Jit Junction, Deir Sharaf, Beit Iba

Jit Junction, Deir Sharaf, Beit Iba, Sunday 12.11.06 PM Observers: Alix W., Susan L. (reporting) SummaryWe assume that serving in the IDF offers opportunity for job experience and specialized training, and that the proficiency of basic combat skills while operating as part of a team in a field unit are taken for granted. We assume, also, that basic military training skills are acquired before commanding a checkpoint, and that the ability to think, look, and act like a soldier, without detailed supervision, is what should be expected of this kind of military leadership. Not so: our shift today, at Beit Iba, illustrated the opposite. At Anabta and rA-Ras, where there were also new soldiers, things were a lot better. 14:00 JitOn the northern side of Route 55, at the junction with the village of Jit, we stopped at the olive press, distinguishable by dozens of sacks of olives outside. Inside, an impressive, noisy scene with the high tech Pieralisi system of olive oil extraction going at full blast -- the golden, limey green, liquid pouring out at the end of a complex system of washers, separators, and decanters. We were made to feel welcome and immediately heard about problems with settlers in a village near Huwarra and gave phone numbers for the owner of the press to receive help with his olive harvest. Jit JunctionTwo soldiers at each side of the junction, only a couple of vehicles at each side at this time. But this checkpoint is known by Palestinians to be "especially bad." Beit Iba14:30 -- there seem to be many more taxis again. The checkpoint is bustling, the new kiosk on the northern side of the checkpoint now boasting two tiny terraces on either side from which men sit and watch the passing parade of people and vehicles, braving themselves for the horrors of the checking ahead or reviving themselves from the ordeal just endured! A Safari hoots and whizzes its arrogant way through the crowded area before the checkpoint: a change of shift. The Safari places itself across the roadway, blocking the exit, so that nothing can pass, (including ambulances); the driver gets out, as does the new commander, a second lieutenant named J. 14:45 -- outgoing soldiers meander from their positions, slowly, slowly, to the Safari, and its driver, seeing us standing there, soon returns and moves to the Qusin side of the junction. But the incoming soldiers of the new shift take their sweet time, and it takes 30 minutes for them to start checking the endless stream of vehicles coming out of Nablus. After all, there are jokes to exchange, conversations to be held – everything but the work at hand takes priority. Meanwhile, where there were no vehicles coming into Nablus a short while ago, there are now seven or eight, and the line grows longer and longer during our shift. There's now no way for pedestrians to make their way to or from the vehicle checking area: a concrete block has been moved across the gap in the walkway, and the metal barrier, leading to the quarry now also blocks the stony, muddy walkway where pedestrians formerly could walk away from the checkpoint towards Deir Sharaf. In other words, vehicles and pedestrians have to share the same roadway: another thoughtful innovation from the occupiers to make life more difficult for the Palestinians! 14:55 -- a soldier at the vehicle checking area holds his gun less than half a meter away from the face of a private car driver. Is this really necessary, we ask, knowing full well the answer. The Taneeb bus from Nablus to Tulkarm stops to be checked, and the owner of the company, who bears the same name, steps out, and tells us that there are twelve passengers today, each paying 6 NIS. Gas, for the ride costs 350 NIS. Nowadays, there is only one bus in each direction where once there were seven or eight a day. And it's been like this for the past six years. As we talk, two men get out and make their way towards waiting taxis: their ride will cost them 8 NIS. 15:05 -- at the central checking area, stands the commander, J., and unusually for a commander, points his gun directly at the young men (students) passing through the turnstiles, shouting to them to pirouette, lift their shirts, calling, "Jalla, jalla" (get on with it). The humanitarian line is open for women and older men, and two soldiers, one of them the DCO representative, B., stand there. 15:35 -- J., the commander, tells pedestrians, that nobody from 16-35 may pass into or out of Nablus, and nobody from Jenin. (The Huwwash brothers had told us things were bad in the morning when they got to work, but they got there). J. moves over to B., the DCO representative, asks his name, tells him the restriction of movement rules, which B. tells us are new to him, and that they may indeed change from hour to hour. J. meanwhile spends most of the time on the phone, never visits the vehicle checking area and issues us orders, continuing to harass us for the rest of our shift. We are told that we can't stand on one side of the checkpost (by the humanitarian line); that "there is a line," not to cross it, and eventually we see some differently colored dirty dust on the ground. J. says he will phone the police, which he does, and next demands our ID particulars, even bothering to leave his "command" post to wander over to the vehicle checking area where one of us observes. One of us refuses to give particulars. He takes our photos on his cell phone. The police, surprise, surprise, do not come. We continue with our monitoring. He continues with his deficient leadership, failing to note the growing lines of people or of vehicles. At the vehicle checking area, the soldiers also have no clue as to what to do: they spend an inordinate amount of time with the porters, the men with wheelbarrows or donkey carts, transporting goods from one side of the checkpoint to the other. One porter complains that the soldiers are new, he's had to wait 25 minutes, and they then go over all the goods in his barrow, complaining that he's not the owner! Buses, trucks and private cars, coming from Nablus, wait for well over 40 minutes before they reach the checking lane where soldiers tell them, with the infamous hand movements, to move back. More time wasted. So what, only Palestinians! Sometimes four soldiers check one truck coming from the west, and the traffic from Nablus has to wait even longer. A student asks to talk to B., telling him that it's not pleasant or right that they have to lift up their shirts. We agree and wonder if these soldiers have been `trained" by their comrades at Huwarra! B. can do nothing with these soldiers, and although his Arabic helps, he facilitates nothing, even sending men back from the humanitarian line to take their place with the students who have to go through the turnstiles (two working). 16:05 -- an American woman, holding three US passports (other people in the car) is told by J., the commander, that they should "be careful" in Nablus. The yellow license plated private car moves past the checkpoint towards the city, we're not certain how or why. A man with a "Palestinian Medical Relief Service" ID is told that it's a forgery, as both J. and the DCO representative find mistakes in the Hebrew (the Arabic and English are, evidently, in order). He can't get into Nablus. 16:15 -- the line of vehicles trying to get into the city is now way beyond the Huwwash Bros. carpentry workshop: too many to count.