The entrance
for Palestinians to the DCO at Salem is a soon-to-be-electrified
gate, which has been closed every time we have been there. Instead,
Palestinians seeking permissions currently have to negotiate their
way along a six-inch wide crumbling dirt path between the gate
and the six-foot deep Wall trench. Most hold onto the fence to
keep from falling until they can get to the edge, and then swing
themselves around and into the military camp. From there, it’s
ID checks at a concrete bunker then up to the queues. One line
is for purchasing magnetic IDs, another for getting travel permissions,
and yet another for families and lawyers of prisoners held there.
Equipped with metal benches, the waiting area is open on two sides,
topped with a large tin roof, offering minimal protection from
the summer heat and winter cold.
Last weekend, "Yvonne" came here twice. On Friday,
not sure offices were open, she sent a family friend to swing
around the fence and inquire while she waited on the other side.
At the concrete bunker, the soldier told the young man that the
offices were indeed open, but Yvonne herself would need to come.
She did, the 65-year-old grandmother scrambling like a mountain
goat to get to the other side. Once there, she presented all of
her various papers to the soldier. "But you need an Israeli
permission." "Yes. That's why we're here." "But
they're not open today." There was nothing left to do but
turn around and leave. The young soldier didn't seem to see anything
wrong with making her go through all of that for nothing.
Yvonne went back to Salem on Sunday, leaving vacant her usual
place in the church's front pew. The offices were open, and the
lines long. Eventually, she presented her documents—a paper
with her doctor's request to go to Nazareth to see a physician
following recent surgery—along with a copy of her ID. That
was at 9:00. The soldier took them and placed them on the gathering
pile of applications. Some, like her, were trying to go to doctors—in
Jerusalem, in the Galilee. Others were trying to get permission
to travel within the West Bank itself, to pass from Jenin to Ramallah,
for example. Some applications were not accepted because of this
or that detail—the hospital in Jerusalem had written one
of the digits of the ID number incorrectly, there was no date
on the Palestinian doctor's note, no confirmation of an appointment
from Nazareth, a name was spelled incorrectly in Hebrew. Yvonne's
was taken, though, and she was told to wait. "How long?"
she asked, but the queue had pushed her aside by that time, so
she took a seat with dozens of others on the metal benches.
Hours went by. A young Palestinian man who spoke good Hebrew
was constantly called up to translate. He joked that he should
open an office: "Of course, I'd need a different permission
to do that." Folks in the magnetic ID line were getting turned
away, too, for a reason that seemed extremely capricious. In order
to submit their applications, they had to buy stamps worth thirty-eight
shekels as a fee. When the stamp office ran out of thirty-eight
shekel denominations, they started selling thirty-nine and forty-shekel
stamps. The soldier receiving applications would only accept ones
with thirty-eight shekel stamps. Those who had overpaid were turned
away. They were less than pleased, and were sharing their frustration
with whoever would listen. The irony of it all being that these
people who come to Salem, who come and wait hours and sometimes
days and are regularly turned away, are the compliant ones, those
who are trying to follow the rules of the Israeli Occupation.
And they feel punished for doing so.
Yvonne continued to wait, periodically checking on the status
of her application. "It's with the captain." "It's
with the intelligence." "It'll be a little while longer."
After five hot, dry, dusty hours, her application was handed back
to her. "It's incomplete." She climbed down the stairs,
back across the construction site, swung her way around the fence,
and caught a taxi back home.
Last December, before the Wall was in construction, Marthame
had visited the bureaucratic black hole of Salem on behalf of
"Laila." With a broad smile and long wavy hair, Laila
was enjoying her first year in college. Her studies did not stop
her, however, from deep involvement in church activities, especially
as a leader in the parish's scouting program. Laila was one of
two Palestinian scouts invited to the World Scouting Jamboree
in Bangkok, Thailand, a worldwide gathering of 30,000 young people.
All of the arrangements were made, tickets purchased, and visas
acquired. One thing remained: permission for her to travel to
and through Ben Gurion Airport near Tel Aviv. Despite verbal promises
from Israeli authorities that her application would be accepted,
she didn't get permission. Laila didn't go.
With this and other experiences in mind, we had encouraged our
friend Taghreed to travel through Amman—and not Tel Aviv—on
her way to Chicago. She had been invited to represent the Middle
East at Fourth Presbyterian Church's May conference titled, "Creating
Global Connections: Conversations with Women of Faith." Her
deep involvement in Jerusalem's Women's Studies Centre and experience
with other non-governmental organizations in the northern West
Bank made her an ideal candidate. We were excited by her invitation,
especially excited to tell her about Chicago, the places and people
she should see, the pizza she should eat. As a West Bank Palestinian,
she was refused entry to Jerusalem, where the U.S. Consulate is.
But with some luck and the use of the local equivalent of FedEx,
she still managed to get her U.S. visa. The ticket was purchased,
Israeli military permission granted for her to travel to the Jordanian
border, as was Jordanian permission to enter. She arrived at the
border to find that the Palestinian Authority was strictly enforcing
Jordanian limits on the number of Palestinians allowed in. In
the abstract, she had permission to enter, but in reality only
two busses were allowed across each day. She was told her turn
would come in another two months. Her flight was in a matter of
days. No amount of arguing or using connections could get her
across the bridge in time for her flight. Taghreed didn't go.
"Jameel" is one of our favorite students. A tall boy
with an excellent singing voice and a winning grin, he is bright,
confident and polite, a refreshing combination for a ninth grader.
He was among the handful of students whose dedication and academic
promise brought them to the Roman Catholic Seminary in Beit Jala,
where students receive an excellent—and virtually free—education
as they discern the possibility of going into the ministry. The
seminary was closed this past academic year, for the first time
in its 150-year history. The Israeli government refused to issue
or renew visas for the Latin Patriarchate's foreign Arab priests
or students, comprising a majority of the school. While we enjoyed
having these bright young men back in Zababdeh, we are hoping
that the Israelis will issue these needed visas, and that the
Seminary can re-open this fall. Last month, Jameel headed down
to the Red Sea with a group of Palestinian and Israeli students
for a peacemaking program in Egypt. The Israelis had granted the
Palestinian students the necessary travel permits. At the border,
however, the Egyptian officials refused entry to the Palestinians.
Jameel didn't go.
These are only a few stories from a very small village in a remote
part of the West Bank. But they illustrate a general reality here
for Palestinians. Those who have the means to travel are regularly
prevented from doing so, even within the West Bank. As we write
this, "Fadi" is preparing to begin his freshman year
in Chicago. One of our brightest students, he has a scholarship
waiting for him at North Park University. The visa process has
been extremely difficult and slow, and he has yet to have the
requisite interview at the U.S. Consulate in Jerusalem, an appointment
which will require travel permission from the Salem DCO, as will
his permissions to leave the country, once the visa is secured.
If history is any indicator, Fadi will need a miracle for get
to his freshman year on time.
May God grant safe passage to us all this summer.
Salaam al-Masiih,
Elizabeth and Marthame
The 2003 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p.
156
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