Now you're cooking with...Sunlight!

We have lots of things lacking in this country, but one thing we are not short of is sunshine! During these hot summer days when the last thing I want to do is turn on the oven, and the electric bill could also use some whittling down, Claudia and I built the perfect solution - a solar cooker! Here it is in its first test run. Here's a good website! with instructions on how to build your own. The sun and flames decorations were my whimsical addition. You'll need two cardboard boxes that fit inside the other, about a half a kilo of plastic glue, a bit of patience, and creativity.

I'm Proud to be a Virus!

"How does it feel to be a virus?" asks Neta cheerfully as I climb into her car to drive out to the northern checkpoints. Ya'alon, in his blunder of calling Peace Now and the other movements who object to the occupation, has shown his talent for shooting off his mouth first and thinking afterwards. He has now retracted the statement, claiming he now realizes the importance of democratic discourse. Unfortunately, there is no discourse. But yes, I agree with Neta, I am proud to be a virus.

There is a constant flow of workers returning from work and people coming back from shopping in Jenin. Everyone is preparing for Ramadan, and evidently people still like to go to shop in Jenin despite the delays and difficulty it takes to get through the checkpoint. One man complained that he had been waiting for a long time, but proudly showed us a bag of tiny eggplants that he planned to stuff with rice – they cost NIS 8 in Israel, but only 3 in Jenin! The security guard again demanded to see my notebook, and explained “We’re trying to make things easier during Ramadan.”

As we approached the gate at A'anin a soldier asks us, “May I ask what you are doing here?” He is evidently new, and we ask if he has heard of Machsom Watch. Several tractors, a boy with a donkey, and many other young boys were waiting at the gate when we arrived. Things seemed to go smoothly and the soldiers let people through and allowed wagons to pass through loaded with plastic chairs, bags of sawdust, ties, and many other things. At 15:15 one tractor and wagon was delayed as a father with a young boy about 12 showed his documents.

“This only shows that the kid was born,” declares the soldier. (How else did the child come into the world?) After delaying the boy and his father another 15 minutes the soldier, unable to leave them there but unwilling to back down, finally capitulated, but tells the father that his son needs a “special permit”. As the soldiers came to close the gate at 15:30 we asked what the problem was with the father and son. He explained that the boy is over 12 - too old to be included in his father’s permit, and too young to have his own ID at age 16 and receive a separate permit. Thus, he “falls between two stools.”

"But," I asked, "How did the boy get into the seamline zone in the morning??"

He, of course, had not been there to let him across in the morning, but must follow orders now. In the occupation, the law of gravity of what goes up must come down does not hold: Whoever goes out of the West Bank does not necessarily go back in again..

A telephone call to the Liaison and Coordination Administration confirmed that there is no such thing as a “special permit” and that all children under 16 are to be included in their parents’ permit. It appears that there is a lack of coordination between the soldiers in the field and the Liaison and Coordination Administration and the policy is not consistent. At 15:30 everyone had gone through, and we left.

The lower parking lot at Reihan is so crowded with cars and taxis that we have difficulty maneuvering our own car through and could find no place to park. A small number of workers are coming out of the terminal. Everyone is getting ready for Ramadan: As we drove up and began to walk down the sleeve we met several men carrying heavy packages of water, fish, and other groceries, and gave them a hand lugging it all down to the turnstile. They thanked us profusely. All the Moslems that I have met are talking about how difficult the month-long fasting period will be in August-September when the days are hot and long. Since the Moslem calander does not have a leap year system as the Gregorian and Hebrew ones do, the month of Ramadan cycles backwards through the year, moving back one month or so every three years. This means that another nine years of hot, long days until the month of Ramadan is shoved back to the cooler spring months. It will be rough for people who work outdoors and cannot drink water all day.

There are two windows open in the terminal and people are moving through quickly. We listen to the usual complaints about people not being able to go to work in Israel through Reihan Checkpoint in the morning. One man also tells us that the number 27 Egged busses from Hadera to Reihan will not take them back, and we promise to write to the Ministry of Transportation and investigate the matter.

This week, after a year and a half of invitations, my friend from Jordan finally made it up to the Galilee on one of her visits. Determined to show her a part of the country where Arabs and Jews live side by side, I began the tour by showing her the Yehiam battle site and its proximity to the villages of Sheikh Danoun and Abu Snan. I hoped to convey to her just how precarious the situation of the settlements in the Western Galilee was at the time, and that there are villages still standing as opposed to the ones that she was continually referring to that were destroyed. I refrained from much comment, but she silently took pictures of the rusty vehicles scattered throughout the gorge and the old Moslem cemetary above. We then continued to the Arch Cave, where I called upon Dan to serve as tour guide, and we walked around the edge of the cliff and approached the cave by the "surprise" route over the arch. We then continued on to Rosh Hanikra and marveled at the colors and light as the sea crashed into the grottos.

"היום הכל בסדר" "Today everything is OK.

But actually, it's far from OK.

I am suddenly startled out of my reverie while translating Machsom Watch reports. "Today," reports a Palestinian, "Everything is OK." THe soldiers are OK, no one is being held up, there is no humiliation, people are moving through the checkpoint smoothly.

Have people now reached the point that they take for granted that the checkpoints are there, that this is normalcy, and that if they are not stopped, humiliated, harrassed, or anything else exceptional does not go on, than this is to be considered "OK?" "B'seder?"

Does it enter anyone's mind that the checkpoints within the Palestinian territory should not be there at all? Has this absurdity now become a state of normalcy?

