Al Quds for me and NOT for you

Special Permission 

Al-Quds is the Arabic name for Jerusalem meaning "sanctuary." One of the many reasons I wanted to go to Palestine was to visit this holy place, to be able to pray in Al-Aqsa was something I've always wanted to do. When I was held for 12 hours at the border and thought I was going to be banned from entering, one of the first things I thought was, this will mean I'll never ever be able to see one of the holiest places on earth. Little did I know, that people living literally 10 minutes away from Jerusalem can't even dream of going. On my first visit, I was blessed enough to go and pray in Al-Aqsa mosque (the third holiest site in Islam). I passed through the checkpoint quite all right about 6am in the morning so I didn't notice Palestinians attempting to pass through with special permission cards. When I got back to Nablus, I excitedly told my students about my trip. I then asked them, a group of about 20 high school students, how many have gone to Jerusalem. I expected most of them to raise their hands but to my surprise only one student did. And that one student had gone as a child and was snuck in at that. 

What I found out later is that Palestinians of the West Bank need special permission to enter Jerusalem. After your application gets accepted, you get a permission paper that looks like this: 

It states the purpose you are allowed in for and how long. Some times you have to get a new one for every time you go and are only allowed in for the time of the prayer. On top of all that, it's only given to men over 55 years of age and women over 45 years of age. In Ramadan, they are so kind as to lower the age limit for men to 50 years and women to 35 years. This leaves over half the population without access to Jerusalem automatically. Beyond that, you have to be considered politically clean. Any political activism bars you from entering. No reason has to be given. In the end I was able to visit over five times whereas most Palestinians I knew had never even gone once. The whole process is humiliating and racist. How is it that I as an international could come and go as I pleased whereas most of the indigenous population could not go? 

Packed in Cages

On Fridays, I had to go through a different part of Qalandiya checkpoint to enter Jerusalem along with all the other Palestinians.  I watched as elderly Palestinians pleaded with Israeli officers at the  checkpoint into Jerusalem only to be turned back. Every Friday,  Palestinians are lined up and led into what can only be described as cages before they are processed among hundreds only three at a time. When they get through the turnstile, they have to show a magnetic ID, the permission card, and their fingerprints are scanned. All I had to do was lift up my US passport. All but one time, my ID picture wasn't even checked. One Friday, for whatever reason, they weren't processing anyone yet continued to allow people into the cages until we were literally pinned up against each other with hundreds packed into the four cages. After over an hour of waiting, we were finally being slowly processed through. Again, three at a time and let through a good 2 hours later, some longer, and most missing the Friday prayers all together. Below are pictures my friend took with her cell phone:

Each cage was separated by glass windows. We were so squeezed together, we couldn't move neither forward nor backwards. Notice, no one besides myself and a few friends (all internationals) are younger than 45. 

As they began processing us through, there was no room for the turnstile to even turn. 

It was like we were animals standing there. Orders were barked through a speaker. Everyone around us was at least 45 years old. Some could hardly stand. In Arab culture, the elderly are treated with such high respect but here they were being squeezed with no sense of dignity in their own land. Indigenous people caged by an outside power. I could only imagine how humiliating it was. At least, as I stood there pinned up against everyone, I knew I had my home waiting for me free from all this. For them, however, home is now surrounded by the Israeli wall, dotted by checkpoints, and covered in settlements. 

Imprisoned for Daring to Enter

Palestinians, according to international law, have every right to enter and pray in Jerusalem regardless of their age. But due to what I described above and the age limit, many young people have no choice but to attempt to sneak in. A young woman told me how she spent half a day climbing though mountains to get in. If you are caught, however, you are sent to Israeli prison with no trial. It would be like if in New Jersey, you wanted to visit NYC, only 40 minutes away, but had to be processed first. If you are Jewish, you could enter, no questions asked. If you are anything else, you have to apply first. If you sneak in, then not American forces, but Canadian forces put you in prison. It sounds ridiculous to say the least. 

Now I met so many good people in Palestine. I knew, however, it was only a matter of time before one of the many people I met would get hurt. I just never thought it would be so soon. It's so different to talk about Palestine and the Israeli occupation now that I actually know people living and breathing there.  Everything that happens affects real people that I'm still in touch with. I worry especially about the younger men who are finding it difficult to find jobs and are automatically black listed for the most part by Israel.  

