Upon reaching the age of 16 Palestinians are
issued an identity card, and with this card,
Israel overwhelmingly restricts the movement and
life of Palestinians to and from the Occupied
Territories. And though Palestinian children are
allowed to travel into 'Israel', they still face
the travails of restriction, as they can only
travel while accompanied by a person holding a
foreign passport.
As a result of Israel's arbitrary laws, I recently
volunteered as a chaperone with the organization
Birthright Re-plugged and accompanied 20 children
from Jenin Refugee Camp to visit Jerusalem, Haifa,
and the villages surrounding Haifa - which their
grandparents fled in 1948. Most of the children we
accompanied are 15 years old. Soon Israel will
issue them an identity card, at which point they
will never again be able to leave the West Bank to
go into Israel. So, to add gravity to an already
emotional experience, the children knew that this
trip would simultaneously be their first, and
last. They will probably never again pray in the
Al Aqsa Mosque or see the horizon of the
Mediterranean Sea.
The journey began with the volunteers of
Birthright Re-plugged spending the night at The
Freedom Theatre in Jenin Refugee Camp. Half of the
camp's population is under the age of 18 and so
the theatre's role in the camp has been vital over
the years in enhancing the children's lives. We
met with Juliano Mer Khamis, the founder of the
theatre, and the children from the camp; all were
anticipating the journey from Jenin to Jerusalem,
and then to Haifa. Toward the end of the night,
after the sun had set and ambient noise
transitioned to the roaring of Merkava tanks
(Israel's nightly incursions into Jenin), it was
our turn to anticipate the next day's voyage. What
if the Israeli soldiers don't allow the children
to pass through the checkpoint, do we have an
alternate plan? Where do we say we're going?
Surely not to Jerusalem and Haifa.
Just as we were contemplating and discussing our
worries, a young man that works in the theatre
received a phone call. "There's been an operation
at 'Anabta checkpoint," he said. Although the
details were unclear at that moment, we eventually
heard from another source that a man from the camp
opened fire at Israeli soldiers, only to be gunned
down seconds later. This was a problem for us and
for the children. The checkpoint was closed down,
and they weren't allowing anyone into or out of
Jenin. Of course, for the residents of Jenin this
was nothing new, as it has become a recurrent
exasperation in their occupied lives. But for us,
it was something both new and frightening. At the
same time we could think of nothing but the
children and the smiles on their faces, and what
their reactions would be if we had to tell them
the trip was canceled.
Regardless of the operation that occurred at
'Anabta checkpoint we decided to attempt the
crossing in the morning, otherwise we would have
to cancel the trip. We left the camp at 6 a.m. and
drove to the checkpoint, where the organizers of
the trip exited the bus to talk to the soldiers.
There was no breeze that morning, and being the
restless person that I am, I decided to get off
the bus to walk around and cool off. I noticed
there were stained patches of dry blood dispersed
over the concrete - it was the blood of the
Palestinian man that was killed the night before.
I trembled with a sudden reaction of heaviness and
quickly got back on the bus. Finally we were told
that the children were granted permission to pass.
Upon crossing the checkpoint a great flood of
relief washed over the children, as they
temporarily left their hardships behind.
The drive into Jerusalem was unforgettable. We
gave each child a camera to document the trip
through their eyes - snapshot after snapshot
recorded for their remembrance. For the children,
who had only seen the Al Aqsa Mosque in photos,
the first glimpse of the gold dome, illuminated by
the sunlight, brought them joy, and some were even
moved to tears. From Orthodox Jews dressed in
their garb to Israeli police barricading the
streets --the children walked around with wide
eyes. After passing through waves of tourists, we
managed to get through the narrow alleyways of the
Old City without losing a child.
After the children prayed, we headed north toward
Haifa. None of the kids had ever seen the sea
before, nor had they been in a city where
Palestinians and Jews lived side by side. The
snapshots began as soon as we drove up to the
shore, but when the children saw Israelis prancing
around in bikinis and drinking beer, wide eyes
changed to looks of bewilderment as they trudged
along the shore. We managed to convince some of
the kids to ignore the apparent culture clash, but
it was especially hard since they live such a
restricted life in Jenin refugee camp.
Just as the children of the camp gazed at others,
it was noticeable that others were looking
intently at them. An old Jewish man in a Speedo
walked up to us and in Hebrew asked where we are
from. Soon after, several Israeli policemen came
and specifically asked about the girls wearing
hijab. Juliano and others argued with the
policemen and convinced them the girls were from a
village near Aqqa, but the policemen were not
entirely convinced and lingered around to watch
our every move. It was an uncomfortable situation
for us, but even for Palestinian citizens of
Israel racism pervades nearly every level of the
society - from legal discrimination to violation
of cultural rights.
Not too far away from the sea were the villages
that the children's families escaped in 1948. We
visited the remnants of six different villages,
all destroyed soon after the families fled. The
children handled it well though, ending the trip
with a bittersweet memory as they walked through
the empty fields of thorns and bushes. But for the
children without a title, this extemporary feeling
will soon cycle back into a life of restriction,
violence, and harassment from Israel's regime.
Sousan Hammad,
a
Palestinian-American, is teaching English and
freelanching in Ramallah, Palestine. Email:
