At the Freres School I participate in a meeting with some 20 youth which is about this very question of emigration. The topic is the talk of town, especially among youth. Bethlehem and the neighbouring towns have a history of emigration. In fact, there are presently more people from Beit Jala living in Santiago de Chile than in Beit Jala itself. Community leaders say that we should be careful not to loose those remaining. All those participating in the workshop, Christians and Moslems, seem to agree that everything has to be done to keep young Palestinians at home. A major motive of emigration is the lack of work and job careers here. But something can be done about that, it is argued, even such small improvements such as giving more information about which studies at the universities or vocational institutes can provide local work later. Slowly, more study and career information is beginning to be provided to the last classes at secondary schools. For instance, Bethlehem University now visits some of the schools in the region to inform school students about the various studies the university offers and their economic prospects. Teddy Giacaman, Fuad’s son, leads one of the sessions. He emphasizes that it is still possible to live and work in Palestine, despite all the difficulties. The question of emigration touches all fields of society, and everybody should be able to do something about it in his or her field. We should not erect a wall between “juwwa” (the “inside”) and “barra” (the “outside”) as if everything abroad, especially in the Western world, is good, and everything in Palestine bad. In fact, many Palestinians do not have such an excellent experience in the West, due to, among other things, discrimination. From his side, Ishmail from Hebron emphasizes that students should learn to love their land and their people through local excursion and meeting programs. I remember a remark of a politician here who once said that young Palestinians are willing to die for their country but often do not know what their country is.

Ishmail also tells me that his student Murad – together with some fifty other youth from Al-Arroub camp - will stay for some two months more in the prison of Megiddo (the Biblical Armageddon) in the Jisrael Valley not far from Nazareth. Family members are not allowed to visit him, but one of the inmates has kept a mobile phone and in this way it is possible to have contact once in a while. The imam of Al-Arroub camp has found a way to smuggle some clothes and cigarettes into the prison, and during Friday prayers in the camp the believers are asked to help covering the expenses.

These weeks the situation in Bethlehem is changing – though not much for the better. While previously the bombings and shootings were the main issue of concern, it is now the full closure around the towns and villages which is on everybody’s mind. Al Quds newspaper displays two photos taken at a checkpoint near Hebron. In the first, a man is shown arguing with soldiers about entry into the town. In the second one, taken immediately afterwards, he is shown to be shot in the leg (which, as it turns out, had to be amputated). Checkpoint stories abound again. The Israeli journalist Gideon Levy writes that a ten-year old girl from a village near Nablus was not allowed to leave the village. Three times her family tried to persuade soldiers of the seriousness of the case, and to allow the family to leave the village to go for a hospital, but each time they were refused. In the village the girl finally died from a burst appendix. The journalist states that “the barbarity of the siege cannot be overstated: neither a woman in childbirth, nor a critically sick person nor someone who is mortally wounded nor a girl with peritonitis can be taken out of their homes.” (Haaretz, 7/1/2001). Mary tells me that she has something for what she jokingly calls “my propaganda.” In Nablous a Palestinian with an American passport wanted to congratulate a relative on the occasion of the end of Ramadan. He was not allowed to enter the place where she lived. He decided to stay sitting at the checkpoint. After six frustrating hours, he died from a stroke. Here at the checkpoint in Bethlehem it happened that one woman was gestured by soldiers not to cross the checkpoint but to circumvent it by walking into the fields. Fine, she thought, if you suggest this, why not? After crossing the Tantur lands – which provide a way around the checkpoint -  she came back later on and was forced by the very same soldiers to sit for a few hours as punishment for “illegally” entering Jerusalem. Cat and mouse play. It is now a normal view to see people, mainly workers, sitting along the checkpoint for hours after being caught without papers. Our neighbour, with her diplomatic car, also meets problems. Lately, upon returning from Jerusalem, she was not allowed to enter Bethlehem. She called her colleague in Gilo, but the soldier took and closed off her mobile. The soldier told her, go back, do your shopping and come back after a few hours. She refused and stayed in the car waiting. When going to work she now takes a book in the car. I have the feeling that it is increasingly a matter of honour for her not to succumb to the soldiers’ intimidations.

During her Christmas holiday, Karishma visits a Jewish settlement, Maale Ephraim. Although she is clearly against the establishment of settlements for reasons of international law (she herself has studied human rights law), she was intent on seeing one from inside, and meeting people. By chance, she could come into contact with a Druze family living there. Like others, this family came to the settlement because they could buy a house there against low interest. One of Karishma’s observations was that she felt in the settlement the presence of another kind of border, less physical but also real. The Western, mainly American inhabitants kept themselves at a distance from her while she was walking around, quite possibly, she felt, because of her colour (she is Kenyan-Indian). Being Arabs, the Druze family is also left isolated in the settlement. 

