the Wall and Settlements, who has been a leading activist and proponent of non-violent resistance over many years, not only in Bil'in but around the West Bank. He has just had his visa denied, yet again, by the British government for a speaking tour this autumn.

“WE WANT TO SLEEP”: 10 YEAR OLD ABED KHALED SPEAKS OUT
Ten year old Abed Khaled, Iyad's son, is the second boy of four children. He is short in size, but strong and fierce in his choice of words.
"Every week I go to the demonstrations. I have been going for two years. Often I carry Palestine's flag, shouting “No, no to the wall!” You know, I am not afraid of the soldiers. Except for this one time when they threw a sound bomb in between my legs and I ran straight back home. What can we do?
I fear most for my father's life. I hope to God that He will save him. He is often away from home, busy with the Popular Committee's activities. He hardly sleeps, fearing another invasion or arrest.
I wonder why they occupied our land. We didn't do anything! We have to continue the demonstrations to show we are against them and that they have no business being here.
I think my life is sometimes good, sometimes bad. If I feel free, playing with my friends for example, I enjoy a good life. But when the army comes, things are dangerous and unpredictable. They can come at any time and I never know what the soldiers might do. My home is the place where I feel most safe, surrounded by my parents, in the company of my brothers and sisters. This has changed since the night raids however. So far, the army has invaded our house five times already, always at night.
This one time, me and my brothers were sleeping, while my mother and sister were out. We woke up at the loud blast of a sound bomb. Soldiers were trying to force their way into our home. I left my bedroom to see what was going on, even though my father told me to go to bed. Just before the soldiers entered the house, I gathered everyone's passports and held them in my pocket. Apparently, we had visitors in the house, but they were not allowed to film or take pictures. Soldiers even tried to destroy their cameras. But I have a camera in my phone, so I started filming all these scary shouting faces, making a mess and destroying the place. The captain was on to me quickly and hit me to get my phone. He said that people filming would get arrested. I told him “Fuck you, I am not afraid! This is my phone, not yours, don't touch it!” I was angry and continued shouting, “what are you doing here? I can film in my home!” An international woman interfered to protect me, asking why they were so rough with a child. They left me alone. At that time, my six year old brother was very scared, hiding under the covers of his bed. I went in to comfort him. The soldiers left after half an hour, but neither of us managed to sleep that night.
Shortly after, all the children of Bilin held a demonstration for the army protesting against the frequent night raids and the chanting “We want to sleep!”

Threats of home demolitions
From the bright sunlight and burning olive groves of Bil'in I want to make a sudden switch to a darkened garden under a starlit sky near the edge of our neighbouring village of Hares during a beautiful balmy evening in early October.
Two of us were called to Hares by a group of families who had just been served with house demolition orders. We saw some of the 7 families whose houses were at stake and were shown their official demolition papers giving them until 31st October (tomorrow) to lodge any complaints – if they have any. All 7 houses were situated either in the east or the western parts of the village – in Area C. The houses are in the village and built on the owners' land, but the nightmare carving up of the West Bank into Areas A, B and C that was imposed and shamefully agreed under the Oslo Agreements of the mid 90s has slowly but surely aided in the destruction of Palestinians' ability to govern themselves. Area C covers more than 60% of the West Bank and is under total Israeli control. Area B, or 30% of the land, is under Palestinian control regarding civil administration but subject to Israeli security. The remains of the carve-up are the cities and towns where the Palestinian Authority (PA) has nominal control – though in practice all areas are subject to military incursions, raids and curfews as recent destruction in a Nablus refugee camp proves. Hares, like many villages in this region, has the misfortune to be partly in B and partly in C. The 30% of it in C means that a great many houses are vulnerable to demolition orders at any time. This is the background to our evening in a Hares garden.
We had been told where one of the affected families lived so we went to find them, unaccompanied and unannounced. All the other houses are in different stages of construction, some with and some still without rooves. This one has been a home for 22 years. Here is an account I wrote to my husband John that same evening:
Karin and I walked in the pitch dark down a track and almost into an olive grove before seeing ahead of us 2 people sitting quietly on the track and talking. We had walked straight into someone's garden and interrupted their quiet time together. In spite of total strangers approaching unannounced in the dark they stood up and graciously greeted us as soon as we called out "Salaam alaykum" - a young man and older woman who smiled and addressed us in English - what a relief! Their chairs were handed over to us and a small group of teenage girls soon gathered around. It was clear that here was a different situation from the other half-built structures. This family home, with what we could see of a lovely vine-shaded garden in the dark, was built 22 years ago by the father, who was the only person absent from the group, but to whom the demolition order had been issued. He was away and had already been to get legal help, time being very short as the whole family were due to go to Jordan on the 16th for the marriage of the second daughter. He had built the house and the family had moved back from Jordan to live in it 12 years ago. As we talked it became clear that this was a close-knit, highly intelligent and competent family. Their life must have been shattered 2 days ago and yet none of them showed any outward sign of this. While fully acknowledging what had happened to them they remained good-natured, quiet and communicative. When our business was done we were brought washed fruit to eat and began to get to know each other personally. They urged us to stay and talk and I would happily have done so but it was getting late and we had received a call that soldiers had just entered Deir istiya. Before we left the oldest daughter, Lena, who has a part-time job in an local accountants' office after finishing her university degree, said she would write to me on email (since - to her surprise - I wasn't on Facebook) and after the family's return from Jordan her mother would invite us to share the traditional dish, machasaan, made at this time of the year with the new season's olive oil. As we said goodbye and promised to keep in touch, tears suddenly welled up and I could hardly speak. I really can't bear the thought that this most gracious, cultivated, and gentle household will one day be the victims of the savagery that will deprive them forever of their peaceful home and security. I looked away to the garish distant lights of the Barqan industrial settlement and then up into the night sky with its myriad of more distant lights, but just as cold, and with Karin walked slowly and silently away