Why, asks a watcher, are there so few Palestinians at the checkpoints in the middle of the day? From ten to noon people who are not already at work would take a walk, visit family, grandchildren, new mothers, a sick relative, look for a potential bride, shop, go to the clinic, take the washing machine in for repair in the neighboring village, bring some concrete cinder blocks for the new house. Children on summer vacation are looking for work, and other mundane errands. Such wanderings would be termed by the occupying force as wandering around the seamline zone with no purpose.
The army and the country have obligated themselves to ensure that Shaked Checkpoint enable people for whom the separation fence has infringed upon their lives to continue to live their lives as before.

However, in practice this is not what is being done, and the “all is OK” is far from OK. Any movement from one place to another within the seamline zone or from the seamline zone to the West Bank requires a permit. There has to be a reason – a good reason – to present to the soldier at the checkpoint for why you want to go anywhere. So people don’t bother…Yalla, so let’s not bother fixing the washing machine. We’ll wash clothes by hand, because in order to get the washing machine fixed we will have to tote it through Reihan checkpoint, and that will cost more than a new machine!

Let’s imagine that the Shaked Checkpoint were transferred to the Ra’anana junction. Soldiers stand and flag people down, require each person to be checked according to their capriza...ID. Check the car. Check the trunk. Maybe even let a bonb search dog with muddy paws into you car to give it a good going over. You will only get to work on time if the guy with the boots and the M-16 wants you to. I wonder how long the average Israeli would have patience for these daily holdups?

Keep in mind that we are not talking about border crossings into Israel, but about checkpoints within Palestinian territory. The excuse of "If we don't check then they will bomb Tel Aviv" therefore does not hold water.

Perhaps we should organize a demonstration: place a simulated machsom at the Kfar Sharyahu Junction and start checking cars, ID’s, where are you going? You’re late for work? Too bad. Perhaps then we would realize that everything is not OK.

Almost Halfway There!

I'm almost halfway there. At least if I live to be 120. This year's 59th birthday was heralded with phone calls, e-cards, and a delightful dinner of seasoned rice and stuffed zuccini at Jane and Bill's, accompanied by a bottle of white wine that Jane and I finished off in our customary fashion. I also received a lovely pair of turquoise colored earrings. The next day I left for Tel Aviv, where my friend Karin and I celebrated our 43rd birthday since we met in the summer of 1966 when we celebrated our 16th birthdays together at camp. We ate at the same restaurant in Bat Yam that we chanced upon last year and chatted as the sun went down. ON the way to Yael's house afterwards Rotem called me with strict instructions to call back five minutes before I arrived. When I climbed the stairs Rotem, who had been sitting on the stairs waiting for me, raced excitedly back into the house and birthday music came on. Rotem gave me a string of bright red plastic beads she had strung wrapped in a hand decorated box, and Yael gave me a lovely pair of Celtic style earrings and a pink photo album - designated for next grauddaughter to come. The next day I was greeted at my parents' house with a cake and candles (do I have any breath left?) Next year I promise a less modest celebration. As a matter of fact, I think we will have a large Irish session on the patio and the Hezballah will know I have turned 60.

Hot humid summer days pass slowly by. Ravens and doves fly to the fishpond for water and tiny Palestinian sunbirds flit by, pausing to sip nectar from the hibiscus flowers at the edge of the patio. One dove has boldly begun to sit on the strand of colored lights on the patio, and jays call from the avocado trees, but our one jay is somewhere off with his friends, having forsaken his human companions for ones of his own kind.



In the avocado orchard the trees are heavy with an unusually abumdant crop. Fruit hangs in clusters reminiscent of Christmas tree ornaments. The rows are dotted with long wooeden beams that were propped up to support the branches, but every day more and more branches sag as the fruit continues to grow.

At the checkpoint on the Way to the Wedding

Wishing to avoid the usual catcalls and chaos in the lower parking lot at Reihan, we went directly to the upper entrance to the terminal where we can see if there are any problems of people being delayed. Two windows remained open for the entire time we were there. For a change we didn't have to initiate a phone call to demand that they open another inspection booth. One of the women inspectors noted what was going on at the entrance and said to her colleague over the loudspeaker: “They’re talking to the women from “Watch.” Good. They knowthat we are here. Throughout the hour we observed the usual routine: the turnstile opening every five minutes and 9-12 people entering each time. Occasionally someone got caught inside the turnstile and had to remain standing in this “cage” until it turned again, occasionally someone got hit by the turnstile. The line outside occasionally grew to a dozen people but people continued to enter quickly. We wonder why people are not simply admitted to the air-conditioned terminal to wait there, rather than stand out in the sun.

A woman with an infant and two other small children attempted to pass through to the seamline zone and was refused. We could not find out why. A man from Jerusalem attempted to get back into the West Bank without a permit. He wanders about at the entrance and people shout at us. “He’s been here for six hours already. What’s he going to do? Sleep here?”

Evidently there is a wedding today and families dressed up in holiday clothes are coming from the Israeli side of Barta’a. As we left the entrance and walked back to the upper parking lot we saw a lineup of half a dozen cars - evidently the wedding party - waiting to get through to the West Bank. A taxi on its way to the seamline zone is being held up and everyone is waiting. People are standing next tot the cars in holiday clothes – including a woman who appears to be the bride - waiting to have their documents checked. People driving through are now allowed to be checked at the vehicle checkpoint and drive through without passengers having to go through the terminal. From inside one of the cars we can hear someone playing a darbuka and people clapping hands. We clap with then and shout "Mabruk! Mabruk!" As we leave the taxi going through towards the seamline zone that was holding up traffic is released and the wedding procession drives through.

A man accosts us. “The humiliation we have to go through at the checkpoints – there’s nothing like it anywhere else. Maybe in South Africa.”

“Actually,” I answer, “There is, but that doesn’t make it right.” He is definitely preaching to the converted. It is unfair that we have to get shouted at, but I am used to this: we are there and available for people to let our ther anger.

Another man demands, “When will it end? When?” And I wonder myself.