On the Art of Waiting

“Hey, are you trying to play games with me?” The tone is reminiscent of a fourth-grade teacher talking to an arrogant child: the language of an occupier
to the occupied.

We drove Suheil and her daughter Aya from Rambam Hospital to Jalameh. Expecting to see Aya again on watch this Thursday, I stopped in a toy store in Nahariya this week and picked up an inexpensive baby doll that makes a hilarious snoring noise and lights up when her tummy is pressed. Aya was enthralled with the doll and cuddled it until she fell asleep about halfway to Jalameh. There were many Israeli Arabs going through the border crossing in both direction, and many were families with small children. It is close to 40 degrees outside and a strong wind blows clouds of dust from the construction work nearby. Aya and her mother had already gone through when we arrived at the entrance, but about a dozen people were waiting inside the terminal. Despite the fact that the terminal has two sides to accommodate people coming in and out of the West Bank in both directions, only one side is being used and the one clerk who is working must process people going in both directions. One man complained angrily that his 55-year-old mother had been detained inside, and he had been waiting for her for an hour. She finally emerged, clutching one plastic bag – the reason she had been delayed in the terminal. Neta called and complained about the waiting line, and this resulted in them opening up the other side of the terminal making lanes in two directions. Since she also told them where we were standing, it also brought an armed guard, who came up and looked over my shoulder.

“I want to know what you are writing in your notebook!” Ah, I think, soon they will put a sign up with a picture of a notebook and pen and a red diagonal line across it that says: NO REPORTING AT THE CHECKPOINT ALLOWED! But, well, when confronted with an M16, I tend to get a bit more docile than my usual self.

“Certainly," I say, "No problem. Long line at the entrance to the terminal, only one window open, people with small children waiting to go in both directions and being delayed…”

The gate at A’anin opened promptly at 3:00 and about 15 people and half a dozen tractors passed through by 15:25. Several teenage boys were with their fathers, probably helping them in the fields.For the first time we see that there are two women from the military police checking cars and pedestrians at Tura. Several cars and taxis passed through the checkpoint in both directions, but one driver drove into the seamline zone, stopped, and complained that things were not going smoothly, he had been waiting for a half hour. The ladies evidently need to be more efficient at their new job.

As we drive into Reihan Checkpoint we see seamstresses arriving and walking down to the sleeve. At the entrance there are already twenty people in line, and at 16:30 two windows were open and the line was moving. Unfortunately one window stopped operating, and the line soon began to grow longer. The loudspeaker announces again and again: “Enter the checkpoint only if you have a permit.”

"I want to photograph the line. I'm going to sneak one."Soon another announcement is made: “Hey, are you trying to play games with me?” It is reminiscent of a fourth-grade teacher talking to an arrogant child: the language of an occupier to the occupied. It takes the man at the end of the line 12 minutes to reach the turnstile and get inside.Furious, I was seized by an urge to disobey the signs posted for the benefit of people such as myself who want to record what goes on here. Holding my camera close to me waist high to avoid the overhead cameras, I blindly snapped a picture and lo and behold, I caught the men waiting in line. Neta took a picture with her phone as well. Neta calls S., who sharply offers her an explanation for the holdup in the terminal: He is rude and cross, and refuses to take any blame, adamant in his attitude that they are doing the Palestinians a favor.

“You refuse to understand. It’s because we let people who don’t have permits come through here.”

Sigh.

This goes with the comment of “Its lovely over at the vehicle checkpoint: aid conditioning, coffee…” Sure, they could sit there all day. Who needs to work, earn a living...we have nothing better to do but WAIT all day...?