Anabta, Jubara, Sunday 23.04.06 PM Observers: Alex W., Susan L., (reporting)Guests: Kashfi H., Annie M. Summary: On Differences: It’s only recently that many of us heard, “Why is this night different from all other nights?” Some of us have been away from it all and wonder if a day, a week, or weeks make a difference in the Occupied Territories, or, as one commander observed, “What’s the difference anyway?” 17:45 Anabta Nature has wrought changes for the better here: the water marshes are awash with tall, softly colored spring flowers, delicate shades of pink, yellow and cream. They have grown so tall as to cover some of the ugliness of the man wrought occupation: the razor wire that desecrated the sides of the road leading up to the newly flag bedecked military lookout tower, which now also sports two dark green (almost black) military unit flags. The soldiers here carry on with their usual “who can pass, who can’t” routine. A business man is sent back in the Tulkarm direction, getting lost in the crowd of vehicles, before we can get details. The commander states that he “can’t say why” he can’t pass, other than that his orders come from higher up, and that if we wish to question somebody it’s not him. Just then, he and another soldier start running back, guns drawn, in the direction of the taxis. As we look, we spy a yellow minivan wending its way up the hillside, through the olive groves to the bright white village of Ramin above. How did it get across the earth mounds barring the dirt path up to the village? As we approach the taxi drivers, in their usual place, everybody is cheering, everybody there and in vehicles lining up to go through the checkpoint is happy, everybody is grinning broadly: the system has been beaten! Meanwhile, the two soldiers, have given up the attempt to run across the fields, up into the hills, but they’ve called for reinforcements, and a Hummer with a group of another four soldiers appears in less than two minutes. The soldiers go into their usual American-style football huddle, confer, whisper, arms draped across each other’s shoulders, but the Hummer soon leaves, as do we. 18:15 JubaraWe see a huge line of vehicles mainly trucks and buses, on the Palestinian road below, and we make our way up through the village, to Gate 753, which is obviously closed at this hour. It should be noted, that the ink markings on the yellow metal sign on the gate which tell of opening and closing hours there, have completely faded after the winter rains. The sound of the wind and the birds is broken only by the harshly cruel shouts of the soldiers across the gates, at Ar-Ras, on the Palestinian roadway, barking at the vehicles approaching the checkpoint. Back at the checkpoint, at the village gate, a man begs us to help him get home. He has a permit, but the adamant soldier points out it’s for Gate 919, and he can’t cross here. There are no other people, there are no other vehicles as darkness begins to fall on the checkpoint. The soldier won’t budge. Our calls to the DCO get nowhere, the man remains at Abu Ghatem’s, expressing gratitude for what we tried — but failed — to do, and we make our way homewards. There is nothing new under the sun, which, in any case, didn’t provide us with the dramatic sunset that we have grown accustomed to from the village of Jubara! A final note: boulders across the entrance to the parking lot above the checkpoint at the roundabout. No taxis. No waiting cars. Nobody struggling up or down the steep path to the parking lot above. Why? And no Palestinian Israelis visiting family in Tulkarm? What’s different? Time makes things only worse in the Occupied Territories.