What inspired me to write this blog entry is the current imprisonment of my friend, Mohammad Thoqan, a 20-year-old man in Palestine for attempting to pray in Al-Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem a week ago. I saw him first in a boxing match with another international. He has passion for photography like myself and constantly uploads and shares pictures and videos with all of the us international volunteers in Palestine.  His profile is also filled with pictures of his father who is currently imprisoned by Israeli forces with captions like, "freedom for my father." In another caption, he writes: "at this date (16/12/2007 ) my father arrested for three year... and they released him just for six month, .. and arrest him again today morning !!!!!!! alhamdullah for everything.... !!"

What gets me, is with all that, he concludes by saying "Alhamdulilah for everything" meaning "praise be to God for everything." Despite what his family is going through, he still has complete faith and hope. This is something I saw amongst most Palestinians. I met people there who have gone though horrors I could never even imagine yet their response was always "alhamdulilah." They seemed to never despair but only to gain strength from what ever tribulations 

befell them. 

Free Mohammad Thoqan

While I was in Palestine, I didn't realize his father was a political prisoner so about a week ago, I messaged him asking him about his father. A few days passed and he hadn't responded so I went on his Facebook and noticed people writing on his wall praying for his release, most of them writing "Allah faraj 3anak," meaning "May God free you." I learned that when he tried to enter Al-Aqsa mosque to pray there for Ramadan, he was immediately caught by Israeli soldiers. He texted his friend, "I just wanted to tell you that they caught me and they will send me to Ofer prison for 4 days to investigate me." It's been over 4 days now and his family and friends haven't heard of him since. A prisoner in his own land. Below is a picture of him that his friend edited. 

Written in Arabic: "And the shackles must be broken. God free you, my brother. Thoqan"

Even during Ramadan, the holiest month, Palestinians don't get a break. The month started off with bombs being dropped on Gaza. A young man doesn't even have the freedom to pray in the mosque. Jerusalem is suppose to be Al-Quds, a sanctuary, a "place of refuge or safety." Not a place to fear arrest without warrant. With literally days left until Eid, he was being detained who knows where. He has not been given a list of charges nor a trial and he most likely won't be given either. During his interrogation, we can only imagine the torture inflicted upon him. Detainees are often beaten from the first moment of their arrival before the interrogation even begins. I pray this hasn't happened at all to Mohammed and that he will be released soon. While we spent Eid comfortably with our families, he spent it isolated in an Israeli prison for daring to enter Al-Quds. 

His sister wrote on his wall today:

"Miss u 7bebiiiiiii 7moooooooooD ♥ ♥ ♥

Ya allah save my brother...♥ !!"

*Ameen thuma ameen* 

Getting stoned by settler children 7/30/2011

Everyone is speaking these days of a 'relative calm' within Israel and the Palestinian territories. Having lived in the West Bank for the past two months, I can say the relative calm only comes for Israel. In the meantime, settler violence/crimes against Palestinians continues and for the most part is undocumented. Just a week ago when I was still in Palestine, settlers set fire to farmland in a village south of where I lived: http://www.middleeastmonitor.org.uk/news/middle-east/2675-settlers-torch-150-dunams-of-farmland-to-the-south-of-nablus Mondoweiss documents more of the settler crimes committed here just for the month of June: http://mondoweiss.net/2011/06/month-of-relative-calm-israeli-settler-crimes-in-the-month-of-june.html#more-45938


This past Saturday on July 30th, I visited Palestinian activist, Hashim Al-Azzeh, who lived in the settlement of Tel Rumeida in Hebron with his family. His neighbor is Baruch Marzel, the head of the Jewish National Front. There, we had tea with him as he told us of the constant settler violence/harassment that is committed against him and his family for refusing to leave the area. When it was time to go, myself and another international volunteer from England decided to use the main road (the shorter route) to get back out through the checkpoint. As we were heading towards there, Palestinian children warned us about going through. However, I had been there a couple of Saturdays before without problems and plus Israeli soldiers had cleared my entry at the checkpoint which meant I had every right to use that road.


