“I’m just following orders.”

The protest fuse is short in Palestine.

The news that Muhammad Mubarak, a resident of the Jelazun refugee camp, was shot to death by IDF soldiers ignited waves of protest throughout the West Bank.

We went down to the village of Silwad through an obstacle course of boulders and thorns.  Many soldiers fired much tear gas at many children and youths who threw many rocks.

At the entrance to the village which is near Highway 60, but whose access road is blocked to the villagers who must use a narrow road through a tunnel under the highway to reach Ramallah, a soldier stood next to a military vehicle and prevented Palestinians from going home:  “Because rocks are being thrown there,” he said.  We asked why he’s not allowing people through – “Those are the orders.  It’s the army.  I’m a soldier, I only follow orders,” he replied and repeated, “I’m just following orders” when asked whether he realizes he’s imposing a collective punishment, which is illegal.

Farther on, on a hill overlooking the village, soldiers lay in wait for rock throwers.

They sat tensely among the boulders waiting to hear what an officer had to say.  There was also a Palestinian man who’d been detained, who refused to follow the officer’s order to sit down and shut up.  The Palestinian walked back and forth, waving his arms.  He wanted to go home.  “Why?  Why?  Where’s the officer?  Where’s the officer?…” he yelled at the officer.

“He’s mentally disturbed,” people told the officer, “Let him be, he’s sick, he’s got a certificate, he’s not well…he doesn’t do anything.”  “Ruch, ruch,” yelled the officer.   “Ruch” [get out of here] is the only Arabic word the officer knows, and he doesn’t need any others.  “Ruch” he also yelled at the young man’s mother who arrived urgently with three of her daughters.  She wanted her son.  “Ruch,” he said again, yelling “I’m telling you in Hebrew, Ruch!”  But the detained Palestinian persists:  “Why?  Where’s the officer?  Where’s the officer?…”  And the officer:  “I’ll send you to jail; all I have to do is say so!” he screamed, pushing the Palestinian away.

It was hard to decide which of the two was “not right in the head.”  But it was clear who had the gun and which one decides the fate of the other.

The battle between the rocks and guns lasted hours, ending only when the day ended and darkness fell.

Light on their feet as wild goats, the youths skipped among the boulders and olive trees in the wadi, advanced and retreated along the main road, ran among the houses, emerged from the alleys as they threw rocks at the soldiers who fired bursts of tear gas grenades at them in unison.  They fired with rifles, and also with a gun called “Ringo.”

Trails of white smoke marked the grenades’ flight; a white mist filled the olive groves.

A family living on the edge of the village offered us shelter on their porch from the rock throwers and those firing tear gas.