Anabta, Ar-Ras Sunday 25.06 PM Observers: Aliya S., Susan L. (reporting)Guests: Anke M., Katja M.SummaryMt. Sinai and the checkpoints in the Occupied Territories don’t seemto have much in common. But the issue of “limits” came up at Mt.Sinai for Moses, and is much in evidence today at the checkpoints andtheir surrounds. What limits or boundaries are set to oppress andhumiliate the “other?” And if the dignity of the “other” is notrespected, how can the integrity of the occupier be maintained?Lastly, are the checkpoints and the surrounding areas really a placeto test the young soldiers’ personal limits? The whole question ofmoral and ethical boundaries is a deeply troubling one.16:00 AnabtaWe arrive here earlier than usual as we’ve heard of long lines fromthe Beit Iba taxi drivers. True. The line reaches the junction withthe apartheid road to Jubara — 40 vehicles?  Who knows? Too many tocount, as we make our way gingerly through the closely packedvehicles. Unlike Beit Iba where there is little truck traffic, here,on this narrow, once bucolic valley roadway, there are huge semitrailers, trucks and buses of varying sizes and, in the middle, evenprivate cars. In both directions going in and out of Tulkarm.There are four soldiers at the checking point, two each at each ofthe concrete posts, each one now graced with metal roofing to guardthe soldiers from the searing summer heat. As we arrive, there’s achanging of the guard. We try to question the soldiers as to why thelong lines. “Don’t you know what happened this morning in Gaza?” Awonderful non sequitur! They couldn’t care less about the growinglong line, spurn our suggestions that they need more help. “The armydoesn’t have the manpower.” S., the sergeant major commander, spendsmuch of his time sipping his childlike water bottle drip. Hissidekick jokes and fools around with him, spends little time dealingwith the horrendous long line of vehicles, or the patient pedestrianswho stream past – in both directions. It’s as if these soldiers havereceived a “go slow” order, or isn’t it just that they do exactly asthey please, showing as much contempt, and meting out as muchhumiliation, to the Palestinians as they can.16:15 — the scene continues as before. The commander sips his water,a Palestinian-Israeli car, a family from Barka’a, on their way tovisit family in Tulkarm, have no proper papers. “I don’t believethem,” the soldier says to us. There’s a long discussion, there aresmall children in the car, they are told they can’t go in their car,otherwise they can go to Tulkarm. What’s the difference? With car andno papers? Without car, and still no papers?  The conversation dragson, the line grows. Eventually the car turns around, but as we leave,they call out to us, cheerfully, from a taxi: where there’s a will,there’s a way!16:30 — the “Erjah, erjah,” “Go back, go back,” continues, peopleare getting antsy as the line grows. On the way from Tulkarm, a largesemitrailer (which, at this point we can only guess has yellowIsraeli plates) has tried to skip the long line of vehicles waitingto be checked, using its superiority to move ahead. Instead, analmighty traffic jam ensues. Everything grinds to a standstill.Nobody can pass the semitrailer. At this point, we can’t see behindthe checkpost to realize that there are, in fact, two ofthese “creatures.”The soldiers continue to chat, to wander from one side of the road tothe other, the commander sips his water, does nothing. One soldierinsists on taking every box out of a minivan, although each box issimilarly marked (clothes), the checking is less thorough than justplain mean and nasty. The water sipping soldier, commander, lets manypeople walk past him, merely calling out gruffly to young men,  thatthey are to be checked more thoroughly.For fifteen minutes, nothing moves, some of the Palestinians begin toask questions, “What’s going on?” “I have young children in thecar,” “I’ve been standing in line one hour.” The soldiers insist thatthe semi-trailers are Palestinian. Palestinian trucks getting out ofline, blocking the other lane? Who believes that tall story? Nomatter. What the occupier says, goes, and the occupier can make orbreak what happens. The soldiers  can’t see, don’t bother to go andfind out. Do nothing to alleviate the massive traffic jam. It’s up tothe “other” to work things out. Or not…16:45 — somehow the vehicles coming out of Tulkarm sort themselvesout. The two offending semitrailers, with yellow Israeli plates, moveon, traffic begins to creep into, as well as out of, the city beyond.16:50 — and yet the soldiers have time to berate a Palestinianambulance on its way to Tulkarm: “There’s no emergency, why do youovertake everybody?”We take our leave but not before we hear that we “disturb” the workof the soldiers. Call this work? We call this an outrage, and make aphone call to Tami to contact the brigade commander.As we leave, we meet two Palestinian-Americans, delighted to hearabout MachsomWatch and what we do. Otherwise, we walk dejectedly pastthe endless line of vehicles (far too many to count). The linestretches far beyond where our car is parked, a hundred meters or sofrom the junction. But, of course, the Palestinians make way for ourcar, as we squeeze our way past them and wend our way, sorrowfully,up the apartheid hill to Jubara.17:25 — just before Jubara, there’s now a wire fence, on both sidesof the apartheid road up to Shufa, making entry to and from thevillage more impossible than ever.Ar-Ras17:35 — four soldiers, two at each concrete boulder, four cars fromthe north, four cars from the south. The landscape is desolate in itssummer heat, the summer dust sits squarely on everything andeverybody. Here the soldiers work, do what we suppose they must,nothing like the horror we endured at Anabta.But a still sadness hangs over the hamlet of Jubara. It’s closed in,it’s cut off, and a passing MachsomWatch shift is about all that goeson there these days.