Breakfast with soldiers
Finally, an olive harvest story, since we are still very much into the harvest season, which, we are told, could go to the latter part of November. The farmer is also, as it happens, from Hares and 2 of us spent a day picking with him alone last Tuesday. We wouldn't have missed it for anything – a real day to remember and muse over.
Abu Ahmed (not his real name) is a rough-hewn, delightful and highly communicative 64 year old farmer and ex-teacher whose dear wife ("she's a very good, woman, very good woman. I'm very fortunate") is not well enough to pick and whose 10 children are all in Jordan or Jerusalem. He has got his permit from the army to pick on his own land for 15 days. He needs protective help now because he's starting with those trees that remain right next to the illegal colony of Revava – a hill-top settlement established 20 years ago that has taken large tracts of land both from Hares and Deir Istiya. We were to pick inside the security zone of the settlement and sure enough there was the bright red earth track they have constructed for themselves for the settlement security and army vehicles to patrol. And to prove that we had the gracious permission of the army, there were 2 soldiers waiting for us as a welcoming party. We were within a few hundred feet of the first houses and could see the children swinging in their garden and men working on a roof.
Much of Revava has been built on Abu Ahmed's land. Speaking in both limited English and Arabic (my friend Rada has an Arabic degree, which is a wonderful bonus) he reminisced about the days when his parents and other Hares families would walk here to this most fertile land where they had hundreds of trees and would sleep in small stone houses, the remains of which we saw cheek by jowl with the shiny European style estate houses over the wall. His father had planted pine-trees for shade, only one remaining now where we had our breakfast, and it was always cool in this place. The good-natured retired teacher waxed lyrical about the good old days. He also pointed out that the thorny scrubland and dense undergrowth that surrounded us, and which we had to battle with all day, had once been immaculate ploughed terraces, yielding the best olives, taking weeks for whole families to pick. Over the years more and more trees had been uprooted and less and less access to the land allowed for maintenance. Now it looked more like an overgrown wasteland buffer zone to the settlement behind us than an olive grove. And now even the scrubland has been removed in places along the security path for the building of more houses. So the security path will then need to be moved and more trees destroyed and more land stolen.
Abu Ahmed is also a poet and he later waxed lyrical and passionate with his own love poetry which Rada was able to translate, as all of us balanced up in the branches of one of the few prolific trees that are still left. I watched as he made generous gesticulations to accompany the words, hacksaw for pruning in one hand, and listened as his melodious voice resonated from deep inside. It was a wonderful moment.
As we got to work at 8am – the time we had been allotted by the army instead of 2 hours earlier when most farmers would begin – we heard a cheery "good morning" and looking round, we answered to a jogger in a kippa cap using the security path for his morning circuit. "Good morning" we said automatically. Who are these people who have taken Abu Ahmed's land; who have impoverished so many native families living the other side of the main road and imprisoned their lives? Who are the tens of thousands who live in serried ranks of housing that tumble down the rolling hills of Salfeet, miles and miles away from the Israeli border (which it doesn't recognize as a border) or in English estate–type houses with neat red rooves in this Arab region of the world? In Nofim, Immanuel, Yakir, Brukim, Barqan, Kiryat Netafim, Kana Shamron and the 'city' of Ariel, which even boasts a university - their names go on and on apparently ad infinitum - and these are only the colonies in our immediate area.
We sat down to breakfast at about 10.30 under the one pine tree left standing, and so too did the soldiers – the standard grey plastic chairs provided for their comfort from the settlement. They declined 2 invitations from us – one from Abu Ahmed to share his breakfast, and one from me to rescue them from the boredom of their day by helping us pick olives. It seemed that for hours they chatted with the young man in the T-shirt who drove the settlement security vehicle round and round the red earth track.
"Why are you here?" I asked as we packed up our breakfast remains. The ensuing conversation went something like this:
"To protect you and them" pointing to the houses behind. "We're only picking olives – they don't have to fear us. Are they going to attack us?" No answer. "Anyway, why are you here – I mean on this farmer's land?" Abu Ahmed told them that his grandfather had planted many trees – this one where we all had breakfast for example - "I remember helping him when I was a boy". One soldier looked uncomfortable, the other irritated and never joined the conversation – maybe he didn't understand either Arabic or English. "Where are you from?" "Yemen – my grandmother spoke Arabic and I learnt it from her. I live near Tel Aviv, not here." "So what are you doing here?" "I want peace but I have to obey orders. I have kids and I need to feed them. I have no choice. If I didn't obey orders I'd be in prison". I bit my tongue and resisted an overwhelming desire to remind him that I'd heard those words somewhere before to justify another crime against humanity. My friend made conciliatory noises – she felt sorry for him – and Abu Ahmed was positively oozing peace. I took a step back and shut up, taking my cue from the man who had to live permanently with his oppressors long after I have left here; he needs to get access to his land next year too. It was a delicate moment and he handled it beautifully. "These soldiers are good – what can they do? It is all decided by America anyway". But afterwards, in the thorns surrounding his olive tree, he suddenly said: "Sometimes you have to kiss the dog in its mouth." Now dogs are regarded as unclean animals here and that is a very strong thing to come out with. Abu Ahmed was giving us much to think about.
There were two more human interactions which added their spice to the day. An hour or so later the young security guard suddenly appeared in the middle of our thorny tree bearing 3 plastic cups of steaming coffee. "Do you want sugar?" he cheerily asked as we took them, completely abashed!
And as a parting shot before we had to leave the land at 4 o'clock – a whole hour before dusk set in, but I guess the day is long enough for armed soldiers who have nothing to do – a third soldier, a big burly man, appeared from his jeep along the red earth track, jumped out and hailed Abu Ahmed as if he were his long lost father. "Good work ya zalame (roughly translated as a friendly greeting "my man"). "Is this your land?" "Yes, it is" came the reply, "and so is the land over there", pointing to the settlement. "Keep up the good work then", came the response before our soldier jumped back into his comfort zone, and drove off.
All for now.

Gwen
31st October 2011

Newsletter from Deir Istiya 4
Memorable Visits

Today has been memorable for two visits I made to women in Deir Istiya. I will begin and end this newsletter with them.
Village Tragedy
Last Wednesday, the 9th November, we had just arrived home from a day in the olive fields when the phone went and a friend told us of a tragic death that had just happened on the main road that skirts our village and services the many settlements in the area. A Deir Istiya man, travelling home with his laden donkey after a day picking olives, had been knocked down and killed instantly, together with his donkey, by a settler driver. Abdul Hakim was 45 years of age and had 5 children between 11 years and 3 months. We didn't know him but we were very shaken. His funeral was next morning as is the custom in Moslem countries and only men attend. However, one of our volunteers did witness the long procession as it passed under our balcony to his burial place on a small piece of land in view of our window. Small clusters of graves are scattered around the village in individual family plots. Although she doesn't attend her husband's funeral, it is the widow's role to receive an endless stream of guests pouring through her doors, especially in the first three days but for a long time after that too. We decided to wait a little and asked a friend to go with us to translate and guide us, and in trepidation Karin and I went to convey our condolencies and sadness this morning.
All the family were at home, it being a public holiday to mark "Palestine Independence Day" – a somewhat premature holiday I would have thought. Rania, the young widow in her thirties, met us with the baby in her arms, in a dignified and sombre silence. She hardly spoke and her face remained expressionless for a long time. But she kindly and properly acknowledged our halting words, breast-feeding her baby boy as her other children played around her. The other 2 little boys, aged 3 and 6, had strong facial features, as did the baby, and I could imagine exactly how their father must have looked. What a terrible and incomprehensible loss has struck at the heart of this close family. We were told that the 3 year old has suddenly and for the first time become occasionally aggressive towards the baby – he used to spend all his time with his daddy when he was at home and followed him everywhere. By our standards, boys and young men here are remarkably open and free in expressing physical warmth towards their younger family members, carrying babies around, kissing and cooing at them and giving them enormous amounts of attention. It's a delight to watch. Now, this bright-eyed little 3 year old was really struggling, as they all were. Soon they were joined by their aunt, the sister of the dead man and 4 of her children, so the room filled with the chaotic noise and movement of this small crowd, which formed the general background to the rest of our long visit.
We were told about Rania's circumstances. She had come to the village on her marriage from Jordan where all her family still lives. She has no blood relative here but, as the wife of the only son in the family, she has the responsibility of caring for his elderly mother who lives with them. At one point this old lady crossed the threshold and we glimpsed a wild looking person in an advanced stage of alzheimer's. The dead man has 3 married sisters in Deir Istiya so it is to be hoped that they will take over some responsibility for their mother, even if it is only for periods of respite care, and that they will be able to support in other ways too. As for Rania's own relatives, she can't travel to Jordan to be with them and they have to obtain travel documents ("one in a hundred applications is granted") to come here. The whole scene strongly impressed on me the totally different culture I was in and the supreme importance and centrality of community and family. But who will care for this bereaved family financially in this country that's too poor to have a safety net of benefits? Will there be compensation from the Israeli side? These are questions that, although asked, I did not get an answer to.
Below I am pasting a report that was written by one of our volunteers which highlights the way the Occupation helps to create and impinges upon this tragedy:
The village of Deir Istiya today mourns the loss of Abdul Muttaleb Muhammad Hakim, a 45-year-old father of 5 who was killed in a traffic collision. He was on the way home from his sister’s olive grove, accompanied by his brother-in-law, who escaped the accident unharmed.
The crash happened at around 5.20pm on Wednesday 9 November on route 5066 in close proximity of the entrance to the settlement of Revava. It appears that Hakim was crossing the road when he was hit at full speed, pulling behind him the family’s donkey, which was also killed in the crash. According to Israeli soldiers who attended the scene, the driver of the car, a female settler, sustained injuries and was reportedly taken to hospital for treatment.
With the sole objective of servicing the transportation needs of Israel’s illegal settlements in the West Bank, route 5066 is part of the road network connecting those settlements with each other as well as providing convenient commuter links to the other side of the Green Line. These roads cut through Palestinian land paying no consideration to the needs of the rural Palestinian population in those areas. Badly lit and with no walkways or designated crossings, the road on which Hakim was killed has been the scene of a number of accidents over the past few years, involving pedestrians, who are invariably Palestinian, as well as lifestock.
Residents of the villages of Deir Istiya, Haris and Kifl Haris have long complained about the lack of safety measures to protect people forced to walk along these roads which encircle their villages, and which are often the only available access route for farmers to reach their land, sandwiched between ‘settler only’ colonies at the top of the hills and busy roads at the bottom. In many cases, individual farmers’ properties have literally been cut in half, meaning that during harvest times entire families have to keep crossing these dangerous roads.
This was a tragic accident waiting to happen, and it is symptomatic of the reality of the Occupation. Destroying thousands of acres of Palestinian farm land in the process, Israel’s illegal settlement construction is developing an infrastructure that clashes violently with its environment, and incidents like these are just one of many terrible consequences.
The End of the Olive Harvest
The olive picking season is all but over though I'm hoping to squeeze in one more day with any willing family who is still at it. All the international groups have gone home and it appears that the great fears that were around at the beginning of the season about increased settler attacks and violence have not materialised during the crucial picking time, though that is in no way to minimize the disgusting criminal acts we witnessed before the harvest: the felling and the burning of many hundreds of trees that were about to be picked in 2 nearby villages.
It's time now to write a detailed report for the IWPS team on this year's harvest arrangements and then to change gear and return to a more normal routine of facing the issues of the Occupation. Right now I have a sense of anti-climax and sadness and no doubt, though for different reasons, I'm not the only one, as this year's harvest has been mediocre. There have been plenty of olives but they have been small and hard. The rains have come too late to swell the fruit and the price is depressed.
But the rains have now come with a vengeance – and so has winter. I am wrapped up in as many clothing layers as during any winter at home, but we don't have the benefit of a warm house so sit here huddled in blankets with electric bar heaters eating up the electricity. When it rains it pours and water tumbles from broken pipes and enters the house in all sorts of unexpected places. We need to get onto the roof and clean the gutters out – but I'll leave that to some-one else! The winds can be strong and cold. In compensation, the sun still shines sometimes and the ground has suddenly become carpeted in bright green shoots. Everywhere green growth spurts and it looks like Spring is here. Sadness mixed with frustration is also present because we are going to have to close this house again at Christmas time for a few months for lack of experienced volunteers.

