Jubara, Anabta, Monday PM, February 20, 2006 Watchers: Yonah A. and Tsiyona S. (reporting) Jubara 13:30 — We requested to enter the village. The soldier informed us that this is Palestinian territory and off limits, but after we told him that we are from MachsomWatch and always go in, he checked on the phone and allowed us to enter. We drove toward the Schoolchildren’s Gate, which was closed. The lovely weather made for a pastoral atmosphere. Two women are sitting in the field near the teacher’s house, drying za’atar [a native herb] in the warm sun, against the spectacular view. They invite us to drink coffee, bring chairs, and offer us some za’atar. The Schoolchildren’s Gate is still closed. At that moment we saw the school bus descend from the hill opposite and we hurried to the main gate. The school bus was already standing at the exit of the southern gate, at the exit from Tulkarm. Within a few moments the children were inside Jubara.14:00 — As we approach the southern gate of Tulkarm, the soldier at thecheckpoint on the road asks us not to come near the entrance roadblock because, as he claims, ever since the terrorist attack there have been warnings in effect. We notice that the checkpoint is manned with a larger-than-usual number of soldiers. Maybe that’s why there are almost no vehicles standing in queue, and the pedestrians also pass through quickly. The soldiers’ manner toward them is businesslike.AnabtaMore than anything else, in Anabta there’s a stark contrast between the beauty and peacefulness of the scenery around–a scenery more beautiful today than ever, with the redness of the anemones and the whiteness of the almond trees–and reality which wounds and defiles that scenery. The filth, the barbwire fences, and the pillbox, the people in queue humiliated by 19-year-old soldiers — an unnecessary humiliation that can only lead to hatred and terrorism.14:30 – The taxi drivers are desperate. Instructions change five times a day, without the least logic. Presently, Shofi residents can enter Tulkarm, but Nablus and Jenin residents, and also residents of Beit Lid which is only 2-3 kilometers away – cannot. Therefore, school pupils have to get on a taxi, wait at the checkpoint, and get on a different taxi; and taxi drivers, who never know when they can enter and when they can’t – cannot make a living.They tell us that selling merchandise in the villages outside Tulkarm is forbidden. “Yesterday, a vegetable truck which wasn’t allowed to cross tried to pass through the surrounding hills, was stranded in the mud, is stuck for three days. They took the keys and documents from the driver . . . his livelihood is gone. Even when they let one passthrough, there’s a roadblock on every kilometer. Tulkarm, Ramin, Beit Iba. . . you can’t make a living – stealing is the only option.” More testimony: “Yesterday I drove a doctor from a hospital in Nablus. We waited for an hour and a half. . . The doctor approached the roadblock to ask the soldier to let him through because he must get to the hospital. The soldier agreed and told the doctor: get the driver to approach the roadblock. In the meantime another soldier came over and tied my hands behind my back. All my attempts to explain why I came near didn’t help.””Believe me, the terrorists don’t pass through here. they have other ways to pass. The people trying to pass here are those who want to make a living and young people who want to study.” I see this with my own eyes.14:40 – D., the checkpoint commander, asks us who we are and whatwe’re doing here. He claims he never met Machsom Watch women untilnow. There are 15 vehicles at the entrance to Anabta. Around 30 people wait by the exit. One of them – a man of about 50 – calls us over and wants to talk. D. yells at him: “Stay back, they will approach you,” and lets us approach. He pours out his pain over thesuffering at the checkpoints. Two minutes later a Humvee arrives and out comes a soldier, whose function is not precisely clear. He comes over and demands that we pull back to the taxis. The reason: “This is a ‘sterile’ military zone.” We let him know that we have a permit tostand here. “I’ll call the police.” We remained standing, and he gets on the Humvee and drove away. But from that point on, every time the man who spoke to us approached the checkpoint and tried to show his documents he was sent back. At first we thought there was something awry in the documents; an attempt to ask D. about it was met with disregard, as he hushes his friend who wanted to reply: “Don’t respond to her.” Two officers stood on the Palestinian side of the checkpoint. The man approaches them to explain that he needs to cross, and shows his documents. But D. yells from afar not to let him through. The man seats himself on a rock, smokes a cigarette, and tries again, and again he is rejected: “Go to the back.” This torment was kept up for over an hour. We are convinced by now that this is punitive and try to phone the spokesperson at brigade HQ, but in each case only a machine answers. Finally, after the tenth time that the man is sent to the back, Yonah tells the soldier: “D., you are not allowed to do this. We will report it.” This has an effect on D., who now consented to let him pass.The man is embittered and humiliated. “That’s how you want peace. I conduct business with Israelis. When I drive to the Golan Heights the whole way is free – and here – a roadblock every kilometer. In Palestinian territory. I show my soldier the documents of my parents in Jordan and he laughs at me. Why does he laugh?” He repeats thisquestion several times, and it seems that the humiliation and scorn hurt him more than the unnecessary and pointless delay.Comment:The whole situation is inane. What does security have to do withthis? It pushes innocent people to the fold of terrorism.