La logica dell’IDF.

4) I palestinesi non hanno il permesso di andare al Mar Morto. Da una mail di Dorothy Naor

Dear All,

The … report is somewhat lighter in nature, but nevertheless involves a soldier attempting to stop a Palestinian from just enjoying a small bit of life. The soldier in this piece sounds like a decent sort, but his being a soldier in the IOF–an occupation army–is itself indecent. And the fact that the Palestinian succeeded in having his evening at the beach was because he outwitted the soldier, not because the soldier gave in.

…
Please, badger your representatives and diplomats to pressure Israel to get out of Gaza, and to stay out, and to give the Palestinians freedom. Israel since the so-called pullout or disengagement (a disingenuous term) has controlled all of Gaza’s air, sea, and land exits. And indeed, as our young correspondent pleads, ‘where is the world’ in all of this? Does no one care?

Dorothy

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Date: Sun, 05 Nov 2006 11:08:31 -0500

Subject: [hannahreports] just a day at the beach

Dear friends,

The following is a report from a friend of mine who is currently in

Palestine. She’s written many that I’ve wanted to forward – about her human

rights work, her interviews with Palestinian kids who have been detained and

tortured, and more. They’re all incredibly moving, but for some reason I

particularly love this report. I won’t forward others but if you want to be

to the US in a couple weeks, so you probably won’t get too many more e-mails

from her even if you do sign up.

I hope you’re all doing well, and I hope you’re all outraged/inspired by the

continuous repression/resistance taking place in Palestine, Mexico, and

elsewhere.

Love Hannah

From Blythe:

The other night I drove with a friend up to the coast of the Dead Sea,

thinking how incredible it was that we hadn’t been stopped in our

tracks within fifteen minutes. My friend hadn’t seen the Dead Sea in

six years, although access to the beach is within the borders of the

West Bank and is a quick drive from his house. He had tried to bring

his niece three years before, but was turned back by Israeli soldiers.

Usually there is a checkpoint on the road from Ramallah to the beach,

and Israel maintains all control over the Dead Sea, as it controls

access to all water supplies in Palestine. But my friend had heard a

rumor that the soldiers were now leaving after 5:00 at night, so we

decided to just drive until we reached a checkpoint. I wondered what

kind of "security reasons" made it necessary to block Palestinians’

access to the Beach during the day, when they may want to bring their

kids for an outing, but leave it wide open at night.

We finally hit a checkpoint after half an hour of driving, and came

face to face with three soldiers who were wondering how the hell we

had made it that far- they could see straight away that our car had

the green Palestinian license plates and not the yellow Israeli

plates. I asked my friend if we should turn around, and avoid

questions, but he was feeling a bit impulsive that night, and would

not be turned back that easily.

The soldier approached our car and asked abruptly, "What are you doing

here?"

"Hi," my friend said cheerfully, in perfect English. "We’re just

taking a little evening trip to the beach. Nice night for hit, huh?"

He looked back confused.

"Um, can I see your passports?"

I handed him my passport, which seemed to satisfy him momentarily. He

then looked to my friend.

"Oh, did you want to see mine as well?" he asked.

The soldier nodded and smiled.

My friend went into his pocket and pulled out his green Palestinian ID.

The soldier’s smile vanished.

"I’m sorry", he said, "but I can’t let you pass."

"That’s ridiculous," my friend said, trying to sound as ignorant as

possible. "This is her first time to the area, and I really want to

show her the sea. Why don’t you just let us pass?"

This was clearly a foreign experience for that particular soldier- a

Palestinian who was speaking perfect English (and a little German) to

him, driving in a nice car with an American girl, on their way to an

evening at the beach. The nice car, the English, and the American girl

were most likely the source of his moral ambiguity.

"Well…you can wait here, and give her the car," he said. "Then she

can go to the beach and come back for you".

"What kind of fun would that be?" I asked.

"I’m really not sure miss," he responded.

We again tried to reason with him, told him that we only wanted to go

to the beach for an hour, that he could keep our IDs to make sure that

we’d come back.

"I just can’t. I don’t have that authority," he explained. "I’m sorry."

This was the first time that either of us had heard a soldier utter

the phrase "I’m sorry" and seem genuinely regretful of the position he

was in.

"Oh course you have the authority. You’re the one standing here with a

gun on your arm and your hand on the hood of our car," my friend

replied.

"I’m sorry," he said again. "My conscience just won’t allow you to pass."

"Your conscience?" I asked. "It will hurt your conscience more to let

us pass then to hold two friends back, for no explicable reason, from

spending a few hours at the beach?"

"Look, I wish I could, but I just can’t," he said. "I only have 14

weeks left of my service, and I just need to get it done. I wish I

could help you."

All I could think was, why can’t you? When did you get to the point

where you won’t risk anything for what you know is right?

I’ve heard many stories from friends here who have taken the

opportunity, even if just for a moment, to question the absurdity of

this occupation. It’s always a small gesture, nothing that would get

any media attention. Maybe they’ll try and drive through a checkpoint

on the lane reserved for Israeli settlers, knowing full well that they

will be stopped. They just want the opportunity to make a soldier

explain exactly why it’s okay for a settler to drive freely in the

West Bank, but not Palestinians. They want to make them say it out

loud. Sometimes it makes no difference, but every once in a while you

can put a mirror up to someone’s face.

I wish I could report that the soldier lifted his hand from the hood

of the car and let us pass that night, but he didn’t. In the end we

somehow found our way to the sea. We drove out to a private

Israeli-only beach, ten minutes back down the road. The only access to

the water was through this restaurant, where they seemed to be having

a live comedy show and party. We were the only green plated car in the

parking lot.

My friend walked in confidently and asked where the entrance to the

beach was. The hostess sized us up, and hesitantly asked us for 40

shekels each. I started to put up a fight, marveling at the irony that

she was charging my friend money to visit the sea.

"It’s worth it," he said, and paid the woman.

We walked past the private tennis courts and the open bar, climbed

down the steps, and my friend put his feet in the water of the Dead

Sea for the first time in six years. For over an hour we sat in

silence, staring across the water at the lights of Jordan.

That feeling of peace lasted for the rest of the night, even as we

walked back into the parking lot and quietly slipped past the two

military jeeps that were predictably surrounding our car, nodding

goodbye to the soldiers inside.

I was speaking with one of my colleagues the other day about the

incessant call coming from the U.S. for "peace on both sides", or

"acceptance of Israel" from the Palestinians. The insistence that

Palestinians and Israelis just need to learn to get along and work

together for a solution to the conflict.

"It is not my job to create organizations that work for a ‘cooperative

solution’," he said. "There are many of organizations in Palestine

that do this, that try and find ways to bring peace between us and

Israelis, but this shouldn’t be our responsibility. As the oppressed

party, my only job should be to speak out against oppression and to

resist it. That is all. And it’s the job of the Israelis to stop

committing acts of oppression.

It’s that simple."

These are the words that flash though my mind as I huddle with friends

around the TV and, watching pictures of women lying in the middle of

the street in Gaza. Shot dead for holding up their part of that

equation.

In Solidarity,