We were a good distance from the road when Israeli settler children who looked no older than 13 years old started screaming at us and pointing at me. Wearing hijab, I look Palestinian for all intents and purposes, not just a random international. Then they surprised us by picking up rocks and throwing them at us. I froze where I was in complete shock at what was going on. My friend was standing a few feet ahead of me asking them if they spoke English and why they were throwing stones at us. I couldn't speak. I could tell my friend wanted to continue forward but I was frozen. I pulled out my camera to video so the kids hid behind a wall and started throwing from behind there. Part of me wanted to continue forward anyways. It was humiliating seeing children half my size on a power trip. In the corner was an Israeli soldier watching. However, I decided to turn back. With only a few days left in Palestine, I didn't want to get hurt and possibly have my name taken down which would have no doubt prevented me as a Syrian America Muslim woman from ever coming back. Perhaps, the British volunteer with me would have gotten away with it but not me. When it comes to settlers, the cards are always stacked against you even when you are most obviously in the right as we were in this situation. As we turned back the soldier that was standing there was approaching with his gun cocked. I'd like to think he was approaching to stop the kids but it was more likely he was coming to tell us to go back.


The video I took can be seen here:

In the beginning of the video, you can hear a Palestinian youth that was standing way behind us (one of the ones that warned us about going down) saying "ta3ali huneh...irja3i ridi" which means "come here...turn around come back." Clearly he was frightened for us and wanted us back. It was obvious from his warning that this was not the first time this has happened. Indeed, there are plenty more videos and documentation of settler violence committed against Palestinians in Tel Rumeida specifically.


When I stopped the video, my friend who was standing ahead of me continued videoing and you can see the soldier approach at the end:

After we headed back going around the long way, I approached the soldier that I thought was the one watching and asked why he had done nothing while it happened. Why he continued to watch. He just mumbled and said he'd call someone. He sounded American to me. Then I interrupted two of the soldiers at the checkpoint who happened to be in the middle of a conversation with an international explaining to him that there was no such thing as settler violence to tell them some children had just thrown stones at us and the soldiers nearby did nothing to stop it. They asked me, "why didn't you call the police?" I responded with "I don't know the police's number" to which they started laughing, "how could you not know?" Then I continued with "the police were down the road anyways and why would I call the police when you guys were right there?" and the one soldier responded with, "we aren't the police" as if to say it's not our job to protect or stop random acts of violence. Then what is their purpose?


Just like our friend said who lived in this settlement, the soldiers only work to protect the settlers in almost all the case and it's always their word against yours. The last thing I want to comment on is that some may draw a parallel between the Israeli settler children throwing rocks and Palestinian children throwing rocks. A parallel should not be drawn, however. First, settlements and settlers are illegal according to international law. They have no right to be there. Tel Rumeida is on Palestinian land in the illegally occupied Palestinian city of Al-Khalil (Hebron). My friend and I were unarmed and just walking along doing nothing to provoke such a response. Those Israeli settler children, however, grow up with so much blind hatred. Ideally they should be taken away to an equivalent of child services in Israel.


Palestinian youth, ideally, should not be out in the street. They should be enjoying their childhood. When they throw stones, they are not throwing it at random unarmed civilians trying to walk down the street. Indeed, there have been plenty of openly Jewish civilian volunteers that have worked with Palestinians in the occupied territory. Instead they throw stones, a symbolic gesture really, against fully armed illegal Israeli occupation forces. A comparison cannot even be made and nor should it made between the two incidents.

somewhere else to call home

Last Wednesday, I was sent to the village of Zagtara to lead an English conversation class for adult women. As a part of Project Hope protocol, international volunteers are sent with a local Palestinian volunteer for support, to as act a guide, and for translation. The village itself is surrounded by illegal settlements. All the settlements I've seen throughout the West Bank are at the mountain tops. These ones, however, have branched downwards until they almost reach the bottom. At the bottom right by the checkpoint to enter/exit the Palestinian village or settlement is what appears to be a hotel and gas station decorated with Israeli flags. Isn't it  already enough to have illegal settlements but to have a hotel on top of that to entertain tourists as well?

An illegal settlement right next to the Palestinian village

 Back in his village, everyone is some how related to the local volunteer that accompanied me, a young man in his late teens. Everywhere he went, he's greeted with smiles, love, and respect. As I walked with him to the class, for a moment it was as if we were in a bubble and he was truly free. It was like we were not surrounded by settlements, as if he didn't grow up with occupation. The graffiti on the walls became artistic swirls  rather than words of resistance to 63 years of imprisonment.  During the class, I was greeted by a room full of loud and cheerful mothers. As usual, accompanied with bouts of laughter, I was asked whether I'd be willing to move to Palestine and marry one of their sons. I usually respond with, "only if that guarantees me endless supplies of Kanafa (a cheesy desert Nablus is famous for)."

The checkpoint-Many more like this dot the West Bank

"Where is your ID?" 

