BEIT IBA, 5 March 2004, PMObservers: Tamar L., Menucha M., Naomi L.Shavei Shomron JunctionFive minutes drive from the Beit Iba checkpoint, a surprise awaited us, a sudden checkpoint — five buses and private cars full of women and children, red-faced with the heat, stifling in the airless buses, the men were lined up along the road waiting to be checked, some of them had already been there for the past half-hour, others for even longer. Trying to find out from the soldiers what was going on, all we got was: “Don’t interfere with our work!” We distributed mineral water to the people in the buses (luckily we had bought a carton of eight bottles) and continued on to the Beit Iba checkpoint. We shall be seeing more of this checkpoint on our way home.Beit Iba –the side for those going towards NablusAs we arrived, we met a young lad who just did not know what to do: he had an appointment for 13:00 at a hospital in Nablus, but he had been turned back by the soldiers because he belonged to the suspect age-group (youngsters had better not be sick and need hospital appointments, ever!). The soldiers refused to talk to us, there was no one answering the phone at the Physicians for Human Rights and all we could do was to leave a message. The DCO said they were “checking”. Another contact, Sammy, was in Elat and promised he would try to follow up from there, but meanwhile it was getting later and later. The lad felt unwell and went in search of some shade, he was cooking in the heat and choking on the dust of the nearby quarry. It was already 14:00, a phone call to captain O. gave us to understand that he was on the other side of the checkpoint (the side for those coming from Nablus). After a short conversation with him, he arranged for the lad to go through. So, with a delay of two and a half hours he was finally on his way to Nablus: we can only hope he still got attention in the hospital– there was no answer from his cellular phone when we tried to check up on this later in the evening.The side for those coming from NablusThe usual situation– masses of people cooped up between two railings, those at the front being pushed forward by those behind them and then being shoved back again by the soldiers– over and over again. O. was checking and letting everyone through, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in a stream. He speaks Arabic, listened to complaints and showed consideration for the “humanitarian” cases, as distinct from the soldiers who stuck fast to the orders they had been given and ignored us completely. Lieutenant A. arrived on the scene and tried to dictate to us where we should — and more importantly where we should not — stand. His request of us :”Don’t interfere with the soldiers”. At the side, under the burning sun and without a scrap of shade, there was a group of several dozen detainees standing in the cloud of dust that every car and lorry passing through the quarry raised in its wake. Some of them had been there five hours and more. We tried to check on what was happening and meanwhile considerable time went by before some were let go and yet others took their places. They were all angry and frustrated: “One doesn’t behave like this even to animals….” they complained. Among them was a crippled lad who had been waiting for five hours. His father had tried to help him and in return he too had been sent to stand in the dust bowl. When they were finally released we met them again only five minutes car-ride away at that sudden checkpoint at the Shavei Shomron junction . Here they were ordered out of the Transit taxi owned by their Israeli cousin, lined up along the road, told to hand over their documents to the soldiers and again… to wait. We went berserk and begged the soldiers to let them go home: the lad needed to take medication and all the checks in the world had already been done. An angry phone call to the DCO from where we were standing alongside the soldiers produced the right response and the pair were soon on their way without any further checking.And now: the ultimate! Among those detained were …a 10-month-old baby, an infant of three, and a girl of five.Their mothers had been on their way to visit the grandmother and had chosen to go by the shortest route between the two villages–over the fields, along the paths they have always used all their lives. Here they were caught by the soldiers and rushed off, over the rocks and the stones, to the checkpoint. A., the commander of the checkpoint when there is no commander, screamed at them and they apologized(!), promising that they would not use that route again. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand and threatened: “Stand over there with all the others, otherwise I won’t let you go at all!” The children were all flushed with the heat, breathing in the white dust, restless. We asked the soldiers to get hold of lieutenant A., but they ignored us. Then we phoned the DCO and the staff there asked to speak to A., the acting commander, on our cell-phone. But all A. did was turn his back on us and refuse to speak. For our part, we continued the conversation with the DCO, saying loudly, so that he could hear: “He won’t speak to us, he refuses to speak to you, he refuses to call the lieutenant, he’s making babies into detainees!” Before they could even so much as draw breath in the DCO, A. had called over the women and let them go on their way, but even then he couldn’t resist screaming at them again. What a lesson they got: instead of spending time with grandma they had all spent an hour and a half in detention at the checkpoint!And as for us — we made our way home , not knowing where to hide our shame.