April 12-17th; West Bank: Checkpoints, Bureaucracy, Foundation Stones

Bir Zeit University

I’m back in Muslim El Bireh again (sister city to Ramallah). Across the hotel room, on the wall, is a sign pointing out the Qibla (the direction a Muslim faces when praying, in other words, the direction of Mecca). Below the sign is a TV stand which houses not only the TV, but the prayer rug and the Quran -as casually as the nightstand in a US hotel room houses the Gideon Bible. I felt a bit funny coming back here after a dinner with a glass of wine in Ramallah. But the many moderate Muslims in the Ramallah area have no problem with the availability of alcohol in Ramallah and the banning of it in El Bireh, the sister city.


I’m waiting, it seems endlessly, for a permit to get into Gaza. All in the region are captive to the Jewish religious calendar, whether or not they are Jewish. Israeli offices are closed on Shabbat. They are closed on the first and last days of Passover. Since an Israeli permit to visit Gaza takes ten or more Israeli working days, that translates to 14 or more days this month. I am waiting, but at least I, as a foreigner, am still able to travel around in the West Bank, Jerusalem, and Israel.

Waiting and being at the mercy of Israeli bureaucracy and Israeli interests, is part of daily life for Palestinians. Unpredictability makes it impossible for Palestinians to plan. The apparent randomness of the closure of checkpoints, the waits at checkpoints, the wait for permits to travel – all impact on business, the ability to get to schools or health care, and the ability to visit family or friends. As Palestinians have told me, they measure how long it takes to get somewhere by the number of checkpoints, not the distance. A month ago the Israelis eased up significantly on the internal closure, apparently to keep the Obama administration at bay. In other words, fewer of the checkpoints require stopping and lengthy waits, fewer of the over 500 checkpoints are manned. But that does not mean that travel will be unimpeded, as seen by the continuing long (1 – 2 hour) wait at the Huwara checkpoint from Nablus and the lines at the Atara checkpoint. The unpredictability is just a constant reminder that you are not in control of your life.

As a traveler who comes here annually, I have to relearn the routes each time. One year foreigners have to get off at the Kalandiya checkpoint to Ramallah and walk through, catching another vehicle on the other side, the next they are permitted to go through in a bus or shared taxi. One year foreigners are advised to walk through the Bethlehem checkpoint and catch a vehicle to Jerusalem, the next they are advised to take a bus from Beit Jalah that travels through the bypass tunnel/road into Jerusalem. I did this trip twice in the last days to get into Jerusalem. When the bus leaves the West Bank and enters West Jerusalem, the bus must stop at an Israeli checkpoint. Foreigners are permitted to stay on the bus as a soldier boards, inspects the bus and hold and checks passports. But the few lucky Palestinians who can travel this bus because they already have permits to travel to Jerusalem are forced off the bus and must stand in a line and wait – regardless of the weather – until one of the teenage Israeli soldiers feels like taking their ID cards and allowing them to reenter the bus. I got off with the Palestinians each time to see what it felt like. The first time I was quite cold and uncomfortable and terribly annoyed to see the three teenage Israeli soldiers chatting in total disdain of the waiting Palestinians. Ten minutes later one of the soldiers finally sauntered over to check IDs. The second time I again stood there waiting, but this time when the Israeli soldier (a young black Jewish 18-year old woman with an M16 slung over her shoulder) opened the hold right next to me I had a sudden urge to grab her M16, point it straight at her chest and ask her how it felt. Fortunately I did not act on this urge, since I surely would have been shot down by one of the other two teenage soldiers.

Here’s a question for you: If you had an American passport and could travel relatively freely in this region, would you ever apply for a Palestinian residency ID? That is the question that one Taiwanese American woman is faced with at the moment. While in Beit Sahour, I called up a Palestinian-American professor who left Connecticut last August to move back to his family home in Beit Sahour. His Taiwanese-American wife joined him three-months ago and is planning on getting a Palestinian residency permit so that she can stay. I shared a very pleasant dinner with them at their home in Beit Sahour.