I had my own border experience. Last week for the first time soldiers did not let me pass to Jerusalem. They asked me whether I was a tourist. No, I said, I live here. Apparently, that was the wrong answer. Their instructions prevented them from allowing residents of Bethlehem to go into Jerusalem. I joined other workers in taking a side road through the fields which were still wet of the rain. While walking, a mobile of one of the workers rang. Sometimes, you hear those sounds which you never forget in your life because they are so out of place. Imagine, you are walking at an early moment in the morning when it is still half-dark, and performing an activity which is supposed to be “illegal.” You walk somewhat uncertain over the rocks in a queue of shadowy people. Then suddenly comes this technological sign of organized and planned life. Somebody saying “Hallo, I am here in Tantur, it takes me another half an hour before I can be with you.” However, after arriving at the main road to Jerusalem again, and walking further down along the road, I saw over my shoulders a soldier running towards the entrance of the escape route. I cherished my luck and thought that again some people might be forced to sit at the checkpoint, and would not reach their appointment. In Jerusalem, life was normal. I met the Jewish pharmicist who was again very friendly, and willing to substitute Abou Hannah’s medicines. He extended his condolences. 

Mary tries to persuade her mother to leave the country for a few months in the coming summer, just for a break. Imm Hannah seems to hesitate. She is the type of person who likes traveling yet she became reluctant due to a stroke a few years ago that left her with a difficulty in walking. Mary herself needs a break, too. She says that during all these months she cannot breath, she just lives in a tiny triangle, walking between our home, her mother’s, and the nearby university. Sometimes she has problems of sleeping, then she starts thinking about her father.

I wonder what it means educationally, to live in what Israel calls an “encirclement,” and the Palestinians a “siege.” A few years ago, one educator of Bethlehem University checked out with her students what “Jerusalem” meant to them. She was amazed to hear from several students: “nothing.” Due to the closure, they simply did not have a concrete image of Jerusalem although living in a distance of five miles from the city. Some people say that the real closure leads to a kind of “mental closure.” When traveling is difficult in reality, the mind travels less, too. Everything starts looking difficult, people become entrapped in the mode of what psychologists call “obstacle thinking,” rather than “opportunity thinking.”  A main question with which my colleagues and I struggle is now: How to keep the students’ mental windows and horizons open? Our Institute is presently embarking upon a fieldtrip program for school students. We have decided to implement it against all odds. Last year, we had a similar program whereby I myself used to stand with the microphone in hand in front of the bus full of teachers while approaching the Jerusalem checkpoint. The somewhat western-looking Palestinian teachers sat in the front, while the black-haired young men with moustaches remained in the back. To mislead the soldiers, I used to move my lips as if saying something interesting about the checkpoint to a group of tourists. One of the teachers called me their “key to Jerusalem.” Now these little tricks of course do not work anymore.

During Christmas, a group of “Magi” or “Kings from the East” arrived in Bethlehem. They are the real border-crossers. Organized by the Middle Eastern Council of Churches, their months-long journey on foot stretched from Iraq to Palestine. The group, among them several Arab Christians, wanted to show solidarity with Arab children, and to raise attention to the presence of Christianity in the Arab world. On their arrival in Bethlehem, there was a small celebration in the presence of a Christmas tree decorated with pictures of the youth killed in the recent clashes. I try to imagine how in the old times people used to walk long distances. One successful tourist activity, before the clashes started, was an imitation of the week-long voyage of Mary and Joseph from Nazareth to Bethlehem, in parts through “the fields.” Once I would like to do that trip with Mary and Jara. There is nothing which gives so much breath as a long walking journey. 

At Christmas, before Jerusalem became also closed for foreign-passport holders, I left with Jara to the zoo, our favourite spot. The soldier at the checkpoint asked me from where I was, and hearing that I was from Holland, joked whether I could give him some drugs. With his desparate laugh, he looked as if he was in real need. Jara played with the animals the names of which she now often knows better than I do. Back home, she got some inspiration from the meeting with the soldier, and started playing “checkpoint” at the entrance of the kitchen. She put up one leg across the door and asked for the passport of the family. One guest joined the game and showed his permit. “OK, you go into the kitchen.” Otherwise, she plays with bags and imitation boats, made up of many pillows, and announces, as always, that she wants to go to Holland or Paris and not to school. Is Janet, Mary’s sister, allowed to join her, a visitor asks her. No, Jara says, Janet does not speak Dutch and would not understand what people tell her. Like always, Janet gives her a big hug.