Beit Iba

Beit Iba, Sunday, 23.04.2006 PM Observers: Alex W., Susan L., (reporting)Guests: Kashfi H., Annie M. Summary: On Differences: It's only recently that many of us heard, "Why is this night different from all other nights?" Some of us have been away from it all and wonder if a day, a week, or weeks make a difference in the Occupied Territories, or, as one commander observed, "What's the difference anyway?" 14:50 Jit Junction: What's new here? The beginning of a permanent checkpoint before the turn eastwards. Both on Route 60, westwards, and towards Huwarra, there are boulders of concrete positioned in the center of the road, painted a brilliant red (just in case you fail to spot them) a soldier inside, other soldiers around him. The traffic is stopped. The checking is thorough and slow. The soldiers have never heard of MachsomWatch! Are surprised by our lack of fear at what we do. A stopped truck in the line is trying to get to Huwarra. The driver calls over to our stopped car, asking if we speak German: the driver, who studied in Salzburg, is from Tulkarm, is driving a fully closed truck inside which is food. He's been on the road since 8:30 this morning, the journey, he laments, taking three to four hours a day (20 kms or less, surely?) "It's not a life." Indeed. Although he's fourth or fifth in line, it takes another ten minutes before we see him turn left, on his way to Huwarra. 15:00 Junction with Routes 57 and 60: The rolling checkpoint here is just that, the Hummer stationed just west of the junction, but here are a total of 19 vehicles stopped at this hour. Two hours later, on our return, a paltry three or four. Beit Iba 15:35 The line of vehicles is also long here, at least 22, almost up to Huwwash Brothers Carpentry: when we leave it is even longer, stretching beyond their workshop. The brothers today tell of their latest problem: they can't pass the checkpoint, a few steps down the road, as they are under 30 years of age. Some of the checkpoint commanders who know them, say there's no respite. Others are cruel, and say "Go back, I don't care." A newly placed refrigerator bears out their telling us that they now have to sleep in the workshop. Although they have plenty of work, plenty of orders, they can't get help: no one under 30 can get past to and from Nablus! The occupation's stranglehold on the economy, on the daily working lives of ordinary people grows worse. 15:40The military lookout tower looming above the increasingly filthy and dusty checkpoint sports a new flag, twisting high on a pole in the stiff breeze. The compound around the tower, with its tall prefabricated concrete pieces - familiar to all as separation barriers - has gone, exposing the rural looking shed in the overgrown field behind the checkpoint. The commander, who we later find out is called G., tells us perfunctorily that, "It makes no difference what my name is," the other soldiers are similarly uncommunicative. One is checking people, men, women, young, old, coming through the humanitarian line, as only one other turnstile is working, and the line is long. There are many people and they press forward. The soldier behind the concrete boulder, outside the checkpost proper wanders over to the crowd, drawing an invisible line on the concrete divider, insisting they stand behind it. This exercise is carried out at regular intervals. 16:00 The vehicle line is long in both direction, the checking so very slow. The soldiers don't seem to be bothered, they seem under no pressure, lounge about, spend time with each passing vehicle, making little attempt to speed up the process. A group of four young women pleads and pleads with the soldiers to let them pass into Deir Sharif, the discussion (in English) goes on for at least five minutes, in vain. They turn and return from whence they came. 16:35 A middle aged man is now in the detention compound. A fluent Hebrew speaker, he drives what looks like a taxi but is in fact a vehicle used at his work: the Ministry of Health. He has been put in the compound since he's used the humanitarian line to by-pass the long line of vehicles, but the soldiers, including G., the commander of the checkpoint, and his sergeant, insist that his permit indicates that he can do so only until 15:00. They refuse to relent, and nothing we do or say makes them change their minds. The driver returns to his vehicle, and returns to Nablus. 17:15 The Palnet truck that we had observed on our arrival, at 15:35, when it was almost the last in line by Huwwash Bros., has almost reached the vehicle checking post. The driver is in good humor as we talk to him: why? Maybe Allah knows! We don't.. He's been almost two hours in line. As we leave, the guard of the quarry beckons us to come over. He's told us that they aren't working at present, but there are trucks bearing ground stones galore, and the dust flies thick and furious. Standing there is the quarry owner, Suleiman, who points out that before the advent of the Beit Iba checkpoint, three years ago, his office used to be the now unused, abandoned building that originally served as the checkpoint headquarters (before the creation of the lookout tower). Compensation? What a joke, but he still contributes, monthly, to a yeshiva (!) in Shavei Shomron: "Neighbors," he adds stoically, but cheerfully. 17:30 Our car is parked, as usual, in the "parking lot" at Huwwash Brothers, but on the sand because of piles that we did not understand on arrival. Now we do: two large, Israeli trucks are there, offloading sand. One driver, from Taibeh, tells that he can no longer drive through the checkpoint, and has to dump the sand here, for others to pick it up. He shrugs, and is on his way, as we are on ours. Difference: what a difference - for the worse - that time makes in the Occupied Territories.