My Weekend Away
Last weekend I had a much anticipated break and took myself off to visit friends in Bethlehem and Halhul, which is just north of Hebron in the south of the West Bank. Halhul can boast of being the highest inhabited place in the West Bank, and as soon as I alighted from the bus I felt the drop in temperature. This region is known more for its grapes than its olives and at Ahmed's family home they were dripping on the late vines. I came away burdened down with generous bunches of black and blushing pink ones. I also came away with a sense of joy from meeting the grandchildren of Ahmed's parents who live in the neighbouring houses and pay daily visits. They shyly eyed me up and down from the furthest corners of their sofas and then gradually begin to relax and express their curiosity in surprisingly good English. We sang songs together of the "Heads and shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes" variety which they learn in school, and they asked me lots of intelligent questions. All the extended family speaks English except Ahmed's mother (which is a pity as we sat silently together) and we had an easy and delightful communication. Inevitably the translated conversation with his mother got around to Ahmed's status as a single man at 40. She urged me to find him a wife, as Ahmed reiterated his refusal. There must be quite a ritual pattern to this conversation – we've covered the same ground on previous visits!
I have written about Ahmed before. His email address is "drama-ahmed" and he lives up to it in that he creates drama both as a therapy for his school students living under occupation and as an aid to understanding science. As well as being a waiter in a Bethlehem hotel by night (where I first met him), he is a senior science teacher by day. He has successfully created and used a link with a group of teachers in the Republic of Ireland to exchange ideas and to help buy extra science, computing and media resources in order to develop teaching methods in his own school. As science co-ordinator for all schools in the Halhul area, he is in a good position to disseminate these ideas. A group of Irish teachers had just been over. It seemed they have together created a really successful and beneficial twinning relationship and one that could be studied and emulated in other places.
The ever-resourceful Ahmed also took me into the bowels of his parents' house to show me the 2 rooms he keeps for genetic experimentation on canaries. (Two more rooms down there were full of newly picked olives and woodpiles of winter fuel.) He has cages full of the most delicately shaded and well-bred birds, and it is the challenge he has set himself to reproduce pure white birds that can be sold for the highest prices (200 shekels), which pleases him no end. He is carrying out painstaking research based on observation of colour characteristics around the eyes alone. He plans that this will become his "life project" when he retires from teaching in 6 years' time.
Sleeping by the Wall in Bethlehem
I have written several times and in different contexts about Claire Anastas and her family in Bethlehem. I met her in 2005 on my first visit here when a group of us from Women to Women for Peace discovered that the Wall was being built around her house. At that time one had a sense of how things had always been in that area of the northern entrance to Bethlehem. She lived on one of the busiest roads in the country – the inter-city dual carriageway from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, going on to Hebron in the south. The family had had 3 flourishing businesses servicing tourists and pilgrims and there were noisy street stalls where villagers would bring their surplus produce to sell. Almost opposite the house stood the Tomb of Rachel, the wife of Jacob, and a shrine sacred to all 3 religions. It used to be surrounded by tall cyprus trees and a little garden. All that has now changed: the Israeli Apartheid Wall, which surrounds the whole of the West Bank and Gaza, imprisoning the entire population, has a particularly convoluted route around Bethlehem as it cuts off the city and the southern West Bank from the capital city and from the north. The major checkpoint which controls all movement from the south into Jerusalem and has cut off most people from their own capital, has been built a few hundred yards away from the Anastas' home. Rachel's Tomb has been taken over as a Jewish-only shrine and is now on the other side of the Wall, accessible only from the encroaching settlement of Gilo. The Jerusalem to Hebron highway has been severed in a number of places, and vehicles that inadvertently wander into the now dead-end system of darkened alleyways simply have to turn round and go back. At the bottom of that dead-end stands the home of the extended Anastas family, surrounded on 3 sides by the 9 metre concrete monster where no-one can see them and hardly anyone ventures. In spite of that Claire and Johnny with their 5 children, his brother George and his family and their elderly and ailing mother still hang on living there with no alternative place to go. With multiple health and financial problems their lives are desperate, but in spite of this they have started a small B&B business and a small but beautiful shop linked to a website (www.claire-bethlehem.com)
Although I have visited them several times I have not stayed overnight before. So last weekend I spent 2 nights and found myself in the company of an Ecumenical Accompanier from Norway who had brought his 2 teenage children over here to give them a taste of life under occupation, and 2 other Scandinavians who were working at Bir Zeit University. (EAs are volunteers with a programme of accompaniment and human rights monitoring under the auspices of the World Council of Churches.) This was a good weekend for business but often there is no-one staying. The accommodation is good – en-suite facilities on a separate floor from the family, a comfortable guest sitting room and kitchen and freedom to either spend time with the family or to be completely independent. I decided to enjoy the luxury of sleeping in, late breakfasts and lazy reading. It was the last time we saw the sun so I'm glad I spent 2 whole mornings on their terrace even if I could only see the blue sky above me. There used to be a wonderful view over Bethlehem and beyond from this terrace – now only the concrete Wall rises in your face blocking out everything. Granted, the lower areas are covered in colourful messages and pictures painted over the years by visiting groups and graffiti artists to give a cheery outlook; but they are mocking splashes of colour to those who can't walk away from this entombment. At night I have never known such a deathly hush as is here in this place. In Deir Istiya the evening can be quite a noisy extension of the day: people walking past the window talking in groups, children playing and shouting, tractors and other vehicles rumbling by, the braying of donkeys, bleeting of sheep and barking of dogs. Here on the ex-highway from the capital city is absolute silence and no movement. It is indeed the sound of the grave.
Evening Benediction
The second visit that Karin and I made today was one we have just returned from at 9.30pm. Again, it was to the home of a single woman – but this one was for very different reasons. Badriya, a retired head-teacher from the village primary school, belongs to that extremely rare breed of women in Palestine who have refused to marry, preferring to stay living in the house of her birth with her parents and caring for them until their death, but also pursuing her career uninterrupted and caring for the children of others rather than her own. Since retirement a few years ago she has enjoyed the freedom to travel, which she loves. She particularly enjoys visits to brothers in the Gulf States and to long-standing French friends in Rennes who have just been here to help with the olive harvest. Badriya is a fantastic cook and it is embarrassing to feel one can never do justice to the extraordinary variety of dishes she presents at her banquets. Living alone, she gives the remainders to her neighbours. And there are also 2 other distinguishing features about this severe-looking but wonderfully human and kind woman. She smokes like a chimney and as a consequence has developed a damaged throat and a man's deep voice. She is also a proud gardener. I have only seen her vast garden by starlight and torchlight as she insists that we go home laden with the many types of oranges, small and large, that grow in her orchard, plus lemons, guavas and fruit I have never seen before. Tonight we picked by the light of an upside-down half moon and walked home with our booty, which included, as well as fruit, the remains of a particularly delicious spicey cous-cous and chick-pea dish. As we walked home, bidding goodnight to everyone we passed on the way, I was aware of feeling a particular connection with this village which becomes engraved on the heart, and I was glad that Badriya is off enjoying herself in Jordan at the weekend.
Gwen
15th November 2011

Newsletter from Deir Istiya 5

Deir Istiya in Context – some Overviews


Every day we check our house emails where we get information about what is happening around us from a variety of sources, Palestinian, Israeli and international. I have decided to share a random sample of them with you that have come in during November.