 After the class was over, my local Palestinian volunteer and I were reminded again of reality by the tall watch tower that stood over us from the checkpoint as we waited for a bus back to the office.  Several settlers came down to stand for a bus as well. As a result we moved down the road a good 20 feet away. Nonetheless,  two female Israeli soldiers (IDF) approached us and began questioning us in Hebrew. We said we only knew English so they switched over and began asking us questions about what we were doing, where we were going, and lastly for our ID and names. It was so stupid. I couldn't believe that the Palestinian volunteer who was waiting for a bus in his own town had to be questioned by an outside force. It was somewhat understandable for me since I'm an outsider  but for him to be questioned in the very place he was born and grew up in for waiting for a bus is unjustifiable. 

It was quite a humiliating image to see as he fumbled for his ID and smiled shyly at the soldiers. It would be like if in the United States, we were waiting for a bus and Canadian soldiers came up to us demanding for our ID!  We would no doubt refuse and be angry. Instead, the young Palestinian man with me was forced by knowing nothing but this occupation to submit quietly. We even submissively said, "Thank-you" after they let us go!   The way the occupation has become a part of life for 63 years has created this odd pseudo formality as most normal everyday Palestinians attempt to do whatever it takes to avoid getting arrested or detained. In that moment, the perceived freedom he may have felt walking through his village was shattered and he was reduced to a piece of identification paper. Suddenly the place where everyone knew his name became foreign and hostile. It was as if he was the outsider and the threat and not the other way around. Why weren't the settlers ID'd as well? Why could they stand there without the back bags being checked and their AK's  slung around their shoulders like they own the place?

How far we were standing from the settlers before we were questioned

 In the end, though, as upsetting as it all is, at least I have somewhere else to call home. At any moment, I can just leave back to the US where I don't have to deal with an outside force assuming I'm a threat in my own town. I don't have hostile neighbors trying take away my backyard claiming it as their own. The Palestinian volunteer that was with me, however, has no other place to call home. Occupied Palestine is his only home. Sure, he may be able to go down the streets of his small village that he no doubt knows like the back of the end and experience momentary freedom. It's only a moment though as daily reminders shatter that pseudo freedom. His own ID that he presented was written in Hebrew so as to facilitate the occupation and reinforce the virtual prison. 

A human can only handle so much. Below is a simple manifesto of why it's so sickening to live under the occupation and the conflict in general: 

where to begin...

I thought I'd be able to fill this blog every single day but one thing that has kept me is an unexpected writer's blog. I created this blog a couple weeks ago and I've only been able to write once. Part of it is that I'm still trying to absorb everything around me. There is so much to take in. Everyone here has an extraordinary story that I want to capture. Everything around me I feel like I need to document-even the walls speak with the graffiti and history. It's quite overwhelming. I talked to another volunteer and she said she also experienced a similar writer's block when she came here. It took her a good month to be able to write anything (Check out her blog here: illusionstomemories.blogspot.com). It's so different here. Another part is that occupation is worse than anything I've read about! It's one thing to read articles and another to witness it first hand. I really don't know where to begin but I'm definitely going to start writing again. My friend explains part of the difficulty of expressing it all in her latest post: 

 Everything from the Israeli occupation and oppression—stupid frustrating terms that I feel are too big and bland to truly communicate what the hell happens here. They have become such blah sounds, sweeping under the rug the true explicit, atrocious, every-day occurrences. www.illusionstomemories.blogspot.com

Until I get my next post up, here is a picture of Palestinian boys in Hebron, Palestine posting stickers of cars on a road block before a checkpoint.

from the vantage point of children

My first days in Palestine...

The hardest part about starting this blog was thinking of a name for it. I think being so invested in a conflict like the Palestinian-Israeli conflict can really drain one of any gleam for hope. Looking for hope becomes like a chase- and that's where this title for this blog came after. Light moves so much faster than us and looking for hope in the world around us can be equivalent to that almost impossible task. Chasing after light though is something that I don't want to give up as I live in this world. So here I am in Nablus, Palestine. It is located in the northern city of the West Bank. It’s quite beautiful and very green. Even though it's the largest city in the West Bank, it has that small town-feel. Everyone here seems to know each other.  I came here as an international volunteer for the NGO, Project Hope. The organization works by sending out volunteers to various areas through out Nablus and surrounding refugee camps to provide “educational and recreational activities, medical and humanitarian relief and practical training.” I volunteer as an English teacher. The people here appear to be perplexed by me. Here I am, an international volunteer who happens to be Arab volunteering for a local NGO.  They get excited when they see I'm of Syrian origin, explaining to me that Nablus is affectionately called "Little Syria." They say that there used to be a train that ran from Nablus to Damascus and as such Nabulsi people have very similar habits and customs to Damascus people. I can see that especially in the old part of Nablus.

