First paragraph (Teaser):

 
An update from the International Solidarity Movement (ISM) mailing list:

1. Call for Action - PALESTINIAN WITH MENINGITIS ARRESTED
2. Miracles in a Sea of Tragedies - from Anna's journals
3. A Gap In The Wall - by Lena

Rest of the text:

 
An update from the International Solidarity Movement (ISM) mailing list:

1. Call for Action - PALESTINIAN WITH MENINGITIS ARRESTED
2. Miracles in a Sea of Tragedies - from Anna's journals
3. A Gap In The Wall - by Lena

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1. Call for Action - PALESTINIAN WITH MENINGITIS ARRESTED

On Thursday, April 21, at 10:00 pm, 30-year-old Jaber Dalny was arrested at Huwara checkpoint after being held for 9.5 hours. He had been in the hospital in Nablus for 5 days, and had been diagnosed with bacterial meningitis. He was on his way home and his medical condition was stable, but his wife, who was with him, reported that he became delirious and weak after sitting in the sun for so many hours at the checkpoint.

Jaber was taken to Salem, where he was seen by a doctor who diagnosed him with an ulcer and determined that his "medical condition does not bar arrest." Within the past day, other army doctors have reported that he has "sensitivity in the chest area" and "a heart problem." After being pushed, a DCO representative finally admitted that he has bacterial meningitis. The family fears he is being interrogated and not being given his proper medication. They do not know why he was arrested.

Jaber has three young children and his wife is pregnant with their fourth. Jaber's younger sister Samiya writes, "No one can describe this case... I ask all the humanitarian activists and all of the peace activists and Red Cross and the International Red Cross and human rights organizations to intervene to release this person."

PLEASE CALL THE ISRAELI ARMY

Please call the Israeli army to demand that Jaber be given proper medical care and that his family be notified about the reasons for his arrest and how long he will be held. The family also requests that people do everything in their power to make sure Jaber is immediately and safely released.

Israeli Army phone numbers:
DCO in Jenin: 04-640-7312 or 04-617-9207
DCO "Humanitarian Office": 02-997-7733

For more information:
Jaber's brother Mohammad (Arabic only, a little English): 0522-480-582
International Women's Peace Service (English): 09-251-6644

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2. Miracles in a Sea of Tragedies - from Anna's journals

To see Anna's pictures: www.annainthemiddleeast.com

April 21, 2005

I went down to Saffa, where the village council had invited internationals and Israelis to take part in an action against the wall. From Saffa across the valley where the bulldozers are working is the village of Bil'in, where there have been a recent series of demonstrations against the wall.

The villagers of Bil'in were marching down to the bulldozers several times a week until the army decided to nip things in the bud with an almost constant military presence in the village itself. Many people have been wounded with rubber bullets and by now many of the older demonstrators are too scared to protest the appropriation of their land, leaving only the shebab (young boys) with their stones and cheers. Saffa is in a similar situation, and consequently the demonstration coordinator decided to cancel yesterday's event -- to avoid any young people being hurt or arrested -- and just take the Israelis and international (me) activists on a tour of the recent destruction in the area.

The small group of us walked the short way from the village to the bulldozers, and then along the path, commenting on the irony of our privilege to get near the uprooting of trees whose owners would risk being shot or arrested if they got so close. We stopped to rest in an olive grove along our hike and three soldiers approached us to ask what we were doing. Actually, they wanted to know what the two Palestinians with us were doing, and demanded seeing their ID's. They wrote down the ID numbers. I asked if our friends would be punished for going to their land; the soldier ignored me.

Our group walked solemnly back to the village where we found a standoff between the shebab throwing stones and the army shooting rubber bullets and tear gas into the village. We didn't know how it had started, but it was clear that neither side wanted to back down.

The young boys wanted the soldiers out of their village, and the soldiers wanted the boys to stop throwing stones towards the army. It wasn't a zero-sum scenario -- i.e. both sides could have had their immediate wants satisfied -- nonetheless, it went on forever. I understood the shebab's dilemma: if they were the first to back down, the army could continue stunting nonviolent demonstrations by blocking roads and declaring closed military zones -- something that is very common -- without having to worry about their own safety. I found it harder to understand the soldiers who kept yelling at me and my Israeli friends to get out of the way so they could shoot one of the boys. To me it felt like more of a macho thing: they weren't about to let a bunch of kids kick them out... they would show them who was boss. Obviously, if they wanted to kids to stop throwing stones, they would just go back down to where the bulldozers were working. This wasn't a demonstration; these were kids who ran out of their houses when they saw the soldiers coming.

