We are not free….
by gracedaisy
I have been to Hebron on three different occasions now. This visit was a little different than last year, as it was not Friday, the day of prayer and protest, and also because there was not the added tension of the war in Gaza, which was the case last year. In fact today there was a particularly lively atmosphere in the commercial centre; the streets were packed with services, taxis, cars and women in head scarves rushing about laden down with bags. This I imagine was due to the fact that today was a holiday in the Islamic calendar – the Islamic new Year as I was told. Beyond the newer section of the city however, upon entering the old city, and the warren of streets that lead to the soukh, the atmosphere is different. Intermittent shops are closed behind iron doors, some of them welded shut, or with huge iron padlocks on them. Further on, the street is covered by a large metal caging which is lined with rubbish, cement bricks, and debris of various kinds. I am told by the man who chose to accompany us, that this was done by the Israelis. I know from my previous trip here, that the floors above are occupied by the residents of the Tel Rumeida settlement, settlers mainly hailing from the US who have taken up residency in the buildings which were once occupied by Palestinians and Hebronites or Khalili’s as they are known in Palestine.
Our companion takes us to his house, offers us tea and shows us the views from the roof of his home. It’s an old stone house, very basic interior, with modest furniture and no heating from what I can tell, apart from a plug-in electric heater. His wife serves us sweet tea with sage, a popular drink in the winter. From the rooftop, it is clear that this Palestinian home in the centre of the old city of Hebron, is surrounded by Israeli settlements. Water tanks with the Israeli flag are on all the rooftops, the brick work and windows of the buildings are new and modern (though in a style that is relatively similar to the local architecture it must be said), and IDF gun towers are scattered over the surrounding rooftops. Below us is a large basketball court area where a bunch of Israeli children play. They look up at us, shout shalom and smile widely. I can think only how strange an upbringing it must be for them, among all this madness.
We return back downstairs to the living room of the couple. They are friendly and welcoming and introduce their 3 children aged between 5 and 9. The man’s wife is pregnant with twins, though she wears a huge white scarf over her head, shoulder and torso which prevents me from guessing how late in her pregnancy she is. We are scarcely there a few minutes when they explain to us, in broken English that their son has problems with his eyesight. I cannot understand what happened exactly but they say something about the Israelis throwing a stone at him, and he wears thick glasses as testimony to his poor eyesight. They explain that their other son hid under the bed for 3 hours the last time the IDF soldiers entered their home. The children stare at us blankly, unsure who we are or what we are speaking about. The parents tell us that their son must travel to Jordan to see a doctor, but they cannot afford it. They tell us how hard their life is, that work is impossible to find. The man shows us a scar on his chest where he says he was shot by the Israelis, and another scar on his head. At that point the wife asks us if we can help pay for their son to go to a doctor in Jordan. There’s an awkward silence before I answer that we cannot. She looks shocked and disappointed. I then ask how much it would cost. They tell us $30. It’s a shockingly small figure, one that neither of us, despite our modest earnings would miss. It’s an excruciatingly awkward moment, as I muster up a negative response, all the while being watched by the young boy through his thick glasses. The wife smiles, says it’s not a problem. We are then ushered out the door, and down the stone steps to a makeshift stall the man of the house has set up in a burnt out shop unit, selling tourist paraphernalia. We resort to purchasing a woven purse, that neither of us wants or needs, for a high price of 30 ILS, an embarrassed attempt to give at least something without resorting to charity. We are watched by the woman and the children all the while. Before we leave she asks me to take a photo of her and the children which I do. They smile and wave us off, as we walk away with heavy hearts.
Her husband continues with us for some time, all the time pointing to rooftops and streets and uttering the words “Israelians” in what amounts to his only English vocabulary. I piece together the parts of the history of the city I hear the year before.
The situation in Hebron is perhaps one of the most difficult of many Palestinian cities given the presence of Israeli settlements within the city itself. In addition to the settlements surrounding it (Gush Etizon, Kiryat Arba), five settlements have been built within Hebron dividing the city into two areas H1, and H2. The H1 sector which covers 80% of the municipality of Hebron, is under PALESTINIAN AUTHORITY control. Sector H2, 20% of the city, is under Israeli control which includes part of the old city including the Al-Ibrahimi Mosque and a population of 40,000 Palestinians and 500 settlers. The presence of these settlers, and the IDF soldiers who are there to protect them and sometimes the Palestinians who come under attack from the settlers, explains the tensions in the city. Entire streets are restricted for Israeli settlers and sometimes internationals. Yellow gates bar entry to many of the roads and check-points and security barriers abound. We visit a school for example, full of young Palestinian boys playing soccer in its inner courtyard, that is constantly the scene of violence, as it is located on the same street as a settlement. The school’s pupils are often escorted by international observers as they come under attack from settlers throwing stones on a regular basis.
In reality, this also amounts to the old soukh of the city, a place that once represented the heart of the city, economically and culturally, being a near ghost-town, and highly restricted movement for Palestinians in the area. We speak with one shop owner, Jamal, about the situation. Jamal runs a small shop just a hundred metres from the entrance to the Mosque, selling locally hand-made and crafted goods. He lived in Manchester during the 1980’s and so speaks excellent English, amusingly in a strong Manchester accent. He remembers the hunger strikes of Bobby Sands and has a huge fondness for the Irish. He tells us how his father is 71 years old, and ran the shop before him, and still comes to spend the morning there with him. Sometimes his son also joins them, and all three generations work together. He tells us how bad business has been however, with no tourists coming to the city, and constant closures and pressure from settlers in the area, as well as the businesses around him remaining closed. The street behind his shop is a settler street and he can no longer enter there. Apparently over 1,000 homes and businesses were evacuated and closed down to accommodate the settlers who moved into some houses on the street. We chat a little about the peace process in Ireland, and the current situation. He asks us how it is there. I explain that although tensions still exist within communities, it is not as bad as it once was, and at the end of the day, people can more or less live, work and travel as they wish; that they have a freedom they did not have previously, even if some people wish for a different political solution still. He nods in understanding and tells us that yes it is different in Palestine. “Here,” he says, with moist eyes, “we are not free”. Unfortunately, it would take the blindest of men not to see that what he says is true.
