Hizma, Qalandiya

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Tamar Fleishman; Translator: Tal H.

Qalandiya and Hizma


The father of the man in the yellow shirt has suffered a stroke and is hospitalized at Hadassah, Mount Scopus, Jerusalem.

The son reported to the DCO to get an extension for his permit to continue nursing his father.

The permit has is valid until the next day. He also has an official form from the hospital, stating that the son’s presence at his father’s bedside is vital and necessary.

“No problem”, he was told. “But there’s a stamp missing here, and  a date here, and the doctors should write in the form until when your father is expected to be hospitalized. And anyway your father’s permit is valid only until tomorrow, so come tomorrow and bring whatever’s missing and it should be stamped and signed and everything written in, and then we’ll give you the permit just as you were issued two weeks ago.”

When I wondered whether the man lying in hospital paralyzed and helpless will be officially considered an illegal alien beginning tomorrow, an officer said to me: “I don’t speak to you”. “But I am speaking to you”, I said. “You’re air as far as I’m concerned”, he replied.


In Hizma Village

Until Sunday, the only place I ever saw so many armed men in one village was in the movies.

Four Border Police vehicles sped through the alleys.

Children playing outdoors clung anxiously to house walls.

At the only entrance to the village, only half opened (the others have been blocked for a month and a half now) combined forces  of army, police and Border Police were stationed.

Six youngsters were detained by the roadside, their IDS taken and they were released only after half an hour.


Every vehicle entering the village was required to stop, the contents of its trunk removed onto the road, bags were opened and inspected, and passengers interrogated.

Is there a knife in the car?

Did anyone throw stones?

Has anyone been in jail?

Does anyone have any business with the police?