A Soldier Torn?

It reached that point of the Hebron protest where a line of (largely Palestinian) demonstrators faced a line of Israeli soldiers. The IDF had just declared the area a “closed military zone”, but with no authorising papers, the demonstrators refused to back down.

As I stood with the Palestinians, our arms occasionally linked against the tussles that invariably broke-out, I heard an intriguing thing. In English, “I love Palestine” came out of the mouth of an Israeli soldier. The Palestinians jumped on this and demanded further explanation, in Hebrew, but the soldier was quickly silenced by his confreres.

Following this brief exchange of words & subsequent curtailment, he looked rather uneasy. I don’t know if this was due to his feelings about his presence here, or concern about the derision he would later receive from his fellow soldiers. In either case, his expression of these words set him apart from the bullish soldier stood to his side.

I had often questioned the zeal of the soldiers that I had encountered during my time here. National service is compulsory in Israel, but whilst I had initially used this to excuse the actions of those forced into a certain role, I had also heard that the soldiers we faced had chosen this path, over more administrative roles, or other postings.

The soldiers I had encountered that morning at Bir al ‘Idd were full of zionistic gusto, and I had witnessed soldiers at demonstrations who viewed the whole thing as a game, congratulating each other on “good shots”. Yet here was a man who looked very uncomfortable when facing-off a line of Palestinian demonstrators, and declared his love for this land, not as a Jewish State, but by its pre-Israeli name of “Palestine”.

Breaking the Silence is a group of former Israeli soldiers who decided to speak out against the attitudes of the Israeli military, and the actions they were forced to perform. I had met one of their founders at Sheikh Jarrah and he had explained his overwhelming need to publicise what goes on in the name of his country.

Will that vocal soldier from today’s demonstration later join their ranks? And more immediately, what kind of consequences would he face for his words, back in the barracks? Whilst it is easy to see the army as simply an opposing force, these soldiers are, after-all, fellow human beings, despite the disregard for human rights and human life they often show.

Protest: Hebron

It was with a nonchalant air that two activists passed through the checkpoint into Hebron’s H2 and onto Shuhada Street. We had arrived straight from a confrontation in South Hebron to attend what was dubbed a “Global Campaign for Justice in Hebron”: a demonstration against the closure of Shuhada Street to Palestinians and of the segregation of the city in general. Four days prior to the protest, which fell on the 16th anniversary of the Goldstein Massacre where 29 people had been massacred by a right-wing Israeli gunman, Benjamin Netanyahu had added another cause to the agenda. The Israeli president had declared that the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron would become a protected Jewish Holy Site, therefore continuing Israeli control in this West Bank city. To Muslims, the site goes by the appellation of the Ibrahim Mosque, and one of the most holy Islamic sites outside of Saudi Arabia. The Palestinian Authority leader, Mahmoud Abbas, had warned that this could incite a “religious war”.

Two photographers stood at the intersection near the barrier that bars entry to Shuhada Street and warned us that his was “a good place to see action, or a good place to get arrested”. Crossing Fathiyeh, a CPT volunteer whom we had met two weeks previously and who was here in her role as an international observer of the protest, we confirmed that this was the place. Soldiers began documenting those present.

Several coaches were arriving in the distance and above the wall of the Muslim cemetery that borders Shuhada street, the banners and placards of the demonstrators became visible as they alighted the buses under the falling rain. They carried slogans such as “Open Shuhada Street”, “There is no holiness in an occupied city”, and “Ibrahim’s mosque is a bi-national holy site”. The sound of Arabic, English & Hebrew chants could be heard issuing from a megaphone as the muezzin’s call to prayer broadcast from the local mosque. As we went to join the protestors, so did the Israeli Defence Force (IDF), carrying their assault rifles and laden with backpacks of tear-gas & munitions.

Within minutes, the group of wholly non-violent demonstrators was attacked by IDF soldiers trying to repress the protest. We were amid clouds of tear-gas — made more potent by the rain — and sound grenades were rolled at our feet. As well as the Palestinian & international protestors, many Israelis were amongst those objecting to their government’s policies of occupation here. As the soldiers attempted to disperse the crowd, demonstrators linked arms to prevent them advancing further. Several scuffles broke-out as the soldiers tried to physically move the crowd, people were pushed to the ground, and I witnessed an AFP photographer being dragged off into a military jeep. I crossed him several days later in Jerusalem and he told me that he had been charged with “assaulting a police officer”. During this time, interviews and statements were made to the international press who were present.

It did not take long before the IDF announced that the area was now a “closed military zone”, a tactic often employed at demonstrations, thereby making it an offence to be present in a specified area. Without the signed orders which authorise this, their words were not legally binding, as the Palestinians well knew. A stand-off then ensued and I joined the line of demonstrators who were face-to-face with the Israeli soldiers. This stalemate continued for over half an hour, with several small skirmishes breaking out as the soldiers tried to physically push-back the protestors. In between these skirmishes, Palestinians danced amongst the chants in Arabic & English calling for an end to the occupation.

The decision was taken by the Israeli forces to once again use force against the crowd, and more tear-gas and sound grenades were fired to disperse them. As children retreated through the nearby cemetery, Israeli soldiers trained their guns on them whilst we tried to reason with them, reminding them that they were pointing live rounds at small, unarmed children. Dusk drew in as the soldiers watched watched them leave.

It was a long, cold ride back to Ramallah that night, eyes still stinging from the tear-gas. But today we had witnessed a strong show of solidarity between Palestinians, Israelis and internationals, a solidarity which would be shared again in the coming days.

» My photos from the protest are in this annotated slideshow, or you can view it as a photo-essay set.

From the Hills to Hebron

In the morning I had witnessed Israeli soldiers intimidating the Palestinian shepherds in Bir al ‘Idd. Come lunchtime, I was sat in the back of a beat-up old Peugeot 203, missing half of its dashboard, as we raced across dirt-tracks between farmland. Bound for Yatta, I was to catch the servees from Yatta to Hebron: there was a demonstration there that day for the re-opening of Shuhada Street, and I had wanted to be there ever since I had visited the city two weeks previously.

The young, Palestinian driver was forced to take this road because his car was unregistered and police would be on the road. His foot was to the floor, an aspiring rally driver. Bouncing over rocks, the engine suddenly cut-out and I could smell petrol. Fearing that the fuel tank had been punctured, I thought that we would have to forsake hopes of getting to Hebron. Mohammed fiddled under the car and reconnected the fuel pipe. We were quickly on our way again. Hamdu lillah.

Bir al ‘Idd: Facing the Problem

Since we had arrived four days previously, I had accompanied Abu Tarek whenever he was out grazing his flock. So when an Israeli land official drove up to him & Abu Nassir, claiming that he had seen seen them grazing their sheep on the land reserved for the settlers, I knew this was untrue. He defined the dirt-track over which he had driven from the settlers’ farm as the division. We had not strayed above this line.

A short while later, an army jeep approached from the same farm. Three young soldiers exit, their rifles slung across their chests, and they confront Abu Tarek & Abu Nassir. The young recruits speak patronisingly and derogatorily to these two dignified Palestinian men. One soldier tells them that this is “Jewish” land, and they are but “children” here. He is referring to his Jewish ancestry and to the ideals that Zionist Jews hold regarding their “Biblical right” to the whole of the region. Earlier that morning, I had spoken with one of the settlers on this very subject, trying to understand the situation from his point of view. He said that they believe that God has given them not only the land that comprises Israel, but the Palestinian Territories as well. Despite the generations of Palestinians who have lived here, it is theirs to now take based on Biblical tales.

Based on this Zionist belief, the soldiers claimed that these men should’t be here at all, contradicting what the Israeli land official had said only minutes before. We were thus faced with religious ideas contrasting with the legal “rules” that are established by the Israeli courts. When I ask to see a map of the area, defining the division and allocation of the land, they claim not to have one. They then leave.

This is the sort of intimidation that Palestinians, on Palestinian land, face in their every-day life. Whilst Israel is an occupying force in the Palestinian Territories, in contravention of international law, the lives of the people here cannot be peaceful.