The first is from a brief email sent by one of our volunteers immediately after returning home to France. She was struggling to write a report about some of her experiences here:

"I have started work on my report . . . but it's slow going : I have some trouble getting over the Deir Istiya experience because never before, in all my previous stays, have I felt this terrible weight of hate and contempt and crime, as I did last month. Writing in this context is not easy."

Maybe you will get some sense of what she means by reading the following extracts from our inbox. "In Occupied Palestine" is a daily summary of violations of human rights. I quote here only the introduction: each email then goes on to list exact times and places of every attack on the list. It also has a heading "Palestinian attacks" – Almost every day (but not always) there is a single word entry: "None".


In Occupied Palestine

Zionism in practice
Israel’s Daily Toll on Palestinian Life, Limb, Liberty and Property

72 hours to 8am 19 November 2011
Main source of statistics: Palestinian Monitoring Group (PMG).

Israeli Navy opens fire on Palestinian fishing boats
Incursion: Israeli forces bulldoze crops in Rafah
Night raid: Israeli soldiers abduct 3 minors aged 13 to 17
Zionist fanatics assault olive harvesters in Hebron
Armed Zionist terrorists attack target in Nablus
Israeli Army opens fire on Khan Yunis
Nablus: Israeli troops shoot their way into homes
Recently-released exchange prisoners' homes invaded
Night peace disruption and/or home invasions in 18 towns and villages
5 attacks – 60 raids including home invasions – 1 beaten – 2 injured – 2 injured
4 acts of agricultural/economic sabotage – 17 taken prisoner – 36 detained – 97 restrictions of movement

For those who would like more details Ali Kazak's newsletter Today in Palestine contains many news summaries that include both armed and non-violent methods of resistance to the Occupation. The newsletter also contains much other useful reporting. akazak@bigpond.net.au
I would just comment on the above list re the recently released prisoners in the Gilad Shalit exchange: those who have been allowed home are subject to reporting restrictions, restrictions of movement and invasions of privacy in their homes. We continue to be told that it is business as usual in the night raids and arrests of new victims. No doubt none of this gets reported in the west.

The next quotation is from an Israeli activist who for many years has regularly worked in the South Hebron Hills, at the opposite end of the West Bank from where I am. Here is an extract of what he wrote recently after spending a day of hard physical work with a group of Israelis and Bedouin opening a water channel leading to one of the still-open cisterns left accessible for the farmers of the area.


David Shulman
November 12, 2011
http://www.taayush.org/?p=2167

" . . . . .The senior commander from the Civil Administration (Gwen: the military administrative system which governs the West Bank) turned up to inspect us, together with thirteen bored, awkward soldiers. He's the same guy I met at Avigayil last month-- easy-going, fluent in Arabic, all charm and good nature; the one who put an end to the Jibrin family's plowing that day. He's done it again this morning, when the Jibrin farmers attempted once more to plow near the ugly outpost (Gwen: expanding or new illegal settlement). In fact, this pattern is now well established. They manage to plow for a few minutes, the settlers come out, then the army arrives, and the cheerful man from the Civil Administration plays his inevitable role. The courts have confirmed that the land belongs to the Jibrin, but they only manage to plow it bit by bit, stolen moments before the machine stirs, an ungainly beast, and drives them away. Still, by now they've covered a rather large portion of their birthright, patiently coming back day after day for short bursts of work before the settlers descend upon them, and maybe, if it rains, the seeds will sprout and grow: these are not so minor victories over the Occupation, like our water channel. . .
I suppose we should be grateful. You get used to the whole lunatic business. It even begins to seem normal, the normalcy of the Pax Israelica in the territories. That is: you become habituated to a world dominated by outright theft and all that derives from this single, organizing principle. The land is slipping away—some people say 42% of the West Bank has already been de facto annexed to Israel. What’s left? Here and there a well, a plowed field, a still living olive tree.

All through the day I kept wondering what I was feeling, aside from thirsty. There was the unfailing ecstasy of the earth’s beauty, nowhere more visible than in the south Hebron hills, especially in the late afternoon when the hills turn purple, almost translucent. There’s no way to describe it. Such beauty often makes me restless; I can’t contain it, and I can’t quite contain the incongruity, either: I still don’t understand how human cruelty can unfold against such a backdrop, how our greed can overpower even the generosity of earth and sun. It’s been that way ever since I started coming here over a decade ago. Maybe I come because it’s incongruous, because the dissonance at least feels real. If you live in a world where the lie rules all public space, a world of Netanyahus, you develop a hunger for each tiny fragment of truth. It helps a little to pave a road or clean a cistern. Something true at last. . . . ."


David Shulman goes on to warn us about changes that are happening in Israeli society as we speak, but I will leave it to another Israeli to voice the same warnings. His article below appeared in the Haaretz daily newspaper in Israel.



Gideon Levy
A New Israel in the Making
The Future is Now.
http://www.haaretz.com/print-edition/opinion/a-new-israel-in-the-making-1.395241


One day not long from now we will wake up to a different kind of country, the country that's now in the making. It won't look like the country we know, which already has its share of flaws, distortions and ills. And when we become aware of this, it will be too late. At that point, the old Israel will be described in glowing terms, a model of democracy and justice, compared to the new version that is taking shape as we close our eyes to it, day after day, new law after law.

The way of life in the new Israel where we will live and die won't remind us in the least of the country we're used to. Even this article won't be publishable. Only proper opinions will be put into print, the ones approved by the new government-sponsored journalists' association, whose people will sit in every newsroom so there is no divergence from the accepted chorus of opinion.

Laws and regulations (clearly they will be passed as "emergency" regulations) will bar publication of anything that could, in the eyes of the authorities, harm the state. A new law will bar defamation of the state, and the newspaper you will hold in your hands will be different. It will only report good news.

Radio and television broadcasts won't be what you're familiar with either. No media outlet will be able to go beyond the bounds of the law due to the draconian penalties for running afoul of them. The word "occupation" will be illegal, as will the expression "Palestinian state." Treasonous journalists will be pilloried or arrested, or at least fired. That day is not long in coming.

In the not too distant future, the urban landscape will look different. What is happening today in Jerusalem will play itself out in the whole country tomorrow, when the likeness of women will be banished from public view. Today Jerusalem , tomorrow the whole country. Separate buses and streets for men and women. Radio and television will only broadcast men singing. At some point, women will be required to cover their heads. Then it will be the men's turn. They will be barred from appearing clean-shaven or without a head covering. That day is not long in coming.

The cities will be shut down on Shabbat. Not a store or movie theater will be open. Then will come the ban on driving on Shabbat. Non-kosher restaurants will be illegal. Mezuzahs will be required on the doorpost of every room in every home. Couples not registered with the rabbinate will not be allowed to live together, and couples in which only one party is Jewish will be deported immediately. Unmarried couples will be barred from walking arm-in-arm in public.

Once a month all the country's schoolchildren will make solidarity visits to West Bank settlements. Every lesson will begin with the singing of the national anthem and a salute to the flag. Those who don't serve in the army will lose their citizenship and be deported.

And the Jewish state will have a Jewish Knesset. First Arabs will be barred from running for parliament in their own parties. Then they won't be allowed to be elected at all. Until then, MKs who at the beginning of every Knesset session don't sing the national anthem's words about the "yearning of the Jewish soul" will be permanently removed.

Arabs will be denied the right to a university education, with the exception of a symbolic quota approved by the Shin Bet security service. It will be illegal to rent to Arabs, other than in their own towns and villages, and the Arabic language will be banned. The poetry of Arab poet Mahmoud Darwish and his Jewish compatriots Aharon Shabtai and Yitzhak Laor will also be banned. Amos Oz, A.B. Yehoshua and David Grossman will have to decide. They, and all the country's citizens, will be required to declare themselves Zionists to get published.

