Nablus Pt.2

"Did he just chamber a round"? I ask Jundee. The former US Marine Corps Sniper standing in front of me confirms what I just thought I saw. Oh Shit.

We're standing in line at Hawara the obscene checkpoint for those wanting to leave Nablus. Within what is actually a holding pen - long and thin with a tin roof and bars that steer you and keep you in line - hundreds of Palestinians wait. There are two lines here. One on the right-hand side for women and old men (and the occasional foreigner) and one on the left hand side. The left-hand lane doesn't move. Lined up, crammed into the space are hundreds of Palestinian men between the ages of 16 and 35. They are the unfortunate ones: They will wait in line for hours. Jundee tells me that when he came to Nablus with another one of our friends a month earlier they ended up in the wrong lane - the left-hand one - and waited for three hours in the sweltering heat to pass through. Like Qalandia, those men must, one at a time, pass through a trunstile and show the proper documents to someone behind shrapnel-proof glass. Unlike Qalandia, standing behind them is a soldier with his M4 assault rifle pointed at their back.

In our right hand line-up, we lean against the concrete barrier that keeps us under the awning. to our right are the few rare trucks that have a special permit to exit Nablus. They are thoroughly inspected by a rather chunky Israeli soldier - a teenage girl.

In front of us are a dozen Palestinian girls and the odd man trying to get through with his sister or wife (it almost never works). There's a pushing match between some men to our left - in the left- hand lane. A young soldier jumps up on the bars and yells down at the men in Hebrew. They stop pushing but continue to exchange words. This place is on edge and all I want to do is get the hell out of here. The soldier stays on the divider, his rifle muzzle swinging gently over the shoulders of those in my line.

With the confrontation subdued, we stare forward. There are four teenage soldiers inspecting the papers of the women in our line. We wait. We wait.

The motion of his arm is quick but I've learned to stay on edge around these fucking kids and I see it. He's cocked his rifle - put a bullet into the chamber. He looks like the youngest soldier here. 18. I expect him to point the rifle at a Palestinian but instead he shoves the muzzle into the flak-jacketed chest of a fellow soldier. It's quick - and the rifle doesn't linger - he probably remembers his 2 week basic training (don't point a loaded gun at someone!?). He then points it into the air and begins to walk around like Stalone in Rambo. At one point the muzzle bangs against the lowest point of the awning and I cringe. A minute later I see a pretty Palestinian girl finally pass through the four soldiers and it occurs to me that this kid was showing off.

***

We're on the road between Nablus and Ramallah. Through two checkpoints, in a private cab we cruise along, the four of us and our driver. We turn a gentle bend and in front us is the rear end of an IOF jeep with its back door open. Leaning out of the back is an Israeli soldier with giant sunglasses and the smirk I've seen far too often.

We try to pass but he waves us back in. Other cars are passing us now and he's leaning back in the jeep and smiling his ass off at us. Our cabbie tries again and he waves us back. We're going slowly now. He's playing with us. Majnoon in the front seat wants to give him the finger but we're all nervous and tell him to calm down.

After ten minutes of this, the jeep pulls to the side and three soldiers jump out. They tell us to pull off to the side - into an open space. We do and behind us they wave in three more cabs - servees'.

We get out and are told to stand to the side by another, older soldier with frosted tipped hair. He yells at us all in Hebrew. There are 15 of us now standing shoulder to shoulder. They collect the 11 Palestinian IDs and inspect our passports. "What are you doing here?" They ask... "Traveling" We answer... "To Where?"... "Nablus".

The soldier with the grin is now perched above us up a little hill. The 11 Palestinians wander over to the side to a small mound of dirt, crouch down and light up cigarettes. They're jovial with the smirking soldier above them - jabbing at him with comments about his poor Arabic. "Ivrit and English - I'm Jewish!" He beams back at them.

They look at us and ask where we are from. We tell them and they extend the little welcome they can - "Ahlan wa Sahlan - Welcome to Palestine" they joke - "What can you do?... This is Occupation!" they say in the resigned tone that we've encountered everywhere in the West Bank.

The angry soldier with the frosted tips orders the women out of the cabs. Until then I hadn';t really noticed them. He asks a driver to translate the Hebrew. "What is under your jacket"? He asks motioning to a veiled woman - the only one of the five. "Nothing" she responds - he tells her to pat herself down. It gets tense as the proposition of an Israeli soldier asking the woman to remove her veil makes a bad but common situation something totally different. She pats herself down. It seems to satisfy Frosted Tips and we all breathe a sigh of relief.

After a half hour of standing in the sun they let us go. First the four soldiers pile back into the jeep and we all wait for them to leave. Apparently they have to leave first. Its a dance.

As we drive away, frustrated, we wonder aloud why they would want to keep four foreigners present to witness such a blatant act of occupation and racism. Our conclusion is that they know damn well that it doesn't make an ounce of difference.

***
"500 Shekel fine for riding without a seat belt?" We ask in disbelief. "Yes Yes" he responds. We're ten minutes down the road from our impromptu encounter with the IOF. Stopped at Atara - the last checkpoint before Ramallah - the border guard there was yelling at our cabbie. We didn't understand the Hebrew but as we drove away he explained it to us in Arabic. He didn't have his seat belt on. His explanation that we had just gotten back into the car from this last flying checkpoint was good enough to avoid what is equivalent to 125 dollars Canadian.

In a place where the Israelis are more concerned with Palestinians driving with a seat belt on, or pulling them over just to make their lives more difficult within their own territory, they ignore the real dangers. Last night a Settler gunned down a 50 year old Palestinian man and his 19 year old son as they drove south of Nablus. The man was killed, his son survived.

***
Pictures
Medical Clinic in Nablus
Palestinian Flag amidst the rubble.