Things started to get very heated and two Israelis stepped out into the path of crossfire to deter the soldiers from shooting. The young soldiers were noticeably annoyed. The young boys stopped throwing stones so that the two Israelis would not be hurt. After a brief conversation with the activists, the soldiers turned to leave and the village youth let out a great cheer. They felt they had won (there's quite a bit of macho in them too). Several young boys began to throw stones as the soldiers left, until they were out of sight... but they never got out of sight. They got mad. The soldiers ran back towards the village and started shooting. I instinctively ran into the area of crossfire and began waving my hands in the air and screaming as loud as I could, "don't shoot!" a bullet flew over my head and hit a branch above me. Several leaves fell on my head. my heart skipped a beat and I choked back a sob.

The shebab were all running away as the soldiers approached, except a brave few who continued to throw stones. One waited too long and a soldier jumped in from the side and grabbed him around his neck, pulling him away. His face turned bright red and I was afraid he would choke. The soldiers then left quickly with the boy, having gotten what they wanted; now they had won.

As soon as the shebab realized what had happened they started to scream, running after the soldiers en masse. A woman who had been watching from her house ran out onto the balcony and began to wail. It was her nephew. She, her sister, and all the young men ran after the boy until another group of soldiers stopped them from going any further. The group watched horrified as their friend stumbled to keep up with the soldier holding him around his neck, until he was behind the trees and out of sight.

The crying women would not be held back. They pushed their way past the soldiers (who are in general far more tolerant of aggressive women than confrontational men) and I followed. We ran down a steep path and slid off a steep drop until we landed on the path of the wall, where the boy was being held on the ground with his hands tied behind his back. His name was Mohammed. The women ran to him, and began prying the soldiers hands off of him, trying to free him from their grip. The main soldier told the women to leave, and one woman responded by kissing his hand and begging him to let Mohammed go. Mohammed yelled at his aunt to leave. I didn't know why until he turned his head and I saw that he could not bear to hear her cry. His strong face had broken into tears at the sight of her.

I asked the soldiers what they were doing and they announced that Mohammed was being arrested. I asked why, and they said "for throwing stones." I saw one more sensitive looking soldier and pulled him away. "Look, I know this boy was throwing stones, and I know that's difficult for you, but you have to understand that you are invaders in his village, protecting the people stealing his land. How would you react if someone came into your house with a gun and started carrying out your TV... and then your stereo... and then your bed... wouldn't you throw a lamp at him or something?"

The soldier listened to me and I appreciated that. But then another soldier told him to stop talking to me and to take Mohammed into the jeep. I stood in front of the jeep doors, holding on to them to physically prevent the soldier and boy from entering. I continued speaking: "please think about what you're doing. You have the power to let him go or to ruin his life forever. Do you really think imprisoning him is going to prevent the boys from throwing stones in the future? What are you trying to accomplish?" the more aggressive soldier came from the side and yanked me out of the way, and the soldier and Mohammed got into the jeep.

I went around to the side to keep talking and I saw Mohammed's face. He was covered in sweat, miserable, hopeless. I asked him what his name was, and wrote it down. Then I asked him if he wanted me to deliver any message to his parents, and he just looked down. I felt like a jerk. Just for being there, for witnessing his humiliation and despair.

Several more israeli activists began to approach and I asked one of them to translate for me because now two of the soldiers claimed they didn't speak any english. The activist said it wasn't any use, but I insisted, perhaps more for my sake than anyone else's. I turned to the man in the passenger's seat: "do you think this young man is a threat to Israeli security?" he nodded.

"So you think that imprisoning this young man will secure Israel?" He said yes again.

I pointed towards his family sitting and crying: "how do you think this will affect them? Do you think his brothers and cousins will grow up to be suicide bombers or peace makers?" he got my point, but he didn't want to hear it or respond. as he shut the door in my face, I hurried, "you've got one guy, but you're making 1,000 more enemies -- ." the driver started the engine of the jeep and my friend and I ran in front of it, refusing to move. I gave my card of digital photographs from that day to another friend in case I was arrested. We agreed we weren't moving until he was released. The driver stopped the engine, annoyed, and got out. I could see Mohammed's family watching. I could see the sensitive soldier thinking. Several soldiers were discussing something.

