One Wrong Word is Enough. Women guards near the guard posts: a tour with the women of the Israeli peace movement "Machsom Watch"

NABLUS, end of June
We have an appointment with Naomi Lalo, the spokeswoman of "Machsom Watch". Before we reach one of the bigger checkpoints near Nablus, North of Jerusalem, she attaches the palm-sized tag of this peace organization to her black t-shirt. "Women against Occupation and for Human Rights" is written in small print under the pictogram of an eye. Seven years ago, when cooperation between Jewish and Palestinian women became harder and harder and finally impossible, women from the Israeli so-called peace camp founded "Machsom Watch." "We didn't want to watch idly, how brutally some of our soldiers at the checkpoints in the West Bank deal with the Palestinians," says Lalo. "We cannot prevent human rights violations, infringements of rights and harassment, but we at least register them and pass them on to the responsible authorities."
Every day they stand in groups of two or three at several focal points, trying to settle disputes, helping the sick to pass the inspections more quickly, and occasionally negotiating, when vital transports, such as milk and other foods, are delayed. "They know us; we are inconvenient observers. We haven't reached our goal of waking up the Israeli public. Sometimes we are called traitors by our compatriots," says Naomi Lalo, even though she and the other women from Machsom Watch understand that Israel has to protect itself from terror.  Whether or not the checkpoints deter assassins determined to commit suicide, she considers an open question. Peaceful coexistence, she argues, cannot be achieved by means of force and isolation but only through negotiations.

"Machsom" is a Hebrew word, meaning barricade or barrier. Between East and West Jerusalem there are at least two such checkpoints, which block passage and make it impossible for Palestinians without special IDs and permits to travel. In the West Bank, which is about the size of the federal state of Bremen, the roughly 600 barriers were erected not only along the "Green Line," the border after the Six Day War, but often up to eight kilometers deep into Palestinian territory. Gradually, Palestinian towns were cordoned off with barbed wire, walls and earth mounds. Villages are now cut off from neighboring villages and above all from their fields and olive groves, schools, hospitals, doctor's clinics and offices. These can be reached only by travelling long, partially unpaved, rocky detours and with written permits, for Palestinians are not allowed to use the wide new streets which cut through the West Bank.

The eight meter tall walls, the guard towers and electric fences, behind which Israel is barricading itself and which cut up the West Bank into innumerable enclaves, awaken troubling memories.  Some checkpoints are provisional shelters made of corrugated iron, often flanked by one or several hollow concrete blocks, in which the soldiers find protection from stone throwing children. Others are constructed with armored glass, stable iron bars and automatic turnstiles almost as perfect as Marienbad near Helmstedt used to be.
At our next stop, Qalandia, the central border crossing between Jerusalem and Ramallah, Naomi positions herself, as demanded, at a certain distance from the heavily armed young Israelis, who are watching the silent long line of people. Nobody pushes. It is impossible to assess in advance how long men and women with children will have to wait here in the blazing sun, until they are allowed, one by one, to pass through the narrow turnstile, or sent back. Checking the ID can take hours, and even more so the searching of luggage as well as bodily searches. Young men are often blindfolded and their hands cuffed. Under such difficulties it is almost impossible for Palestinians to work in Israel, to visit family and friends or just to go shopping. Teachers and students cannot get to school on time, businessmen miss their appointments. Everyday life is paralyzed. Unemployment in the West Bank has risen to 65%.

"Welcome to the Gate to Hell!" This is how a young Palestinian greets the Machsom women at the parking lot of the Qalandia checkpoint. He regrets that the observers aren't doing their voluntary service there around the clock. Every now and then terse commands interrupt the oppressive silence. "No wonder," says Lalo, "that nerves are lying bare here. The soldiers also can't cope with this tension. One wrong word is enough, a seemingly threatening movement, in order to make hostility and hatred turn into violence." Naomi Lalo served in the military herself for two years, like all women in Israel, and she knows how it can influence young people. She feels sorry for the young men, who have to serve for three years and who are as old as her son. "They have been told that they are defending their country here at this post and that every Palestinian is a suspected terrorist. They sweat under their bullet-proof vests, they are bored, but some also enjoy causing fear and terror with their heavy weapons. They do not fire only warning shots. The number of youths shot to death, among them ten year-olds, is inaccurate. On the Israeli side, the people killed in terror attacks are counted more accurately. But both are victims."

The next day we drive with Roni Hammermann and her Arabic speaking friend, a translator and publisher, to Hebron. On the hills to the right and the left of the autobahn-like road we see the handsome new terraced houses, built illegally from red bricks on Palestinian territory. Wide streets lead to them, cutting through the terraced gardens and olive groves of the peasants, who are not allowed to cross the settler streets. The old villages no longer have street signs. The signposts to the new settlements like Efrata are increasing.
Hebron, the old city of kings, with its one hundred and thirty thousand inhabitants, was until a few years ago a thriving center of commerce. But since 350 militant settlers succeeded in settling in the historical center, near the grave of the patriarch Abraham, the town center has become a ghost town. More than 1,000 merchants had to close their shops, 500 were expelled by soldiers, who were deployed for the protection of the settlers, and entire streets stand abandoned. The former residents are crowded together at the homes of friends and family. In the wall of a building across the street, a marble plaque commemorates the 2002 murder of a rabbi. However, the settlers like to forget that in 1994, only a few steps from here, a fanatic settler shot to death 29 praying Muslims at the Abraham Mosque. This was the starting shot for murder and manslaughter.
As foreigners we pass the checkpoint without difficulty. In this formerly lively place of pilgrimage - apart from the patriarch Abraham, Sarah, Rebecca, Jacob and Leah are buried here - we seem to be the only tourists. In the old shopping district we are offered mint tea. Our two companions from Machsom Watch did not go with us. In the meantime, Arab youths have talked to them, telling them that they are unemployed and without a future, forgotten by the world.

"Cry, the beloved country," Gideon Levy headed the collection of his articles published in Ha'aretz. Like his colleague Amira Hass, he regularly visits the territories, which have been occupied for 41 years. What he sees there can be read every week in his paper.  "Our delegates in the Knesset should finally be hearing these outcries," says Roni Hammermann. "We want peace, for us and for our neighbors." She, whose grandparents were murdered in Auschwitz, will come to Germany in September and receive, for the women from Machsom Watch, the Aachen Peace Prize, together with Mitri Raheb, the Palestinian minister of the Lutheran Christmas Church in Bethlehem.