The West Bank will be annexed, but the Palestinians living there will not be. Left-wing organizations will be made illegal and their leaders arrested. The government will publish a blacklist of those with offensive views who will not be allowed to leave the country or speak to the foreign media. Only someone who murders Jews will be deemed a real murderer, and the statute books will be divided into two parts, one for Jews and one for non-Jews. The death penalty will only apply to Arabs.

Special legislation will give settlers the right to take control of any land in the West Bank, and military censorship will ban any news item that could "harm the strength of the Israel Defense Forces." The Supreme Court will only serve as a court of appeals and will not consider direct petitions on civil rights violations. Supreme Court justices will be selected by the Knesset and slots on the bench will be reserved for West Bank settlers, rabbis and members of the party in power. Only religious justices will be able to serve as chief justice. Rabbis will have legal immunity similar to what MKs have. Any declaration of war or a peace agreement will need the approval of the Council of Torah Sages.


If you have read this far and if you feel like burying your head in despair, I would urge you to just read on to the final quotation which lists all the upcoming opportunities in 2012 to visit and see for yourself the realities of the Occupation, and opportunities to show support to Palestinians who, while living under its cruel yoke, do actually get on with their lives like the rest of us, often with tremendous verve, energy and even joy. It is a very uplifting thing to experience.


A Call for Action
http://palestinejn.org/en/component/content/article/1-latest-news/133-2011-10-19-13-17-53

Palestine Justice Network (PJN) cosponsored by many popular resistance and civil society invites internationals to come visit occupied Palestine.
Previously we hosted internationals to do exploratory and support missions to Palestine for example during Christmas 2010 and the attempt to arrive by the hundreds in July 2011.

For the next few months and as we Palestinians struggle for freedom inside, we ask you as Internationals and Palestinians living abroad to join us on these dates and for these reasons:

December 24-January 1: Celebrate Christmas where it all started in Bethlehem.
Our program includes visitation of religious sites, opportunities to meet and visit with native Palestinian Christians and Muslims, alternative tours of the areas and more.focus is on the plight of the Palestinian cities of Bethlehem and Jerusalem.
March 30: Global march to Jerusalem. Palestinians and supports are encouraged to come and challenge restrictions and occupations. By sea, air, land people of good conscience will come to us to recognize Land Day and help us emphasize the centrality of Jerusalem and its plight under colonial occupation. Land Day was commemorated since 1976 by Palestinians within and outside “the Green Line” who reject the Israeli efforts to separate us from our land. Visitors will be asked to help reclaim and rehabilitate fields and cisterns (to solve an acute water crisis caused by Israel’s theft of Palestinian natural resources).
Mid April: Welcome to Palestine (WTP) Campaign invites you to come visit us through Lydda (aka Ben Gurion) airport because that is the only airport for Internationals to use to arrive to Palestine. Tour Palestine at the height of the wild flower season and join us in a specific humanitarian project (details forthcoming).
May 15: Nakba Day last year was phenomenal with hundreds of Palestinians trying to return to their homes and lands were turned back at artificial apartheid borders and many were killed, injured, or jailed. This year we will be by the thousands and next year by the tens of thousands. Join us under the theme of “Refugee Rights are not negotiable.”
July 9: July 9 is the anniversary of the International Court of Justice Ruling on the illegality of the colonial settlements and the apartheid wall built on Palestinian land and also the anniversary of the Palestinian Civil Society Call to Action 2005. Join us under the banner of “End Apartheid”.

Collectively these actions help affirm solidarity with the inalienable rights of the Palestinian people. Please email info@palestinejn.org to let us know if you can come on any of these dates and so that we can update you of details about each trip.

About us: The PJN mission is to build a global network of activists and organizations that work together in advocacy in order to support the goals set forth by the Palestinian Civil Society Call to Action 2005. Please visit http://palestinejn.org to see previous activities and list of previous endorsers/sponsors.




Gwen

23rd November 2011

Newsletter from Deir Istiya - No. 6

A Weekend in Israel - November

This newsletter is being written after my return home. It’s an account of a weekend spent in Israel with Jewish activist friends but it came so close to the end of my 3 months in the region that I didn’t find the time to put pen to paper amid preparations for leaving.

I had had a tenuous connection for several years with Ronit, an activist in New Profile and Disobedient Women, but I had never met her. On the other hand, I had had a very short connection with Rachel when I briefly met her last summer in London. She has been an active member of Machsomwatch for many years. But I was fortunate that my approach to both of them to ask if I could visit was met so positively – and it was further good fortune that they both happened to live in the same Israeli town of Ramat Hasharon, though they hardly knew each other. It was also my good fortune that they got together to arrange my weekend, share responsibilities for me and also came together to collect me by car from Deir Istiya.

Hasharon is less than an hour’s car journey from our village - but it may as well be on another planet. It is in fact just the other side of Ariel settlement – one of the largest of all the illegal settlement blocs in the West Bank which casts its shadow over the lands of Deir Istiya and several other Palestinian villages. It is a long finger of development that stretches over the hilltops deep into the West Bank. I could walk to Ariel and catch a bus directly to Ramat Hasharon. But IWPS has a policy of not using settler transport and I would have had to make a huge detour taking at least 5 buses down south to Jerusalem and then up again on the Israeli side of the border – the best part of a day. I was therefore greatly relieved to be offered a lift from door to door. So it was that I found myself speeding down a highway not far from the village in a direction I had never before taken because Palestinian transport never goes there, seeing the same countryside from a different angle, and driving parallel for some time with the Wall. In this region it is a high electronic wire fence punctured by frequent concrete watch-towers with a bank, ditch and military road forming a huge scar of no-man’s land running alongside it, all encircled in razor wire. And there we were, sailing through the checkpoint near the Green Line frontier without even having to stop - and all because I was in a car with yellow number plates instead of white and green. Apartheid is colour-coded.

Ramat Hasharon is a large sprawling town to the north of Tel Aviv. It has the feel of deepest suburbia with modern spacious detached houses surrounded by well-kept gardens set in broad tree-lined avenues. It was built mainly in the 60s and 70s for the families of the upper echelons of the Israeli military and there is a military base in the town. According to Wikipaedia “Ramat Hasharon is also the home of Israeli Military Industries, the manufacturer of weapons for the IDF and the world market”. In Ronit’s district I was surrounded by the homes of generals (not that hers was one of them) and at Rachel’s I was in the district built for pilots (her husband was a retired air-force and civilian pilot). I had walked unsuspectingly into the lion’s den and became fearful that my weekend ahead would be one locked in conflict. An invitation to share the Shabat eve meal with a large extended family also made me nervous.

I should confess here that I always feel schizophrenic when I’m in Israel. I begin with a lie at the airport and to an extent I continue to live that lie until I’m within the Palestinian territories of East Jerusalem or the West Bank (I have never been to Gaza). I loathe telling lies or living them but that is what Israel forces upon me. If I didn’t lie at Ben Gurion airport I would not be allowed into the country. That was conclusively proved last summer when a campaign was organised for groups of people to travel from a variety of (mainly) European airports and declare their intention of visiting Palestinian friends, who were awaiting them, in the West Bank. Although they had paid for tickets and had all necessary papers most of them were denied entry onto planes in their respective countries and those who did get through were immediately imprisoned on arrival in Ben Gurion. I won’t attempt to start discussing the implications of that and what it tells us about the grip of Israeli security controls on international airlines – suffice to say that another attempt to openly and peacefully enter Palestine will be made in April.

Once inside Israel one has to make constant decisions on how to deal with people you talk to in casual conversation: as a traveller that will often be the person next to you on the bus, the taxi driver, some-one in a café or park or shop – anyone with whom you may interact and who is curious (naturally) about why you are there. I tend to shy away from the possibility of conflict by continuing the lie – I’m a tourist/pilgrim/traveller come to see the wonders of the Holy Land, or I’ve come to visit Israeli friends. All that is true, but others more courageous than myself meet these casual conversations head-on with the real truth about why they are here and sometimes they have remarkable and moving encounters because their chance companion may also open up to make surprising revelations. Others walk fearless straight into the lion’s den: another volunteer decided she had had enough of the airport pretence and told her interrogators precisely where she had been, what she was there for, and what she thought about Israeli policies and practices in its occupied territories. Will she be black-listed now and banned from entering the country again, as many have been before? I personally wouldn’t want to risk that.