Then suddenly Kobi called me over away from the army and we turned around to watch together. The soldiers were opening the back door and out came the Mohammed. A soldier untied his hands and handed him back his ID. The women watching behind me stood up with joy and dismay. Mohammed walked quickly and calmly back to his family who smothered him with kisses. On the way he looked over to me and mouthed the word, "toda," meaning "thank you" in Hebrew. He thought I was Israeli. We both smiled.

Mohammed walked up to the village ahead of us and before long I heard an incredible cheer erupt in the village. He was home. I allowed myself a moment of happiness at the drop of victory amidst the ocean of defeats; but I was sobered up soon enough. After a cup of tea courtesy of Ahmed we were on the way to a demonstration in nearby Bil'in, where 8 people had already been shot by rubber bullets (real bullets with a thin coat of rubber around them—easily capable of killing someone, despite their name), including 1 israeli and 1 journalist. Nobody was seriously injured, but the protest was still young.

The demonstration had started out as a children's parade, with young girls and boys marching with banners conveying the damage being inflicted upon their families and futures by the wall. By the time we arrived the young children had gone, and several shebab were -- guess what? -- throwing stones. We were informed that the army had run out of the tear gas (I thought this was good news until I remembered that rubber bullets were the next step up), but within a half hour the tear gas was flying again. My eyes began to sting and I had to squat down covering my eyes to recover. A Palestinian man yelled at me not to touch my eyes with my fingers, that I was only pushing it in further. He was more experienced than I in being gassed. He was right, and I soon felt better. I was beat. I was ready to go home.

Then suddenly a jeep raced by, halted to a stop, and let out two soldiers who ran into the forest where the shebab had regrouped. Within seconds, the soldiers re-emerged from the forest pulling another young man, this one bigger and more resistant than the first. I rushed towards them and he began to tell me that he didn't know what was happening. He asked me to help him. I recognized the soldiers from Saffa and suspected this was another attempt at "winning" the game (if it had been a "wanted" man, they wouldn't be hunting him during a stone-throwing standoff. Filled with a sense of purpose and perhaps invincibility from the earlier near-arrest, I threw my body between the man and the soldier who was holding him by his neck. I tried to position myself in such an awkward way that the soldier would have to stop walking or it would hurt me. It worked. K. came next to me and began to use his body to separate the man from the standing soldiers, meanwhile talking to them in Hebrew. The soldiers tugged to hold on, and the man's face turned redder as the grip around his neck tightened. He yelled out and in a burst of energy somehow ripped himself away, freed for a few seconds. This was his chance. A soldier was about to lunge for him so I grabbed the soldier's arm and screamed, "run!!" He ran.
The soldier shook me loose after a few moments and began to run after the man, who had small head-start. He ran like crazy... so crazy that he didn't see where he was going.

In his path lay a cliff several meters high, separating one terrace of olive trees from another. in his frenzy, the man didn't realize the depth of the cliff and ran off it, knocking his head against a sharp branch that pushed him to land back-first on a huge rock. Everyone froze.

The man released an almost inhuman moan. I ran to the cliff's edge and looked over to find him lying spread eagle with blood all over his face. I turned around and scaled down the cliff, something I would normally be scared to do but somehow now it didn't matter. I kneeled in front of the man and heard his friend say everything was going to be OK. I repeated the encouragement, although I was not so optimistic. I asked the injured man his name, and he responded, I sat with him until a medical team arrived shortly after and took him away on a stretcher with the help of several villagers and Israeli activists. When he was gone I realized that the army was gone too. One look at him over the cliff's edge and they were gone in an instant, as stunned as the rest of us.

I was sure that he would be paralyzed, if not worse. I looked down at my hand that he had grabbed in desperation to avoid spending his life (or part of it) in interrogation or prison. Now would he spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair? I tried to remember the feeling of joy I had experienced just a few hours before, but it was gone. I needed to see him, to make sure he was alright. I hitched a ride with his cousin, the first car I saw driving to the Hospital in Ramallah. 30 minutes later we were rushing into the emergency room, where we found him all bandaged up, but conscious and standing with help. He smiled when he saw me come in. I asked how he was and he closed his eyes, "alhamdullah."(Praise God)

I asked his father standing near his bedside what the doctors had said, and he repeated, "alhamdullah." He was pretty banged up but he was going to be OK. I asked where it hurt and he pointed to a probably broken bone. I asked about his back and head, and he pointed to a scar on the latter where he said a bullet had grazed the bridge between his eyebrows. In the chaos had I missed a gun shot? Imagine the chances of a bullet missing his head by that close! My answer was the same as theirs "alhamdullah": "thank god." He smiled again and I knew it was time to finally go home.

