Checkpoint 300

I was in a hurry. I had been in Bethlehem for a meeting, and I wanted to get back to Jerusalem as early as possible that evening. It had been drizzling rain all afternoon so a local teacher who had been at the meeting dropped me off at the Bethlehem checkpoint. Normally, I would take Arab Bus 21 back into Jerusalem, but Israel has recently closed down Bus 21 to "tourists" - which apparently means all internationals - so instead I needed to go through the checkpoint and catch Bus 124 on the other side.

As I hurried along the passageway to the entrance (pictured), the corrugated tin above me did little to prevent the rain from trickling into the walkway. I knew I was lucky for a couple of reasons: 1) It was only drizzling, not pouring and 2) The checkpoint was relatively empty at this hour of the afternoon, instead of packed as it is when hundreds of thousands of Palestinians make their way to work every morning.

I passed the first IDF (Israeli Defense Force) soldier and headed across the vast expanse of cement to the actual building of the checkpoint. After winding my way through more empty rows that are likely packed with people in the mornings, I finally ended up in a small row of people waiting to have their bags and IDs checked by the IDF soldiers in the adjacent room. There were a number of European or American tourists mixed in with the Palestinians waiting for the little light above the turnstyle to turn green, indicating that the next few people could push through the revolving bars. It is almost impossible to describe the feeling of a checkpoint - the mixture of concrete floors, bright fluorescent lights, metal bars and tacky yellow walls that make you feel as though you are being herded through a cattle barn.

If the atmosphere itself weren't dehumanizing enough, the treatment of the Palestinians made my stomach churn. There were two young Palestinian boys a little ways ahead of me in line who were perhaps eight or nine years old. Before their turn to go through the turnstyle and enter the next room had even come, they began taking off their belts and untying their shoelaces. As I watched these small children submit to this dehumanization that is already a part of their understanding of this world, I thought of all the doctors, lawyers, secretaries and janitors who go through this same humiliation daily on their way to work. Slowly, the line crept forward as people were let through the gate in groups of two or three. The internationals took hardly a moment to go through the room, as their ID is not checked, their handprint is not taken and they are not stopped if they set off the metal detector.

The Palestinian woman in front of me was another story, however. Perhaps she was headed to Jerusalem for a night of shopping or a special occasion, as she was clad in fancy boots, a beautiful long purple jacket and her hijab (the headcovering many Muslim women here wear). She set her purse on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector. Beep. She turned and walked back through, removed her belt, and continued back through the metal detector. Beep. She turned around again, clearly bewildered by this problem. This time, she removed her sleek black boots and placed them on the conveyor belt before continuing back through the metal detector. Beep. I watched as she again turned around. This time, she hesitantly removed her long purple coat, which, along with her hijab, is likely part of what she wears in deference to the modesty taught by her holy Qu'ran. Now, with only her long-sleeved shirt, pants, socks and hijab, she again walked through the metal detector. I was petrified the detector would again beep and she would be forced to remove her hijab, or proceed somewhere to be strip-searched, but as far as I know she finally made it through.

Then it was my turn. I pushed through the revolving metal bars and set my purse on the conveyor belt. Passport in hand, I walked through the very same metal detector, wearing both a sweater and my jacket. Beep. I glanced over at the IDF soldier sitting behind a glass window. She waved me on.

As I left the checkpoint to enter the drizzling rain of Jerusalem, I again noticed a poster that reads "Enjoy your stay!" and shows a happy family of four basking in the beauty of a Mediterranean beach. Try as I might, though, I could not shake the repeated sound of the metal detector or the sight of an eight year old boy removing his belt and untying his shoes. How Israel can invite me to "enjoy my stay" in Jerusalem in the face of such blatant humiliation and degradation of a peoples, I have not quite been able to comprehend.

I'm sorry this post is such a downer - I hope to write soon with some observations and stories from recent trips to Egypt and Jordan. In the meantime, an Israeli author has done a much better job than I of capturing the daily horror of the occupation in this article, which I really encourage you to check out: The Lives of Others. Also, if you google "Bethlehem Checkpoint" there are some pictures that give more of an idea of the checkpoint itself. Checkpoints are a large part of life here in Israel/Palestine, and after this recent experience I realized that all too often I have also just accepted them as "normal" - when they are so clearly not.