But I hasten to add that I never felt the need to behave schizophrenically with either Ronit or Rachel or in their households or among their friends. For I was indeed among friends – friends who live with their own sense of schizophrenia all the time, who loathe not only what their government is doing to Palestinians but also to their own community; who hate living in a society based on militarism which is constantly at war with its neighbours and which forces all its youth into the military machine; who understand the profound mental and emotional changes that have to occur in the Israeli psyche, as well as the complete reversal of governmental policies in order to live in peace with their neighbours; and who themselves feel outsiders in their own families and society. These people have found a way to live truthfully, not only facing the consequences but actively campaigning against the racism, colonialism, militarism, the hatred, greed and fear which keeps the oppression of the Palestinians in such a tight stranglehold.

Since the majority of my time that weekend was spent pleasurably exploring an area hitherto unknown to me in good company and in bright sunny weather, I will share with you some of its delights and ambiguities. In central Tel Aviv I was taken to the Museum of Modern Art with a huge opulent wing just opened where there was a fascinating exhibition of the work of a wide array of international artists including New Zealand Maori and Australian Aboriginal, Thai, Tibetan and Chinese – art we rarely see in this country. A photo montage of a Christ-like figure on the cross provoked a long and thoughtful discussion with Rachel about religious belief, religious sensibilities and the role of religion/atheism in the early years of the zionist state as compared with now. The gallery was crowded with visitors and I couldn’t help wondering what a profound influence an effective policy of international cultural boycott would have on Israeli society. Another intense artistic experience came later the same evening when Rachel and her daughter took me to a performance of a new contemporary dance performed by just 2 dancers with video interaction. It was created by the male dancer to give expression to his personal experience of discovering he was HIV positive. There wasn’t one spare seat in the large studio theatre and I could feel the intensity of the post-performance discussion with the dancers without being able to understand a word of it. I was also taken to the tree-lined boulevard where the Israeli Occupy movement had its tent city for many months in the summer, and to the tiny green park in the heart of the crowded centre which marks the spot of one of the Palestinian villages which was destroyed to build this vast city.

A day in the old Palestinian city of Jaffa followed: a long walk south along the coast with its lovely beaches that no West Bank Palestinian can get near to any more; a stroll through the old town where beautiful faded Arab mansions are being replaced by acres of modern high-rise luxury flats in a creeping process of both gentrification and Judaisation; discovering a surprising number of Christian churches of many denominations and, being Sunday, peeping into one of them to discover a service for a Philipino group of mostly young women singing in charismatic style - another sign of the times which has brought in hundreds of thousands of far-eastern domestic workers to replace the Palestinian labour force which is now banned from entry into Israel. How many more Christian churches are kept open by completely new groups of incoming Christians as the native population gradually bleeds away? Jaffa has the most extensive and zany flea market I have ever wandered around and we had a great lunch in an Italian restaurant on its edge, accompanied by my first glass of wine for nearly 3 months!

Another day was spent on a lone venture up the coast to the extensive Roman and Byzantine ruins of Caesarea which tumble into the sea about 30 miles north of Ramat Hasharon. It was a wonderful experience wandering to my own whims in the warm late November sunshine (perfect travelling weather) and I realised how little opportunity I had had during my 3 months to be alone – something I value very much. I also realised the bitter irony of enjoying the remains of a scene of ancient tyranny and occupation.

The highlight of my stay in Israel was a meeting round the kitchen table of my host with both Ronit and Rachel and half a dozen of their friends and fellow activists. The sheer aliveness of everyone present – their energy, laughter, animated conversation and sense of fun - was infectious and energising to be part of, as well as their commitment to their cause, their willingness to listen to each other and the strong sense of being grounded.

Let me highlight a few of their stories:

Rachel had worked for years with Machsomwatch (Checkpointwatch) – an organisation of women who monitor the checkpoints, travelling on a strict daily rota into the West Bank to monitor freedom of movement at the checkpoints and taking up any issues of obstruction, harassment, and failure to allow passage with the army or with the private security companies which in some cases have replaced the army. Machsomwatch have another branch which organises coach visits for Israelis into the West Bank to educate them about what the Occupation looks and feels like. Rachel described how, for her 60th birthday, she had persuaded several members of her family to make one of those tours with her and although reluctant, how deep an impression it had made on most of them and how this in turn had led to an improvement in her relationship with them. She also surprised me by pointing out that in her street alone, in prosperous suburbia, there were 4 women activists against the Occupation.

Then there was the mother of 2 well-known anti-Occupation campaigners, Jonatan and Itamar Shapira. Several years ago Jonatan had initiated a public appeal to the military to end the Occupation when he was a serving air-force pilot, which caused him “to lose everything”. He was dismissed from his job and found it impossible to find any subsequent work so he eventually emigrated to the States where he is now a leading advocate of boycott, disinvestment and sanctions against his country. Every time he returns on a visit home he is held for hours at the airport and subjected to humiliating interrogation and searches. His brother Itamar is a regular supporter of the Friday demonstrations in the West Bank and skippered the boat of Israeli dissidents which attempted to break the siege of Gaza last summer for which ‘crime’ he is still awaiting trial.

Several women were members of New Profile, a women’s group which shines a bright light on the militaristic foundations of Israeli society – on the close relationship between the military and schools, on the subliminal effects of using heroic military images in advertising, on the system of universal conscription of males and females, and on the interlocking of military service into the daily requirements of civilian life such as getting jobs in certain sectors, being eligible for state benefits, mortgages and other financial services. It also organises summer camps and weekends for the discussion of these and other issues and it gives direct advice and help to young people who want to refuse military service. Because it is seen as undermining the very foundation of the zionist state, New Profile has been targeted for specific scrutiny and harassment by the state security services.

As well as New Profile membership, Ronit is an organiser for the Disobedient Women who directly challenge the legality of the Occupation by bringing women and children from the West Bank to enjoy days by the sea or at the zoo. In principle they do not seek army permission to break the regulations which require any Palestinian to obtain a permit before they cross the frontier. Another group organising similar trips do so after seeking and obtaining army permission, enabling a larger number of families to be brought through.

Amira told me about the imprisonment of her 47 year old husband who, for conscientious reasons, refused any longer to do the reserve duty required of all conscripts. She and others were animated by a remarkable film shown at the recent Jerusalem Film Festival and even recommended on a mainstream TV cultural programme entitled “The Law in These Parts”. Made by Israeli film-makers it is a detailed analysis of the making and implementation of military law in the Occupied Territories through a series of interviews with the lawmakers and enforcers themselves from 1967 to the present day. It is a shocking indictment and they recommended it as a must–see for anyone who wishes to understand what has been perpetrated by this illegal and lawless Occupation.

Tzvia told me about the inspirational tours of Zochrot (Remembering) - an Israeli group which seeks to keep alive the names and memory of those towns and villages which were emptied and wiped out after the ethnic cleansing of 1947-8, the Palestinian Nakba. They number about 500. Their aim is “to commemorate, witness, acknowledge and repair”. She also told us excitedly of the successful accomplishment yesterday against almost insurmountable odds of a mission to get a Gazan child, Ibrahim, to Italy for treatment after his legs had been reduced “only to bone” by a drone bombing in retaliation for the recent attack on an Israeli bus near Eilat. His brother, with whom he was playing at the time, was killed. He had already had 17 operations on his legs. Tzvia and others had been regular visitors to his bedside. Ronit commented, “Good people are doing good things here all the time – they just don’t get publicity for it.”

I am very thankful for my weekend in “the lion’s den”.


Gwen
Jan. 2012

Newsletter from Deir Istiya 7

“They really should improve the conditions of our slavery”


By definition surprises are unexpected. You can’t prepare for them or plan for their outcome. They happen and you are left reflecting on your own response and reaction. In this last newsletter, which I am writing from home in Liverpool, I would like to highlight some of the surprises and memorable experiences that have happened to me since I wrote my 4th newsletter about life in Deir Istiya.