April 15th

A few weeks ago I learned that my good friend Shelly, an Israeli activist, was convicted of "obstructing the work of a police officer" during an incident long ago when she sat in front of a bulldozer about to uproot a villager's trees as collective punishment. She was arrested along with Neta, an amazing Israeli activist from ISM who had chained herself to the trees in what Shelly recalls as "a beautiful and powerful act of resistance against injustice."

Shelly is calm and compassionate, easy to be with and very dedicated to the cause. She works odd jobs to support her activist lifestyle, and the rest of the time leads all kinds of Israelis on tours to the wall (anyone interested?). She explained to me that after taking people who have been hearing about the wall for ages but never actually saw where it's going and what it's doing, the tour facilitates discussions for people to process what they've seen in a productive way.

Shelly and Neta are not the only great Israelis under attack: Arik Ascherman from Rabbis for Human Rights was recently convicted for standing on the roof of a house about to be demolished because it did not have a permit. Although he lost, Arik fought hard and used the lawsuit to publicize widely the difficulty experienced by most Palestinians who want building permits. The laws of East Jerusalem are different than those in Jewish neighborhoods where much area is allocated to residential neighborhoods, and thousands of homes are destroyed on technicalities with the intention of making way for the wall. West Bank families living in area "C" also live under constant threat of losing their homes. in fact, home demolitions as a punishment for the families of suicide bombers -- as we often hear in the news -- account for less than 3% of the family homes that have
been crushed so far.

Then there's Kobi and Yonatan both in the middle of trials right now. The latter was also shot in the head with a tear gas canister a few weeks ago, causing internal bleeding and 23 stitches. His injury was nothing compared to some of those suffered by Palestinians every day, but his made big news because he's Jewish and Israeli. I think he's going to be the next Che Guevara, if they don't put him in prison first.

I realized how much more press Israeli injuries get after a demo last year at the gate in Mas'ha that completes the cage around Munira's house (please see photos at www.annainthemiddleeast.com/photos/wall to get a sense of the situation of Munira's stranded family.). The demonstration has now become legendary since Gil Naamati, an Israeli activist who had just gotten out of the army, was shot with live ammunition and sustained serious injuries. he is one of the many ex-soldiers who find themselves on "the other side" of the wall, having experienced the injustice and violence of the occupation from the inside.

Munira's cage is a mixture of concrete wall and electric fence. After meeting and planning our action, the protesters arrived to find the soldiers waiting on the other side with their guns aimed. A mixed group of brave Palestinians, Israelis, and internationals approached the fence and began to shake it with all their strength. A couple of demonstrators began to cut the fence with wire-cutters. I remember the tremendous rattle of the shake, the grateful looks of Munira's children who came outside their house to watch, and the adrenalin the noise instilled in the demonstrators. For a few moments, the village had taken back control.

The soldiers were scared. It is not surprising; they are used to being in control. Gil was shot from a short distance while shaking the fence, in his right knee and then his left thigh. He could easily have bled to death and the doctors almost amputated his leg during the operation. He walks now, but not like he did before -- his scar is huge. I remember the way two Palestinians swept him swiftly off the ground and into their arms to rush him to the nearest ambulance after he was shot. I remember the long faces of the villagers after the incident; it was as if one of their own had been shot.

April 19th

I have been in a daze for the past few days, but today woke me up. I went to accompany plowing in Assawiya with Rabbis for Human Rights. Two days ago while I was at the dentist, several plowers were attacked on the village's land below the outpost. One of the victims was my friend's mother, the one who had welcomed us warmly, fed us, and told us her story when amnesty and I interviewed her a week ago. The villagers, many of them back to plow on their land for the first time in four years, had gathered the courage to go that day because the army had promised them protection from settlers. But the soldiers came several hours late, by which time several settlers had already come down, shoved and threatened the family, and kicked their donkey. when the soldiers arrived, they chatted casually with the settlers and then told the Palestinians they had to leave and wait for other soldiers to arrive.

