I came to Qalandiya a day after Jerusalem Day, after the violent, racist performance in the alleys of Jerusalem’s Old City.

A day after a Jewish crowd hopped around shouting “Mohammad’s dead”, “May your village burn!”, Death to Arabs!”

I realized that here, in the space pulsating with knowledge of the starvation, murder and expulsion of family members and non-members in the Gaza Strip, violence and harassment of people living a reality of total lack of rights continues.

And for some reason, today of all days the ruler decided to manifest demolition orders.

This morning, armed forces of army and police headed by representatives of the Jerusalem Municipality arrived and turned human residences into rubble.

I don’t know the people who were expelled nor where they ended up, I don’t know what kind of ID they have, whether blue (Israeli residence) or green (West Bank). When I came to the site hours after this destruction, the place was empty of people and filled with rubble.

As if one’s ID color matters, defining its holder, as if the personality and loyalty of a new-born baby is consolidated by the color of its ID.

Gaza babies are abandoned to die as the common saying goes: “There are no innocents in Gaza”. And here, in the West Bank, in the area defined as Jerusalem, are there innocents, in the eyes of those who call out such slogans?

I could not contain the horrible sight of life destroyed in one fell swoop, and the camera could not contain such destruction in a single frame and like me, needed a pause between segments.

Later, when I came to a place of friendship and solace in Beit Hanina, I saw it standing above and gazing.