If you are Palestinian or have a Palestinian name it does not matter how American you are. It does not matter if you were born and lived your whole life in the US. Israel treats you as it treats all Palestinians. You are not protected by your American citizenship. If you are a Palestinian-American and chose to move back to Palestine you must get a Palestinian residency ID from Israel. But, once you have that Palestinian residency ID you can no longer go through the checkpoints. Despite your US passport you must apply for permits to travel to Jerusalem, to travel to other parts of the West Bank, or to travel into Israel to catch an airplane at Ben Gurion. Your only other option is to neglect getting the residency ID and enter the region on an Israeli three-month visa. Once that three-month visa runs out you must leave and, because you are “Palestinian”, may not be given another three month visa for a year. The many internationals (non-Palestinian) working at NGOs, particularly in the Ramallah area and in Jerusalem, must leave the country every three months in order to re-enter with a new three-month visa, but in general, Israel will give them the repeat three-month visa. The NGOs set aside one week every three months that they call “renewing visa week” to allow their employees to leave the country and re-enter on a new visa. But, if you are of Palestinian descent or have a Palestinian name, you can’t renew your visa by exiting and re-entering. You can only enter once a year.
So, the Taiwanese-American wife of my Palestinian-American friend risks not being able to be with her husband if she does not apply for Palestinian residency. But, if she gets it, she will no longer be treated like an American, and will face all the travel restrictions of the Palestinians. It’s a catch-22. No winning!

Okay, enough of checkpoints and bureaucracy. Let’s talk culture. This waiting period has given me a breather to ask endless questions and get snippets of conversation in. First one: What is written on those Arabic-language stones that appear above or beside the doorways of the homes? I guessed from seeing the attractive calligraphy that they were Quranic blessings. The answer was far more interesting that I anticipated.

If a Muslim contracts to have a home built, once the home is built, but before the family moves in, there is a celebration at which the “foundation” stone is laid. This stone says something like:
“In the name of God the merciful, the compassionate, this house belongs to God.”
Or: “In the name of God the merciful, the compassionate, this fortune is from God.”
This is followed by the name of the owner and the year the home was built.

The foundation stone is just part of the celebration though. A sheep is slaughtered in front of the house and the celebrants jump over the carcass of the sheep on the way into the house. The butcher then cuts up the sheep and a mansaf dish is cooked (lamb, rice, and yogurt) for the welcoming feast.

Another snippet: Rents, land costs, etc….
Palestine has rent control. This has existed since British rule in the early 20th century. If you pay rent it stays the same no matter how many years you live in the home. The landlord is not allowed to raise your rent or to force you out, even if you don’t pay your rent. So, my friend Adel, who has lived in his home for 22 years, still pays $85/month for rent. Were he to move out, the owner of the home could probably rent it out for $700 a month. So, what is an owner to do? Eventually, if the tenants just hang on, the owner might try to sell it to them since he is not making much money on his investment. And, the tenant will usually get a very good deal since by that point the owner just wants out.

Land prices are exorbitant in the Ramallah area – much higher than the value of the homes. A dunam, which is ¼ acre, can go for $1M. As we passed through one of the new, wealthy areas of Ramallah, on the west side, I asked who was living in the new extravagant homes. The answer: high ranking government officials who got rich from corruption.

Another snippet: The Friends’ School in Ramallah (associated with the Quakers) is the Harvard of primary and secondary schools here. My friend Adel is elated that his adorable, but terribly unruly son got accepted into it for kindergarten starting in the fall. The waiting list is very long, there are tens of applicants for each seat, and the process involves interviews of the tots. Primary costs are about $2700 per year, secondary costs over $3000. This is an enormous expense for a Palestinian family. (Palestinian wages are 1/10th of Israeli wages.) Several of the applicants live in Hebron, Nablus and other far away parts of the West Bank. If accepted, the parents must send these students to live with family or friends in the Ramallah area. This is just one of the many testaments to the Palestinian commitment to education.

