Passing

After weeks building with families in the West Bank it feels awkward to be able to pass through a checkpoint headed to Jerusalem. But I needed out of the Bank for a few days. I watched F-16's bomb Gaza and I needed out... But I am only a visitor, a volunteer, an International, a friend. Imagine I were a Palestinian. Imagine I did not possess the proper ID or permission to pass through the checkpoints, pass the walls, fences, barbed wire, border police and Israeli Occupation Forces.

I might see dozens of atrocities committed in my community, to my friends, to my family and I would have no authority to go, to run, no ability to pass through...

I come from NYC so after a few weeks in Beit Ummar and several nights camping in the semi-desert, I went through neon-light withdrawal and craved the fast pace of a city. I tried West Jerusalem. The final night of a fellow travelor. We went for some Murphy's Irish Stout. We passed through a bouncer, a video camera, and the prejudices of a bar owner who only lets the "right people in." We have a couple of pints and make small talk with locals, with Israelis.

My Irish comrade is the bolder of the two this night. When asked if we like Israel, he responds the place is great except for the little problem with the Palestinians. Why can't folks just learn to live side by side? Our Israeli acquaintance explains that he does not like the mixing between the races. It is fucked up. He explains that he cannot enter a Palestinian neighborhood without getting his throat slit. He has just finished his military duty, he served in a combat unit, and is heading to travel throughout the east. He has not yet attended college.

We tell him we have spent weeks traveling through the West Bank and no one has threatened or attempted to slit our throats. He says that we are foreigners and we don't understand or face the same problems. We say that Palestinians often say Shalom to us as we pass them in the Bank because they assume we must be Israeli, when they don't assume I'm Arab. He does not respond. I think we proved him wrong; I don't know what he thinks.

In Jerusalem I get dirty looks, or not, it depends on the situation. Yeah, Puerto Ricans look like Palestinians and vice versa and the same dynamics play out with Israelis, actually. Some would say that semitic people are cousins. Puerto Ricans are so mixed up we just look like cousins. I don't understand race dynamics here, I don't understand this hatred. In places like Old Jaffa I cannot tell who is who. I wonder how many people could pass on either side. I wonder who might be friends, who might be enemies.

Ramallah feels a whole lot better. The whole city reminds me of the South Bronx or El Barrio at night. No confusion. Everyone is Palestinian and Apartheid seems distant. West Jerusalem is a whole lot more like the gentrified Lower East Side, fine for a night but watch out, zionism is at work, oppression abounds.

Passing back and forth through the Green Line is a luxury. On another night, another comrade and I need to make our way to Jerusalem so that we can head north for an action; some Palestinians are planning on removing a roadblock, so they can enter their village with ease. We are quite late and miss the last bus. It is the Shabbat and we are stuck near Bethlehem. Three Palestinian taxi drivers keep us company while we decide what to do and offer to drive us to the farthest checkpoint they can pass on the road up north.

Before we grab our bags to go, a humvee arrives carrying two soldiers who dismount with a flashlight attached to the barrel of their U.S. military-issued M-16 assault rifle. They point the guns at all of us. I have no patience and when asked something in Hebrew, I respond, Do you speak English? Yes, what are you doing here? We are leaving Bethlehem -Church of the Nativity- and heading back to Jerusalem, I say without a second thought or a nervous stutter. Lying to authorities is becoming quite natural. They never mind their business so I have plenty of opportunities to practice. They ask the Palestinians for ID but I play pendejo and take out my pasport as well. I didn't want to pass. I wanted to feel the same humiliation the warm men who kept us company felt. The Jeish rejected ours and inspected theirs.

Then they addressed us Internationals directly. We would advice you to leave the area immediately and not to come around here because it is dangerous for you. An American doctor had his throat slit near Tel Aviv. What is it with Israelis and their Palestinian boogeyman with a knife going around slicing throats? What does Tel Aviv have to do with Bethlehem? The poor young soliders make no sense as they seem earnest about their concern for our safety and theirs; they obviously swallow the Anti-Palestinian propaganda whole. My comrade says to me, I feel a whole lot safer in the West Bank than in Jerusalem around more of these 19 year olds with guns. I agree wholeheartedly.

We ride to the checkpoint and find a long line of cars. We flag a cab willing to take us to Jerusalem, if we have passports that will let us pass the checkpoint. We are grateful. The car is carrying a young boy and a woman. We try to fit in. There is wall between people erected by this zionism and hatred. The woman has a Palestinian dress so she must be, and this cab is Israeli, and the boy can pass for either. Life here, crossing borders, is so complicated.

As we inch our way north, the ice begins to melt, the wall slowly dismantled. The woman is the driver's mother and boy his son. The grandmother is headed to a wedding and we are getting a ride because the driver understands it is difficult to cross the checkpoints to Jerusalem on this night. Never ride across the checkpoints on the Sabbath, Jews don't drive that day so every car must be Palestinian and with less Israelis on the road, Jeish can take their time inspecting those Palestinians.