Even Kafka could not have dealt with or imagined the labyrinth of Israeli bureaucracy, which seems to invent new ways each day to make the lives of Palestinians increasingly unbearable.
Since last week, Shlomit—despite her doggedness and countless phone calls, each one redirecting her to yet another number—has still not managed to pay the fine for the Palestinian who asked for our help. She continues to try. Another Palestinian, facing a similar fine, sent a friend to pay it for him in Kiryat Arba.
A Palestinian man was recently in a car accident with a settler. Both were hospitalized. We do not know the settler’s condition, but the Palestinian was badly bruised, kept overnight, and then discharged with instructions to return in a week for a check-up. He was told he needed a police report on the accident. When he went to the police station near the DCO, he was sent instead to the DCO itself—where, of course, there was no policeman. Hanna B. advised us to take him to Beitar Illit next week, and we will try to go with him. Alone, he cannot pass through the gates. The bitter irony is that he has been instructed to “rest” (take off from work) for a week—though he has in fact been “resting” for nearly two years.
Another man owns two houses: one on the Palestinian side of Checkpoint 300 (Bethlehem), and one on the Israeli side. When he stays in his Israeli-side house, he is accused of living there illegally. When he is in his Palestinian-side house, near Rachel’s Tomb, he is told that his phone signal shows him calling from the Israeli side, and he cannot convince anyone otherwise. The result: he cannot enter his own home. We realized too late that we had not taken down his phone number—something we often forget. Only afterward did it strike us to ask: why two houses on opposite sides of the barrier? Few Israelis have even one home, let alone two, but his story remains telling.
Friends of ours shared the following. They own plots of land near Alon Shvut and Hish: a fruit orchard and an olive grove. For two years they were barred from entering. Recently, they were finally allowed in to prune and clean the land. They had installed cameras around their plots, but the army ordered them removed, claiming they posed a “security” issue and insisting the army needed free access. In practice, this meant settlers had easy entry. The land had been fenced, with a locked gate. The couple was ordered to leave the gate open. Soon settlers entered, burned trees, stole olives, tore open sacks of harvested fruit, and scattered the contents. One settler arrived and declared, “This is my home. What are you doing here? Go back to where you came from.” Soldiers from the regular army stood by, watching and listening—doing nothing.
According to all signs, this “soldier” in uniform was not actually a regular army soldier, but a settler conscripted under special arrangements. A report explains:
“After the war began, settlers were recruited into the reserves, some for community protection. Later they were conscripted, given uniforms, weapons, and authority to operate as IDF soldiers within their settlements. Palestinians recognize them immediately. To avoid future lawsuits, these settlers are often masked—unlike regular soldiers. One sees ‘soldiers’ wearing civilian shoes, ritual fringes beneath uniforms, and masks. They are authorized to conduct IDF operations: searching homes, declaring closed military zones, stopping and interrogating people with violence. Regular soldiers, even if inclined, are not permitted to do more than feebly attempt to restrain them—and rarely even that.”

The wife, quietly, said she had watched her husband sit and weep.