There is an old Arab saying: “Egyptians write books, Lebanese print them, and the Palestinians read them.” Adel says that this is not quite so true these days when Palestinian children, like their American counterparts, prefer to watch TV, play video games, and do social networking. But, the parents still emphasize schooling and are willing to make enormous sacrifices for their education. There are a lot of Ph.D. holders in the area, many Palestinians speak multiple languages, and several of them have earned their advanced degrees at European and American universities. I am constantly reminded of the relatively high educational achievement here. When I was traveling in a beat-up shared taxi to Taybeh last week, the older gentleman sitting next to me started a conversation. It turned out that he is a professor of political economy at Bir Zeit University. I wish that those 18-year old Israeli soldiers had even a smidgeon of an idea of who they are dealing with. They treat the Palestinians as sub-human.

Okay, now for the last cultural note. There were at least two occasions for celebration in Ramallah over the last two days, and, in Palestinian celebratory fashion, the celebrants shot into the air. It can be terribly frightening for those who are unfamiliar with this custom. And, sometimes one of the celebrants is hit with a returning bullet. Granted, terribly foolish, but that is part of the culture. Tonight the shooting I heard came from a wedding celebration. Yesterday the shooting was because Fatah won the student government elections at Bir Zeit University.

The Fatah win at Bir Zeit was hardly unanimous. They won 24 seats to Hamas’s 22 seats. And, reports are that Fatah won by going to students and giving them 100 shekels and a 50 shekel phone card to vote Fatah. But, there you have it!

I have spent endless hours the last few days in olive wood and mother of pearl workshops, looking at what is available, taking pictures of the artisans at work, and buying. Yesterday, at one of the workshops I had the opportunity to feed ideas to the artisans and watch them implement them. I am looking for more secular olive wood gifts to carry, especially gifts for men, since I have close to none. At my request, they were designing and carving olive wood napkin rings, coasters, napkin holders, pen and pencil cases, business card holders, etc… One of the men in the workshop showed me a small Swiss knife on his keychain to which he added custom cut olive wood to replace the red plastic sides. I thought that could be a nice gift. I saw some olive wood pen and pencils on line and was hoping to buy some that were completely manufactured here. The carvers claim that the olive wood is cut here and shipped to China where they have the means to add a pen. Oh well….
Carving olive wood at Nader Kassis's workshop, Beit Sahour


In addition, I spent hours looking at embroidery in Bethlehem and Jerusalem and selecting some, including a great meeting with Shirabe at Sunbula. Shirabe is a manager at the Sunbula fair trade shop in Jerusalem. She applies for funds to work with women’s cooperatives on product development. The women making the products in the nearly idyllic (except for the checkpoints and unemployment) small villages of the West Bank are unaware of what designs might sell or what quality is expected. Additionally, they have no means to market and sell their products. Shirabe will bring a Palestinian designer who was trained in Paris to a village to work with a woman’s cooperative on a weekly basis for six months. By the end of those six months, the cooperative is producing a newly designed, high quality and sellable work. Sunbula is dependent on funding to continue their product development work, so if anyone out there knows of such funding, let me know.

Jewelry buying was on my agenda as well. One of my off the beaten path stops is in the Armenian Quarter in the Old City of Jerusalem. If you enter the Jaffa Gate and turn right, you will be headed towards the very small Armenian Quarter (“Quarter” is a definite misnomer!). You will also be on the foot highway to the Western Wall. On a religious holiday, as Wednesday was (the end of Passover), you feel nearly trampled by the many Orthodox and Ultra-Orthodox Jews racing to the wall. The costumes the ultra orthodox wear could be called “colorful” if they were not completely black and white. White shirt, black pants, long black caftan, payes (long side curls), and big hats of various styles. I was there to buy jewelry from Movses, who owns the Armenian Tavern with his family but also makes dangling earrings on the side. When I stopped into his shop, Movses was uncharacteristically excited. He was just finishing the final touches on a decoration he was preparing for Saturday’s procession prior to the Orthodox Easter.






The Orthodox Easter is big doings in the Armenian community. He had made a massive blow up of a picture of an altar with flowers. In Armenian it said “Christ has risen”. He was using a staple gun to tack it onto one by ones and then adding a fringe that perfectly matched that in the picture. He was very pleased with his work and with the prominent role that it would have in the procession.

Well, I must go now. Got to get some sleep! Tomorrow I will be going on a tour of Ramallah with Norwegians, then with Germans, both run by the Palestinian Association for Cultural Exchange. Although I have been in Ramallah several times, I have much to learn.

Janice