From Qalandia Check Point, West Bank Palestine
In a wonderful display of stereotype destruction, our friend and co-volunteer here at Project Hope, Abby, is Jewish. Most of the time, her presence ensures a re-assuring representation for all three of the major religions for whom this is a Holy Land (along with my Christianity, and a number of flavours of Islam). This weekend, she provided an opportunity to visit Jerusalem for Yom Kippur - The holiest Day in the Jewish Calendar.
Setting off early on Friday morning (Arab busses don't run on Friday afternoons, Jewish busses don't run on Saturdays), We had a pretty uneventful ride to Ramallah - the largest city in the West Bank - and from there we were helped to find a No. 18 bus running to Jerusalem (despite the re-assurances to the contrary by a taxi driver, eager to secure our patronage) by a kind old Palestinian lady, who would be travelling with us.
En route to Jerusalem, we were required to stop at a check point in Qalandia. This is not out of the usual, and (for Internationals) is usually a relatively straightforward affair. Israeli guards (with guns) board the bus, and request our passports, while the Palestinians onboard are required to evacuate the bus, and queue up for an indefinite period in a kind of cattle-pen, through which they are admitted one-by-one. This, at busy times, can take four hours (or more).
But, on account of the heightened security surrounding the Yom Kippur celebrations, all the passengers were required to leave the bus, and join the line. As we approached, people were emerging, and telling our Palestinian friend that the check point was closed. Still curious, we approached the turnstile. There were about seven people ahead of us in the line, but even in suh small numbers we found ourselves waiting for half an hour.
We watched as, one person at a time, the buzzer buzzed, the green light came on, and our co-queuers passed through the gate. Between the bars, we could see them placing their bags in the X-Ray machine, and approaching the security window. After passing over the relevant documents, and a brief discussion, they were returned the way they had come, with forlorn, but unsurprised faces.
We quickly identified that this was going to be preferential in our favour, and encouraged our Palestinian friend to join us - if she was with us, we reasoned, she may share some of the benefit of our passports. Thus, we would have won a small victory over the occupation and struck a moral blow to the IDF!
She and Abby passed through gate, and eventually approached the window. Despite Abby's protestations that she was, in fact with us, it was clear that she was not going to get through the gate. Meanwhile, we were waved through, with no further questions. In limited Arabic, we tried to express our regret to our new friend. On arrival in Jerusalem, we witnessed more displaced Muslims , praying at the Damascus Gate - the nearest they were allowed to the Dome of the Rock.
Subsequently, we had a wonderful time in Jerusalem - visiting the Western Wall and an overlooking Synagogue, eating bagels in the modern city, wandering the City Walls late at night and sitting watching Spooks on the roof of the Hostel. We made friends with a Los Angelesian (?) called Kevin, and managed to get up in time for my travel-companions to be back in Nablus for their 10.30 classes.