To begin with I had 3 close encounters with the Israeli Occupying Force (IOF) in quick succession. They illustrate a few of the cruel pettiness inflicted on Palestinian life. The first encounter was early one morning when Karin and I were out in a van with a local family trying to access their land for olive picking next to the settlement of Yakir. Yakir is built on the land of this family so, like hundreds of similarly placed families, the olive trees that are still left standing come very close to the “security fence” of the settlement and army permission has to be sought to access them. On seeing us arrive the settlement security phoned for the army to come and sort us out. They did this by ordering Karin and myself to leave the area - only then would they allow the family access to their land. Urgent phone calls we tried to make for help from the Palestinian authorities were in vain as it was a major Eid holiday and offices were closed. But when the family motioned that we should obey the order and leave them, we did indeed retreat back to the village, very anxious about their fate as they were left in such a vulnerable place after they had specifically asked for our protective presence. Abandoning them was a horrible feeling as we knew of a recent instance where this had happened to other internationals and 2 of the family had been arrested. Fortunately we were able to ascertain that evening that they had spent the day unmolested under the watchful eye of soldiers, but they had been forced to shorten the picking day.

On the day that I left Deir Istiya, last Monday, my IWPS colleagues were still out helping families in similar circumstances at the tail end of the harvest – it had lasted 2 months for some farmers. During that time our volunteers never did have to confront settlers but we had the impression that our presence really was a deterrent to unwanted interference because when we were brought in as a response to harassment the families were left in peace. We are also aware though, that many farmers have to pick under highly restricted conditions imposed by the “co-ordination” mechanisms made between farmers’ representatives and the occupying forces, with limited hours, limited numbers of pickers, restricted opening of access gates etc. We also learned that there are many international and Israeli groups who go to do protective accompaniment work at this time of year - and many more would be welcome.

Our other unexpected confrontations with the IOF were both at An Nabi Saleh where we regularly go to support the Friday demonstrations. The first was at 11am in the centre of the village where we stood talking to Bilal, a villager responsible for filming all that goes on there. He was telling us about his wife, right now beginning a gruelling 16 day speaking tour of the US. He was very proud of her. 2 jeeps roared up in an attempt to clear the village of internationals and Israelis who were gathering for the 12.30 start. Clearly they had decided we were not wanted that day so they came armed with their magic piece of paper declaring anywhere – in this case the village square – a “closed military zone”. They flash this before our eyes but we can’t read a word because it’s all in Hebrew, so we look for the accompanying map to identify which “zone” they mean and we check the date to ensure it means now and not yesterday or tomorrow. If we don’t obey their orders to “evacuate” within 5 minutes they will arrest us. This probably means bundling us into their jeep and being thrown out some distance from the village but it could also really mean, as they say, arrest. In our training we had role played this scenario – it’s called “quick concensus decision making”. It’s made a bit difficult when the 3 of us involved all want to do different things: one wants to hide in a nearby ruin and continue to take photos, risking arrest, another wants to get out altogether to avoid arrest at any cost, the third wants to seek shelter with a nearby family until the jeeps get out. And there’s the added factor of staying as a protective presence with Bilal who is steadfastly filming the antics of the soldiers even though they are warning him too. He looks rooted to the ground and in no need of anyone else to protect him. Consensus in these circumstances is messy. “You have 3 more minutes to leave….” “You have 2 more minutes to leave….”. OK, so we turn and walk slowly away; there’s a man standing at his gate and we ask if we can step inside. He’s clearly reluctant though to be putting himself in danger of getting a night raid in retaliation for harbouring the enemy. We sense this and after carefully surveying the road outside, we thank him and leave. If we can get a hundred yards further on we can shelter with Bilal’s family who are so used to night raids and being showered with tear gas and skunk water we know they will welcome us with open arms. We get there safe and sound though we never do resolve our different approaches. We do have a concensus however that our main objective is to join the demonstration – and we successfully do that at 12.30.

The following week we have another “closed military zone” order pushed into our faces but this time the circumstances are more tricky. It’s in the middle of the demonstration and the troops are trying to arrest 2 members of the press who are taking photos. We come over the brow of the hill on very rough ground on the edge of the village, with lots of Palestinians, and there is a group of soldiers in front of us pointing their weapons straight at us. It’s more than a surprise – it’s a shock. I haven’t seen this particular configuration of forces before. Instinctively we stop while the Palestinians walk slowly forward to talk to the soldiers. My heart really is in my mouth, as they say, but to my huge relief I watch as the soldiers turn and very slowly retreat to take up positions a bit further off. In those moments I feel my physical reactions change; my stomach turns over, I am aware of my heart thumping and I wonder if my knees will hold up my legs. Meanwhile behind us another group of soldiers are making their arrests and we are caught between the 2 groups. Hovering around are the shebab, village youths of all ages, ready to aim their stones. This time we do not hesitate but walked calmly but with a beating heart, off the hillside and towards the nearest houses. We watch and take photos as the jeeps with their victims pass gingerly through the crowds firing teargas to force an exit as stones rain down on the vehicles.

Today I have just received shocking news from the current IWPS house team following yesterday’s demonstration on the second anniversary of their weekly protests against the taking of their land: after tear-gassing the centre of this tiny village of some 400 inhabitants, 2 teenagers were left with broken limbs and a 28 year old man had his face torn apart by a tear gas canister fired at point blank range into his eye. He died this morning in hospital.

* * * * * * * * *

Other surprises awaited us in Nablus the day that 2 of us went to make a courtesy call on our landlord, a retired academic from An Najah National University (Nablus) who lives on the steep hillsides that define this wonderful ancient city. I love visiting Nablus and thought I knew the narrow covered streets of its old souq, but Dr. Wa’el took us to nooks and crannies I had never before ventured into or knew existed, including a wonderfully aromatic spice shop where he buys his coffee and spices after grinding them in old machines bought from personnel of the last occupying force – the British. He then took us to meet more friends of his in order to hear their story of the second intifada so that we too can record the tragedy that occurred at their front door.

Dr. Jammal Abu Hijleh comes from an old and wealthy family in Deir Istiya, like Dr. Wa’el, and was the first Palestinian to qualify as an ear, nose the throat specialist in the 1960s. Now a man whom I estimated to be around 70 - and still practising - he greeted us most graciously at his front door, together with his son, Saed, who lectures at An Najah University in human geography. It was an unforgettable encounter. The glass of the main entrance to the house is completely shattered and repaired with plastic against the weather. It has been like that for 9 years in commemoration of a terrible tragedy played out on the terrace we were standing on. During the 2nd intifada Nablus was under siege for many years and life was incredibly hard. One evening in October 2002 Jammal and his wife, Shaden, were sitting as usual on their terrace taking their relaxation at the end of the day. She was doing her embroidery when a single shot rang out from a small group of soldiers who were passing by on the nearby street. She slumped and died instantly as the bullet entered her heart. Saed showed us photos taken in the hospital as well as of the enormous funeral the day after. He also brought out the blood-stained cross-stitch embroidery. Shaden was well-known both as a philanthropist working especially with women’s organisations and as a peace activist working with some of the city’s Christian priests against the Occupation. In her photos she looked younger than her 62 years, was unscarved, and clearly fun-loving – a hugely popular figure. It is believed by her family that she was targeted because she was a tower of strength in her community in those dark years, who helped to keep its spirit burning. Justice has never been done to punish her murderers. At one point the family was offered a large sum of money to drop their case against the army. They refused.
We were caught unawares by this overwhelming tragedy and when Saed found on his laptop the poem he had written about it called “Embroidery” and asked me to read it out, I couldn’t finish it for the tears that flowed. “It’s good to cry”, he said quietly, “very good”.


