Deir Sharaf, Beit Iba, Sunday, 01.10.06 PM Aliya S., Alix W., Susan L. (reporting) Summary “Atonement,” by British author, Ian McEwan, is a novel as much about lying as it is about guilt or penitence. So on the eve of Yom Kippur, it’s the lies that come to mind as we make our way back from the Occupied Territories to behind the Green Line, to a country where most people, secular as well as religious, remain secure in the lies they tell themselves to make their everyday lives more palatable. 11:00 Qalqiliya Not one vehicle crossing into Israel proper, but the first Palestinian village from the checkpoint, An-Nabi Elyas, is awash in yellow plated, Israel licensed cars outside the plentifully laden butchers and vegetable shops. Jit Junction – rolling checkpoint Soldiers, Hummer paying them a visit but no vehicles to check Qedumim Industrial area – rolling checkpoint Soldiers, military jeep, two vehicles waiting to be checked 11:30 Deir Sharaf The high new wall, at a right angle to the one already built, is about to be decorated: the piles of finely chiseled stone are lying on the ground, the cement, to which they will be attached, already visible on the inside of the wall, away from the now closed Route 60 to Jenin. That road is deathly quiet, a bright yellow creeper peeps joyfully over the top (nature is unconcerned with humans’ shenanigans). But near the junction with Route 57, the road to Beit Iba, an olive grove has been completely cut down. By next week, we’ll know why and by whom.. 12:00 Beit Iba The Huwwash Bros. tell us that, thus far, the soldiers have been good during Ramadan and, today, based on the news, playing on a radio in the large work area, the checkpoint also seems to be all right. (Note: where we may hear news about traffic jams, the Palestinians have up to date reports on hold ups at checkpoints, which seems both logical and necessary.) At the entry to the checkpoint, a young woman stops and smiles to say hello. She’s carrying the inevitable notebook, signifying she’s a university student. We glimpse “vocabulary” and hazard a guess that she’s learning English. “Yes,” she beams and continues, “We love more..” But the word fails to come, so we supply an interrogative, “peace?” “Yes,” her smile becomes even broader, and she and her friends make their way homewards as we make our way to the main checkpost. The trash bags, overflowing with litter, as we noted last week, are gone, but the ground is still littered with plastic drink bottles thickly encrusted with dust, and it’s impossible to stand by the concrete divider, demarcating the roadway because the trash is half ameter deep. At one of the revolving turnstiles, large dirt covered plastic bags have become embedded in the dust that lies on the ground. From Nablus, two buses and three trucks, few cars. Not one vehicle into Nablus. A notice in Arabic flaps on the sides of the boulder at the vehicle checkpost. One soldier is inside, gun pointed, another outside, gun pointed. 12:15 — K., the commander, can’t understand Arabic, nobody can, and a Palestinian stands, frustrated, at the checkpost with a piece of paper, no ID, but with a colored photo on it. He is held for a short time, not checked and is on his way. A Palestinian Israeli, blue ID, wants to visit his aunt in Nablus, is told by K., that he needs to be back at Beit Iba by 7:30 this evening (enough time to grab his after Ramadan meal and run)?! 12:25 — a DCO representative arrives, spends time talking with K. and another soldier. A slow day, “normal” in all its routine dreariness and endless tedium.