The Unspoken Influence of Occupation

At that same time though, I can feel a major difference between the two cities. The atmosphere seems very constricted and tight comparatively. A huge part of it is the occupation. Everywhere I go throughout the city, I can see influences of the occupation-whether it's a building that still has bullet h0les into it, posters of martyrs everywhere or graffitied walls.  Not as obvious though is the effect of the occupation on the psyche of the people. The other day I was in a youth center in  the Balata refugee camp and saw a picture of a Palestinian child crying on the wall. I said to the local volunteer that I didn’t think it was appropriate to have such a picture hanging on the wall-that school should be an escape for students. She explained that even if that picture wasn’t up, it was still very much a part of their reality. She said, “There isn’t a single family in Palestine who doesn’t have at least one martyr in the family, had their home destroyed, seen someone die, or has had a family member go mentally insane because of the situation.” (Translation from Arabic). Amazingly enough, the people here have incredible spirit and hope. As an outsider, it’s so difficult to have any hope for the future of the conflict but hope is reinstalled when hearing it come from those directly involved in the conflict. Even so, as much as there are good times and laughs, the occupation is ever present within this background.

                                           Posters of martyrs hang throughout the city

“Do you like Israel?”

In another camp, Askar, we were teaching a group of children the difference between “Where do you live” and “Where are you from.” To my surprise, every child was able to pinpoint the exact city from which their families were expelled out of into their present day refugee camps-even though it happened before their lifetimes. “My name is Sara. I live in Askar camp. I am from Yafa.” The idea of right to return is a very important aspect of their life and they really haven’t forgotten their origins. Although the tents have now become buildings-it is still seen as very temporary. In the back of the classroom, there was a model of Palestine that was bleeding (using red paint) with the number 63 written on it made by some local Palestinian volunteers in commemoration of Nakba Day (May 15^th) to symbolize 63 years of occupation. I asked a couple of kids why it was bleeding. They responded because Palestine is occupied. Then I asked, “Do you like Israel?” And they said, “No, we don’t because they occupy us!” Then after a slight hesitation, one of the kids responded with, “But we will love Israel when they stop occupying us!” This conclusion surprised me. Yet it continues to be reaffirmed as I talk to many Palestinians. They really dislike Israel’s policy of occupation but otherwise would have little reason to hate it. There is definitely no hatred of Jewish people and a distinction between Israelis and Jewish people and the actions of the government and military.

                                           The bleeding model of Palestine

“I was shot here”

Going back to the ever present influence of the occupation on the lives of the Palestinians, one of the local Palestinian volunteers, a young man of 20 years was guiding myself and a couple of volunteers through the city. As we turned one corner, he nonchalantly mentioned, “This is where I was shot by Israeli soldiers.”-It was the same exact place where earlier I had gone to the bank.  Looking at him, he seems so incredibly shy and kind. Yet his mother explained to us how during the second intifada, it was difficult to keep him from running out and throwing rocks at the Israeli tanks that rolled though the cities. He hardly talks about it and there is no pride in his voice. On his hand, you can see the scar of one bullet. He was shot twice by rubber bullets and once by live ammunition- a young boy of 12. Although the image of a stone thrower in the face of a large military machine seems courageous, it’s actually quite sad because a child should not have to see tanks to begin with.

During an English speaking discussion class I had to substitute for, one of the students in a similar way, casually mentioned that he was imprisoned by Israel for three years in his early twenties. When another volunteer and I remarked what a long time that was, all the students interrupted to say that actually it was nothing, others have been imprisoned for decades. He said that many of his friends are still imprisoned to this day from the second intifada. He laughed it all off casually even as he said that he lost his fiancé as a result. It was a sort of nervous laughter as if he was trying not to show just how much it impacted him.

I’ve almost been here for two weeks now but it feels so much longer. So far, I’ve also visited Hebron, Bethlehem, Ramallah, and Tul Karam, which I will write about in later posts. Well, thank you so much if you’ve read this far. Check out Project Hope’s site, www.projecthope.ps