The settlers began to chase the villagers, and the soldiers encouraged them to leave to avoid being hurt. When other jeeps finally arrived, the Palestinians were told they could plow on different land after lining up to have their ID's checked. The settlers—not soldiers—checked the plowers' ID's, wrote down their numbers, and took the villagers' photographs. They were finally allowed to plow for a few hours.

Today was calmer than Monday; we didn't see any settlers, which was not surprising since there weren't many Palestinians either. Presumably the absent plowers had either managed to finish their work already, or were too scared to come back. We split up to accompany the few farmers but my group was superfluous so we sat under a tree to talk, rest, and wait.

At one point during our discussion under the olive tree, I realized that I had read about one of our group, an Israeli activist called David being attacked in Yanoun, a village east of Nablus that has suffered immensely from settler terrorism. I asked David to tell me his story, the following are his words:

"after October 2002, it was clear that Yanoun needed a constant presence of Internationals or Israelis. I stayed in the village with other Israeli activists for a whole month, and then internationals came in our stead and we came up occasionally on shabbat when settlers were most known to attack. One Saturday I learned that the two internationals in the village had been kidnapped by Avri Ran, an extremely dangerous and influential local settler with an almost cult following, and one of his followers. The two were stripped of their shoes and jackets in the pouring rain and made to march through the outpost on plant needles and rocks. They were then forced to lie on the ground face down in the rain for a long time before Avri finally let them go. When I met them two days later I learned that Avri had taken the camera of one international and thrown it on the ground near where they lay. It was a very expensive camera and I suggested that we go up to the outpost to try and find it. The army agreed to accompany us.

"We combed the area, but there was no sign of the camera. As we were leaving, I saw Avri and Victor approaching. I immediately stood between them and the internationals, thinking they might be more reluctant to hit me, a Jew, than the others. Apparently I was wrong. They beat me repeatedly with the butts of their rifles all over my body. The four soldiers who had accompanied us were a few meters away, and simply watched in silence. I tried to defend myself and remain standing but at one point Avri got me full on in the face, tearing my nose and crushing part of my skull. I cried out for the soldiers to help me but they remained silent, watching. I was bleeding profusely. I heard one soldier call his superior to say that he didn't think he was prepared to interfere.

"When Avri finally let me go the soldiers walked with me down the village. The settlers continued to throw stones at me, and I tried to dodge them. I was in the hospital for some time and the next time I saw Avri and the soldiers was in court. The state was supposedly prosecuting Avri, but it didn't feel that way. Avri spoke with big eyes and words in a way that almost entranced the court. He is truly psychotic. He also must have amazing connections, because when I asked the prosecution about the photographs the army had taken of me and the other internationals after the incident he didn't know what I was talking about; apparently the army had lost the photos. One of the international witnesses had written a sworn affidavit about the incident, which was also dismissed because it was not received by a certain date. The only witnesses were me and the soldiers. Three soldiers flat out lied, denying that Avri had done anything. One soldier somewhat unwillingly admitted to my story, but the judge didn't believe him and let Avri off. Avri has killed people in the past and is likely to do it again. He is very dangerous, but the justice system and army are protecting him and his followers."

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3. A Gap In The Wall - by Lena

At Abu Dis, a small village on the outskirts of Jerusalem, the wall brings the road to an abrupt end, blocking what used to be the main route between Jerusalem and Jericho. About 9 meters high and solid concrete, it extends into the distance to the South, a huge snake carving up the hillside. To the north it pushes up the hill for 50 meters or so, after which there is a metal gate and then the wall of the compound of a building - a normal wall. Between the gate and the next wall there is a gap about a meter from the ground.

I started to photograph a woman who was passing a small baby through the gap to someone waiting on the other side. After a little while a landrover pulled up and one of its passengers got out and spoke to someone on the pavement. It looked like an army vehicle but "Police" was printed on the side. I later found out that it belonged to the Border Police – a particularly nasty branch of the Israeli security forces. They are army but police as well and therefore have the authority to arrest internationals. I shifted the camera to include in its frame this addition to the scene. The border policeman started gesturing towards me angrily. I was aware that he wanted me to approach the vehicle but for some reason I didn't move, just stood staring at him holding the camera to my chest. He walked up the hill towards me and as he got closer shouted at me to produce my ID. I told him that I did not have my passport on me, and had to repeat this a number of times. He made me follow him towards the vehicle before taking my bag and emptying it on the pavement to search it. I told him the name of the hostel I'm staying in and that in England we don't all have to carry identity cards. He said that it is forbidden to photograph the security forces. I apologized and said that I didn't know that, I didn't know I had to carry my passport all the time, I'm just a tourist. He told me to go back to my hotel and get my passport and then I could come back if I wanted. I agreed and the vehicle drove off along the road that shadows the path of the wall.

