It was a very tense journey to Palestine last night.
My mother and I arrived at the King Hussein Bridge in Jordan, an hour outside of Amman. We checked our luggage and got on a coach bus that would take us to the Israeli side of the border. Our bus waited an hour until the jordanian soldier felt it was full enough to depart. In normal times you’re lucky if you can get on a bus because there are thousands wanting to do the same. There were about 30 of us as we sat for an hour on the bus . Everyone was afraid of what might lie ahead. As the clock was ticking, three women kept pleading with the bus driver to hurry and leave as they needed to get to Jerusalem and are confined to a curfew as set by the Israeli government. They needed to be home by 11PM. It was now close to 9PM, we still needed to get through Israeli customs, drive another bus to Jericho and find taxis that would take us to our respective destinations. The women were checking their facebook feeds for the latest news in Israel: “An Israeli man stabbed another, thinking he was Arab”, was one headline.
As we all got to talking, one of the women, probably in her 20s, told me that last week she was walking home and an Israeli settler came up to her and was antagonizing her, pulling at her hijab trying to tear it off. An Israeli soldier saw this and stopped the settler.
As time still went on, we got the rundown of the basic rules of engagement when in Israel:
1. Do not put your hand in your pocket at any time, ever. You will be deemed suspicious and might get shot.
2. Avoid Israeli settlers.
3. Do not go to Jerusalem.
4. Do not post anything political on facebook.
5. You need to produce your national documents at any time so always carry your passport and ID.
Ok, got it. Keep my money in one hand and my iPhone in the other. No pockets, don’t look at anyone and don’t go anywhere. Awesome.
Over an hour later, and maybe a 1 km drive on a private road in the dessert, we weave through blockades and arrive to the Israeli customs. I was searched and asked to produce my wallet, phone and passport (in that order). They tested for explosive material and let me go.
An hour or so after that and including the bus ride to Jericho, we get in a service taxi. The circumstances prior were a little sketchy: there were 4 men (two and two) traveling with us and each of the two told us we could get a ride with them to Ramallah. This is normal since one tries to fill a taxi so the fare is split. People also like to stick together in these times. This time however, my mom and I had a very strange feeling that something suuuuuper sketchy was going on and the service taxi chauffeurs did as well. They advised: “Madammes, as two women traveling alone at midnight you need to get in this service taxi with other passengers and stay safe. Do not get into a private taxi and do not go with those men.” And that is what we did. My mother and I were sitting at the back of a van, with 3 other male passengers and the male driver.
Half an hour later, we were on the road. We drove through the very small town of Jericho, and onto the desert roads. Chauffeurs are in constant communication with one another so we knew that we wouldn’t be driving into a bad situation. My only concern, other than the fact that I was already scared, and it was dark, was that the driver kept saying “Ya Rub” (Dear God), as we passed every set of settlements. This did not give me the sense that he knew for certain that nothing bad would happen. It was a silent and uncomfortable hour drive home. I could feel the muscles in my entire body tense. Any fatigue I had previously felt was replaced by complete awareness as my eyes darted around looking for anything that looked out of place in the mountains. At certain points I would calm my nerves by staring at the stars as we drove up, down, and around the mountains and hills. They were so many and they were so bright and beautiful.
We were stopped three times by Israeli soldiers as they are set up everywhere on the roads, specifically in areas near Israeli settlements. Each time I asked “is this normal?” no one would respond to me. The only words spoken were by the driver who kept saying, “Ya Rub”, (dear God), as we approached each set of soldiers.
I kept trying to tell myself that this was good, this was for security. But as a Palestinian, security is not a guarantee or even a right, and we are literally at the mercy of whether or not we come across good Israeli soldiers, or corrupt ones. Or at the mercy of how suspicious or not us or the other passengers look. Or at the mercy of any other external factor that may occur. We held our breath each time as we were asked in Hebrew and Arabic, “where from, where from, where from??!” “jisir, gisir, jisir, gisir”, the cab driver kept repeating, which meant “the bridge” in both Arabic and Hebrew. The lights inside the van were turned on for the soldiers to see us. A young soldier stared at us and in Arabic said “ta”, which is slang for “tayeb”, which means “K” rather than “Okay”. They motioned for us to pass as they flashed their lights at the next car to proceed and stop.
As we neared Palestine, the concrete wall separating the Arabs from the Israelis showed up, as well as 4 sniper towers that I noticed.
Finally, we made it into the Palestinian city of Ramallah, away from the settlements, sniper towers and soldiers. The driver was kind enough to drop my mother and I off first. I am guessing it was because he could tell we (I) were (was) petrified.
I went to sleep in my late grandparents bedroom. I chose that room because there is a large and glorious Jasmine flower tree outside the window. There is nothing more beautiful than falling asleep with the intoxicating scent of hundreds of Jasmine flowers coming in through the window with the soft breeze. Except, maybe, falling asleep with the same surroundings under different circumstances.
#peaceinthemiddleeast
-ak
hopefultravels 