LETTER FROM BETHLEHEM (28)

Toine van Teeffelen

June 21, 2002

I lazily stroll with Jara along the university street. On the other side are people who exchange smiles and whispers. There are no cars at all, calm reigns, and birds are whistling. The sun breaks through the clouds. Jara sees a crocodile in a cloud. A neigbour shows her her little puppy. I never spoke with so many neighbours as during these days. Some people in the surrounding gardens are in shorts and do manual work. The scene reminds of the relaxation in a traditional Palestinian village on Friday afternoons, the day off, when people have nothing on their minds.

Yet it is curfew. More than during the long siege of Bethlehem and the Church of Nativity in March and April, the children seem to go out on the streets, at least in our part of the town. Not too far, of course. As soon as the sound of an approaching tank or APC is heard, they withdraw in the gardens. Then, after a while when the tanks leave, the children’s voices are heard once again. Some of them scare off adults by making a perfect, creaky imitation of the military jeep’s sirenes and the mamnu’a el-tajawoul [forbidden to go out] of the loudspeakers. Parents likely think that the soldiers will not arrest young children. Or they can’t control them. When Brahim, a neighbor, teases Jara by saying that she should not go out, she points her finger far away: “Shu ya’ani [What is the matter], the mamnu’a el-tajawoul is not for here but for there.” It sometimes happens that there is a little variation in the otherwise monotonously and thoughtlessly shouted phrase. Jeeps in Beit Jala once reversed the words and repeated “mamnu’a el-tajawoul, el-tajawoul mamnu’a.” They further mocked the people by asking “Where are the millions?” – a reference to a verse of “Ween al ‘Arabi?” [where are the Arabs?], a song which Jara in fact likes to sing.

* * *

I divide my time between our house near ‘Azza camp and that of my family in law. Early in the morning, when there are no tanks, I walk 200 meters along the road to go to the house in ‘Azza for work. The first look on the computer is usually not so happy. Several emails come from senders who have detected my subscription to Palestinian mailings and inform me that “I love Hitler” and “bloodbaths” and and similar things. Once in a while I look over my shoulder into the window to see whether the tank nearby does not direct its barrel to our house. Somehow the tank resembles a dangerous animal quietly waiting for its prey. A crocodile. It moves up and down the road, makes brief growling sounds, then silence again.

Yesterday night there was heavy shooting nearby, the neighbours found many bullets in the gardens. Lately, Brahim gave a stern warning to Jara after she proudly showed him an M 16 bullet she found. Some of such bullets can in fact explode. With the help of the mosque’s loudspeaker, a local imam used to warn the ‘Azza kids not to pick up bullets from the streets.

At the end of the day, when there are still tanks around, I take a route through the gardens which neighbours have pointed out to me; over a roof, with only one jump, and then just 20 meter walking along a street. In our part there are no sharpshooters on the roofs. The garden walk becomes a routine after a few days. I tell myself that the risk is not great, and you need to move a little after sitting the whole day closed up. In part for lack of outdoor activities, many people here watch the soccer championships. (Mary does not watch but supports all non-American and non-European teams).

Curfews mean delays; delays of weddings (it is the season of weddings), traveling (Fuad cannot leave for a conference in Belgium), work and studies. The duration of the delay is unknown so planning is impossible. The tawjihi students who studied day and night for their matriculation exams that should take place these days, do not know what is going to happen. I discuss with one of them, a neighbor who studies at the Freres, the subject of organizing non-violent activities during curfews. Why for instance not making a lot of noise during a particular moment of the day, or to raise the people’s voice in another way? He is skeptical, and presents familiar arguments: all politics between Israel and the Palestinians are based on conspiracies, the Palestinian factions dominate internal politics and do not allow others to do anything. And whatever you do, it does not make any difference. We agree to meet and talk further after the tawjihi.

* * *

Today, suddenly an announcement that we can do shopping. There is a great deal of confusion. The PNA seems to speak with different voices: first the tawjihi [matriculation] exam is on, then off, then on, but there is not enough time. Maybe the Israelis announced the lifting of the curfew without informing the Palestinian liaison office. In such a case, the PNA tells the population that they go out on their own risk. The result is that nobody knows what is happening.

The atmosphere is strange. After the long curfew during the Nativity siege, we had so many incursions – a night long, a few days, or restricted to a particular area of the town – that you find a certain disinterest gaining hold of people. Mary says that the day before the latest curfew was in the air only few people started stockpiling supplies. They don’t care too much anymore. I think that more people now are tresspassing the curfew on an individual base. How dangerous that is, is clear from what happened in Jenin where a tank suddenly started to shell a market crowd, with deadly consequences.

* * *

Mary lately called a Jewish acquaintence in Gilo. I ask her whether she called because of the suicide bombing there that morning. No, it was her friend’s birthday, a very depressing birthday.

* * *

Jara and I play in the neighbour’s garden. Before the latest curfew, she invented her own act of resistance by telling Mary that she would not buy Israeli chocolate from the auntie in the shop at school. Now her fantasies go in other directions. She proposes to be my mother, the queen, I am the prince in search of a princess. She gives me a tree branch which is a knife and instructs me first to kill the witch in the evil castle. After having done that, I should capture the bride’s trousseau from the castle and give that to the princess, thus earning the permission to marry. She stays on a safe distance while I fight the witch. Afterwards we organize a great wedding ball. “Are the Israelis allowed to join?” “No, they would kill the princess.’ “Not even a few of them?” “OK, a few,” she says to guarantee my continuing participation in the play. She takes the mike, and snakedances the Arabic songs she watches on ‘Dream TV’, a kind of Arabic MTV station. After that she is the priest who blesses the couple.