Embroidery
(Written for my mother on her 70th birthday)

Needles or bullets
they both pierce the fabric
of the heart
one with love
the other with hate

You sat there every evening
embroidering a future smile on my face
and soul
for eternity
and they came one evening
and embroidered pain on my heart
for mortality

I shall embroider my words on their bullets
and send them back
to their wicked souls…

I can still hear your laughs
and see your smile
that is why I am going the extra mile…

I always feel your presence
in this house
in my essence
in your absence
from social gatherings
and the narrow streets leading to the houses of the oppressed…

Your needlework is not finished yet
and soon
soon inshallah
little hands shall
pick up your needle
and continue the journey of love in the fabric of freedom…

By Saed J. Abu-Hijleh
Feb 15, 2011
It was on my very last day, within a few hours of flying home, that I was again caught off my guard with tears. The scene was very different – and very surprising. I was in Jerusalem for my last night and went by appointment in the morning to the Jerusalem City Hall, or Municipality, to the office of an old friend of mine, Meir Margalit who, like me, used to work for the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions and is now a city councillor for the small Meretz Party – that unusual and embattled phenomenon of an Israeli political party whose agenda includes ending the Occupation. Meir has kindly stood as an alibi for me when entering and leaving Israel on numerous occasions. We are genuinely fond of each other. So after a warm hug of greeting he invited me to join a small group of Meretz colleagues, including the Deputy Mayor of Jerusalem, on a visit to the Armenian Patriarch in the Old City. “Why are you going?” was my natural question. “To apologise,” was the unexpected answer. He enlarged: They had recently read a report in the Jerusalem Post of a court case involving an Orthodox Jew and an Armenian priest. It happens from time to time that there are incidents, especially in the Old City, when Orthodox Jews living there spit on the ground in front of Christian priests as they pass in its ancient streets. This time the targeted priest happened to be a former boxer and he reacted swiftly by breaking the nose of his assailant. At the end of the ensuing court case the priest was found “not guilty”, but of course, the incident left some very hard and bitter feelings. In an attempt to build bridges the Meretz Party decided to make a formal apology to the hierarchy of the church not only on behalf of themselves but also on behalf of the City Council and the Jewish people. And this was the appointed day. We walked to the Armenian Cathedral inside the Old City. Thus, 8 of us were ushered respectfully into the presence of the bare-headed 93 year old Patriarch and a suitable number of priestly assistants in their black robes and pointed black hoods. We sat around one end of an enormous salon lit by massive chandeliers and lined with the portraits of past patriarchs (I suppose). I found myself being looked down on also by George V and Queen Mary (monarchs who made a visit during the Mandate period) as well as by an image of the young Victoria. We were served first of all with small glasses of what looked to me like sherry from a shining silver tray, but on the first gulp, I realised was the slivovice / raki / plum brandy I associate with central/eastern Europe. Armenia presumably has the same alcoholic traditions. But even the presence of alcohol itself took me by surprise as for 3 months I had forgotten it existed – the strongest drink in the village had been coffee.

Several speeches followed which to my delight had to be in English in deference to the Patriarch who clearly doesn’t understand Hebrew. Apologies were fulsome and moving. The Patriarch himself showed no expression on his worn, lined and almost mask-like face. But when he spoke, hesitantly and with apologies that his age didn’t allow him to speak as fluently as would wish, he used beautiful clear English and did not mince his words. He accepted the apologies and the friendship expressed but called for the city fathers to educate their ignorant members to appreciate and respect all people and all differences, as did his church. Spitting and intolerance is a totally unacceptable way to live together. Furthermore, he called for support in the struggle his church was having with the city authorities who have refused permission for them to build a gate in one of their walls to reveal to the public some carved standing stones commemorating the Armenian genocide of the early 20th century. He reminded us that Armenia had been the first ever nation to declare itself a Christian state, way back in 301 CE and that Armenians had had a presence in this holy city for 1700 years. (One of the 4 quarters of the Old City is officially the Armenian Quarter, distinct from the Christian Quarter). I was very moved by this frank encounter while the microphone passed backwards and forwards among our group as people wanted to express themselves in honesty and humility, and I found it difficult to hold back tears. I was so grateful for having been given the opportunity of sharing the occasion.

This wasn’t the end of the discussion about the jarring nature of life in the Old City however. As well as the slivovice we were served with chocolates wrapped in paper sporting Father Christmas and bells and snowmen, and before leaving we were wished a Happy Christmas by the Patriarch. That prompted further musings from him thus: In Jerusalem there are 3 dates for Christmas: the Latin (Roman Catholic) 25th December, the Orthodox 6th January, and the Armenian on the 17th January. “We keep to the Julian calendar here even though the rest of our church doesn’t. This is perhaps just as well because it lessens fighting between the Christians. The Latin and Orthodox people tend to pick fights especially at Easter when we all celebrate together”.

Unwrapping the Christmas sweets I suddenly realised I would be returning to “the Latin” Christmas in the UK. Fortunately it didn’t cause me the usual female panic as I had long ago decided I would abandon Christmas preparations this year. As I left the audience with the Patriarch and hooded priests and walked back through the Old City to pick up my luggage en route for the airport, I went the quickest way through the Christian Quarter and suddenly, out of the blue, was confronted by Christmas trees and inflatable plastic Father Christmases in shop doorways and baubles decorating windows – a good preparation for landing, I thought.

One last – and painful - story. Last Wednesday, as I left the West Bank to enter Israel in order to fly home I had to pass through the huge checkpoint of Qalandiya near Ramallah. Qalandiya funnels all human and vehicular traffic from the north into Jerusalem, just as the Bethlehem checkpoint funnels it all from the south. No Palestinian can enter Israel except through these narrow turnstiles and without a special permit granted only for very specific and limited reasons. Although this excludes the vast majority of Palestinians, the checkpoints themselves can get extremely congested and unpleasant because of the crush caused by such a narrow and restricted area of cages. In my 3 months there I only ever went twice through Qalandiya – to enter the West Bank at the beginning and to leave at the end. I’ve been through several times on previous visits and have never had a problem except with the crush. This time however, I was ordered off the bus and told to wait in the queue. This was a pain because I had an inordinately large amount of baggage, some of which I was going to dispose of in Jerusalem. The soldier behind the glass studied my passport as I held it up, tapped into his computer, looked again closely, tapped again and waited. “Stand over there,” he ordered through the intercom. “Why?” “There’s a problem and I’ve got to make a phone call.” “What’s the problem?” “Stand over there.” He made his phone call and sat back. I stood watching him. A few minutes later I approached the glass. “How much longer do I have to wait?” “5 minutes.” I looked through the cage grid I was in to the previous cage where a long line of Palestinians was now building up, the front ones pressed against the closed turnstile. “Well at least tell the other people to come through while you’re waiting.” To my intense relief he did what I suggested and slowly the stream of weary men, women and children began to move. I stood and watched, irritated that this ridiculous hold-up was making me late for a lunch-time appointment in Jerusalem, and embarrassed and upset that I was the cause of all these people standing helplessly in their cage. Trying to suppress my mounting anger, I was suddenly engaged by a young woman struggling through the bars with a sleeping child in her arms. As if she had always known me she simply said, “They really should improve the conditions of our slavery,” and went on her way.

I was left speechless at the time but have since realised that her simple words summed up the entirety of the plight of the Palestinian people. Ever since the declaration of the Sate of Israel in 1948 which was founded on the killing, wounding and ethnic cleansing of more than three quarters of a million Palestinians (the majority of the population) and the destruction of around 500 of their villages and towns, Zionist Israel has enslaved the indigenous people of this land. In the Occupied West Bank there is an entrenched apartheid society which South African leaders have described as more harsh than their own ever was; and in Israel itself the 20% Palestinian population is afforded 3rd class status and systematically discriminated against. Israel is a racist and colonialist society. On the international scene it has not only serially defied international law including all human rights laws since its foundation, but it has been allowed to get away with it unpunished. It also refuses to declare that it is the only power in the Middle East with nuclear weapons and remains outside the international nexus of laws which control their development and use. In these 3 key ways Israel proves itself to be a pariah among nations, a rogue state. The key question for the West is whether it will act to free the Palestinians from their enslavement – or at the very least, to create the conditions which will allow them to free themselves. It has never acted in this capacity and there has been a terrible price to pay in terms of our foreign policy and our standing in the world, especially in the Moslem world. The Palestine / Israel issue is not a matter of a little local importance; the freedom of the Palestinian people and the real security of the Israeli nation are fundamental issues for the peace of our world.

I will end with one of my final encounters before leaving Israel – a pleasant surprise as I bumped into a Palestinian Israeli friend in the street in Jerusalem. He left me on a note of the faintest optimism which I will paraphrase as follows: the Occupation is becoming more and more entrenched and we can’t see how and when it can ever end. This Israeli government is so right wing as to have fascist tendencies in many respects and the religious right is gaining more and more power. But the world is changing too. The economic crisis in the West is changing the balance of power and American influence is on the decline. The Arab Spring is hugely positive and we have to wait and see what impact that will have on the situation here. The world is changing and our situation is changing with it. For us it’s very important to be aware of this and to be able to anticipate and respond in order to seize the opportunities that will come.



Gwen

Human Rights Day
10th December 2011