» A collection of photographs from Khirbet Bir al ‘Idd

Chez Abu Tarek

In the hills around Susya, sheep- and goat-herders live in small, tented communities in the wadis (valleys) of Israeli-controlled “Area C” in the West Bank. These communities are fighting for their existence against the Israeli policy of Palestinian expulsion in the region, where strict controls limit the quality of life that is possible for them. These restrictions do not extend to the growing Israeli settlements in the area.

As two ISM volunteers, we spent four days with Abu Tarek and his family in Khirbet Bir al ‘Idd, following a request for internationals to help against recent Israeli settler & soldier intimidation. Abu Tarek used to own a factory, but he had given it up to defend this hillside, just north of the village of Jinba. Israeli settlements were taking-over the Palestinians’ land here, and so he and another man, Abu Nassir, had come to make their living as shepherds, four months previously.

The transition must not have been easy. Whilst Abu Tarek has a house in Yatta, where his children live and attend school, he and his wife, along with their youngest daughter, live amongst these arid hills. The Israeli government forbids the people living here from building any permanent structures, and so a tarpaulin roof covers the stone-walls which create their living quarters. A few metres further down the hill, another tent extends over the mouth of a cave, which is where his flock of sixty sheep spends the night; other caves provide storage for things such as the animals’ food.

They live under the constant harassment of Zionist settlers and the Israeli army. A few days before we arrived, the army had tried to prevent the men from grazing their sheep on these hills. At the same time, the settlers graze their sheep on the Palestinians’ agricultural land, which is vital to their livelihood.
Whilst we were there, I witnessed shots being fired by a settler at some Palestinians who walked near his farm. Under article 49 of the Fourth Geneva Convention, these settlements are illegal, yet the Israeli government allows these occupiers to carry arms. When the Palestinians telephone the police to complain of infringements of their rights, the police have hung-up when hearing their Hebrew spoken with an Arabic inflection.

It was hoped that our presence could defuse any volatile situations, as well as provide encouragement and support to these farmers.

Days here begin at sunrise; with virtually no electricity, natural light is an important commodity. We would breakfast on the delicious bread that Abu Tarek’s wife would bake every morning in the taboon, served with the products of their farming here: warm milk and lebeneh - a kind of yoghurt. The processing of the milk into lebeneh is vital; with no artificial means of refrigeration, and with difficult, infrequent access to the farm, the transformation of milk into a longer-lasting substance is a necessity.

We would then take the flock to graze. The first morning, Abu Tarek explained to me how the hills were notionally divided up between the Palestinians and the settlers. He described the divisions in terms of the dirt-track that led to the settlers’ farm, and the wadi between two hills. This division is visually manifested in the fertility of the hills — the Israelis have the greener, more verdant slopes.

From these hills, the panorama provides a vivid portrayal of the encroachment of the surrounding Israeli settlements, a stark contrast to the restricted development that is afforded the Palestinians. Whilst the settlements have telephones, power lines and other amenities, the Palestinians here do not even have running water: they draw their water from a well.

This first morning there, Abu Tarek left his shepherding stick in my hands as he went off to brew some shay; I was in charge of his flock. As Israeli military jets flew overhead, I had to learn quickly how to prevent the sheep from grazing too far up the hill and thus causing him problems with the settlers. I fared only slightly better at this than I had the previous afternoon when I attempted to help milk the sheep.

The cold evenings were spent with the family in their dwelling. This space was their kitchen, living room and sleeping quarters. The walls provided some respite against the biting wind that blows across these hills, but with an open doorway, the frigid air still creeps in. When things got particularly cold, a fire was lit, but with no chimney, the room quickly filled with smoke. Yet within these stone-walls there is a jovial, soulful atmosphere. The room only fell silent when a mat was brought out to pray.

These people face hardship, both from the land and from the political pressures forced upon them. Life is not easy, but they make it comfortable and pleasant. It is becoming a cliché of my writing here, but the warmth and friendliness in which we were welcomed was incredibly touching. They have had several volunteers come to stay with them over the past few months, but they said they truly counted us as friends. I can only hope that their lives become easier, and that they will no longer need to welcome us in the struggle against occupation, but instead purely as guests.

» A collection of photographs from Khirbet Bir al ‘Idd