Jit Junction, Deir Sharaf, Beit Iba

Jit Junction, Deir Sharaf, Beit Iba, Sunday, 5.11.06 PM Observers: Aliya S., Alix W., Susan L. (reporting) Summary The mud encountered everywhere today was inglorious, but the green- black mud, almost sludge, coming out of the modern Italian-made olive press at Deir Sharaf, was indeed "mud, mud, glorious mud," and the smiling, proud faces of the dozens of men, young and old, gathered round with all kinds of containers and sacks of every shape and size, bursting with newly picked olives, told us all we need to know about the centrality of the olive not only for oil production, but for the Palestinians' sense of heritage and tradition. Just like the olive tree, the Palestinians we know seem to need very little, and know how to make do - in spite of horrendous checkpoints, rolling and permanent, and the ever present army of occupation. 13:35 Jit JunctionFrom the Za'atara direction, the line of vehicles stretches way round the bend leading to the village of Sarra - at least 24 vehicles, including an ambulance. From the other direction, only two vehicles, two soldiers manning each checkpost. One of the drivers asks if there's something untoward going on today. Not to our knowledge or to one of the soldiers, for whom there are no problems. The other begs to differ. 14:00 Deir Sharaf The olive press (modern machinery) which washes the olives, mashes them, "decants" them and spills out the golden oil, gradually and gracefully, into 55 liter barrels, which are then weighed, is humming, except that the sound is louder by far than a hum. The men, of all ages, are standing around, watching, waiting and smiling. They are proud at what has been achieved thus far, and there is still much work to be done - to pick and transport to the local press. The mood is lively and happy, yet only a kilometer or so away from the continuous presence of the Beit Iba checkpoint. The women at the window above beckon, urging us to join them and celebrate. 14:45 Beit Iba Here, at the checkpoint, real mud, nothing glorious about it or the usual ignominy of wait and check. Only ten vehicles trying to get into Nablus, but only two soldiers, working very slowly, for both directions. The commander, Second Lieutenant D., walks back and forth from the main checkpost to the vehicle checking area, almost every moment we're there, on the phone. It's impossible to tell him that there must be more soldiers checking vehicles or that an ambulance is made to wait as trucks make their way to be checked first. Four soldiers at the main checking area plus two military police, one smoking while working. Eventually, two of the soldiers make their way to the vehicle checking area, but the two that are already there take forever to check a taxi with seven or eight people. Each ID is looked at, slowly, each ID of the young men is checked against the list they are carrying, each license plate checked against its permit, etc. One taxi, after passenger IDs have been checked, oh so slowly, with many vehicle from Nablus waiting behind it, is told to go and stand by the wall at the Qesin crossing (this could have been done ten minutes earlier); and so this needlessly laborious process goes on and on. The Tanib bus proprietor, from Tulkarm, on a bus as is his wont, back to his city, steps down from the bus, and tells how rain and olive picking hold up everybody these days. The soldiers must be new: they don't know him, examine his ID in the same, laborious way. A second soldier tries to pat the reluctant donkey of one of the porters and enquires after his name (the donkey). Each car is checked thoroughly, the briefcase in a car bearing a medical sign is opened and perused. And so it goes. On the other hand, many pedestrians at the pedestrian checking area, particularly the women, are not looked at all. Some of the young male students are checked, sometimes a jacket has to be lifted, at other times - nothing. Not any people, mainly students. Last, but not least: a new barrier: a brand new, unmanned arm, in the usual fluorescent yellow, now closes the entry way to the quarry!