All Roads Lead to Jerusalem

The way to Jerusalem for West Bank citizens is not, as I recently discovered, the same way which I had used previously when I travelled alone to Jerusalem. With a foreign passport, or a blue Israeli ID, one can head there via a major road, on a bus, more or less unhindered.

A couple of days ago I went to the British Consulate in Jerusalem with a few women who have been invited to England for a delegation tour. In order to obtain a one-day permit to Jerusalem, one of the women, Reda, had waited ten hours at a checkpoint to get the necessary papers for herself and the others.

So at eight o clock the next day, papers in hand, we were dropped off at the checkpoint in the nearby town of Bethany (I hope you're clocking this one, Jesus). The checkpoint here is about the size of a small airport, flanked by the looming grey wall, and a watch-tower. Outside the entrance, a bunch of people were standing, bunched-up, waiting with hopeless and confused expressions, trying to peer through the metal grills and turnstiles. Several metres beyond this barricade, a box containing a couple of soldiers behind bullet-proof glass, barked intermittently in Hebrew at the small crowd, through microphones and a tannoy. Bullet-proof vested security guards had also been generously provided to avoid any 'misunderstandings' . The ever present soldiers slouched around their jeeps, stubbing out cigarettes in the dirt and cocking their guns.

After being shouted at in Hebrew for a bit, folk outside began milling around and shaking their heads and some to walk away. Perhaps no permits for anyone today.

Thanks to Reda who had waited all day yesterday we went through the turnstile one by one, eyed by the soldiers. Next step, metal detectors and a baggage X-ray, and another turnstile. More soldiers behind glass. Here we put our papers/ passports through a small hole to be inspected.

My passport was lazily leafed through and then returned. One more turnstile. Then outside. Welcome to Jerusalem. Have a Nice Day!

On the other side we were unable to get a taxi, as the women have green IDs and there were still more checkpoints to pass through. So we walked up the Mount of Olives, and up, and up for about forty-five minutes, under the sun, before we were able to catch a bus. The bus, of course, was stopped after a short while so more soldiers could get on the bus and check all the men's IDs. Gets repetitive doesn't it?

The whole experience left me feeling incredibly angry and humiliated for my friends, who were of course, unlike myself, stoic and patient throughout the whole degrading process. This is a daily experience for many people who live in the West Bank- and of course displaying frustration or anger anywhere near a soldier/checkpoint isn't going to get you through to the other side. Likely as not it could get you a beating from the soldiers, which is what Reda told me had happened the previous day.

So this is the road to Jerusalem, for those who need hospital treatment, to get to work, or to visit family and friends.....

On returning to AD that afternoon I met a friend who dejectedly told me that he had been waiting for four hours at the same checkpoint, hoping to get a permit for his sister to visit him from the other side of the wall. It so happened that somebody, somewhere in Jerusalem that day had thrown a stone at a military vehicle and so no permits were being issued for anybody that day. So he returned empty handed.

Another friend here, Abed, who is a doctor, was explaining to me that, as he had an uncle who had previously been involved in politics, neither he nor his extended family are now even allowed to apply for permits. They will all just be refused.

However, of course, once inside we capitalised on our good fortune and spent the day gloriously, trying on shoes anc clothes, eating falafels and buying sweets and treats from the Muslim Quarter in the Old city. Also a good deal of time was spent attempting to convince some soldiers-with me dressed in a hijab and grinning like an idiot at the spectacle of myself- to let us through as a group to visit the Al Aqsa Mosque. My turn to be refused. Ah well.