On the curbside I replaced my things in my bag and looked at the concrete monstrosity towering over me. Grey monotony was peppered with grafitti, including messages of solidarity from people from around the world. In a prominent spot were the words "Friends cannot be divided". As I sat there a number of communal taxis pulled up and deposited groups of women and children on the road in front of the wall. They walked past me up the hill and towards the gap.

I hurriedly changed the film in my camera and by the time I reached the gap there was a group of about 25 people huddled round, waiting to climb through. 5 o'clock: rush hour. Young people waited as old women struggled to gain a foothold. "Salam al eykum," I said to a group of teenage girls who were standing at the edge of the group. "Shalom," one of them replied, the Hebrew equivalent. Both greetings mean "Peace" - how ironic is that? By this point I was unable to hold back my tears- it was my first experience of the wall this trip - so I turned around and started walking up the hill away from them. After a short distance I realised they were following me and stopped and turned around again. I just about managed to say "Majnoon!" - Arabic for "crazy" - gesturing towards the wall. They smiled widely at my tears and started speaking quickly in Arabic. I could only understand one word -"Yalla" - which means "Lets go". It was enough. I followed them back towards the gap.

The group was smaller now but people seemed more impatient and a few young men had climbed onto the wall of the compound. Before long the Border Police pulled up again and this time the driver spoke to me, asked me the name of my hotel and then told me to have a nice day! But the guy who had initially spoken to me, who was black and therefore probably an Ethiopian Jew, was in the passenger seat closest to me and kept demanding that I go back to my hotel and get my passport. There wasn't much else I could do, so I walked back down the hill towards a communal taxi and stood beside it, waiting for more people to fill it up. The landrover drove past and stopped a short distance away.

I looked back towards the group and took one last photo as a young girl waved at me. No doubt, if I had made it through the gap, I would have been taken to the home of one of the young lasses and given tea, perhaps food. A neighbor who spoke English would probably have been found, and we could have exchanged information about ourselves. It wasn't to be. I was experiencing the powerlessness of having to bow down to a higher authority - granted by whom? God? - that Palestinians must feel all the time.

When I looked back at the taxi I realised that the driver was waiting for me so I climbed on board. "Yalla," I said and he grinned at me as he started the engine.

The next day, I felt, for the first time, the desperation that I was expecting from the moment I stepped off the plane in Jordan and have grown accustomed to from my experience of 'developing' countries. I had just passed through the Bethlehem checkpoint, which was the first that I encountered on my first trip to Palestine. I remember, back then, being confused, because we were passing from Palestinian territory to Palestinian territory and were not crossing any borders. Of course, it quickly became apparent that checkpoints are everywhere throughout the West Bank and Gaza: that is the reality of a military occupation. Anyway, today the beautiful young soldier with an automatic weapon draped across her chest told me to "have a nice day" after she checked my passport. I started walking down the street towards the wall - near the Bethlehem checkpoint it looks much the same as it does in Abu Dis - massive, solid, and impenetrable.

The wall divides families, cuts people off from their land, blocks trade routes, and discourages tourists. As C, a local Christian coffee-shop owner kept saying to me "Everything has changed". ...And yet... C refused to accept any money for my much-welcome coffee. A communal taxi driver also refused my shekels and was disappointed that I declined his invitation to stay with him and his family. It seems that the generosity of the Palestinian people cannot be defeated by humiliation, degradation, poverty. Yesterday I marveled at the way people circumnavigated a huge physical obstacle and just got on with their lives regardless. Today I'm starting to appreciate the strength of character that that involves.

After the wall at the Bethlehem checkpoint you have to turn left and take a detour of about 15 minutes by foot. It is not possible to continue straight down what used to be the main road, as there is another section of wall further down. Between these two sections of wall there is Rachel's Tomb, an important religious site for Jewish people. It looks as though it is buried somewhere in large military complex, although I did not visit it this time, preferring to ease my way into the occupation gradually...

(this update was originally circulated via the ISM's palsolidarity mailing list)

[PHOTO from annainthemiddleeast.com]