Know the truth For Palestinian life I will never forget the first time I was interrogated at Ben Gurion International Airport. I was caught lying at the border—as everyone is instructed to do when going to the West Bank. The reason for this is that the Israeli Border Control is notorious for turning away anyone who claims that they intend to visit the West Bank—or in their words, “the areas controlled by the Palestinian Authority.” If it is suspected that you might intend to visit the West Bank—particularly if you look Palestinian—you are almost always interrogated, and often given a shorter visa than the typical three-month tourist visa. I was asked whether or not I spoke Arabic and if I had family “in Israel.” I was held for a total of seven hours in a dark room, and then finally given a two-week visa. I will never forget the rays of January sunshine that I squinted into after those seven hours were finally over. I will never forget the breathtaking countryside on the shared taxi ride to Jerusalem. I will never forget arriving in Jerusalem, and the kind professor from Abu Dis University who felt sorry for me, leading me behind the buildings to the Arabic bus station—which was tucked away, of course. I will never forget seeing the crowded bus station for the first time—not organized or scheduled like the Israeli bus station less than half a kilometer away—and the older Palestinian women who looked like carbon copies of my Lebanese relatives. I will never forget seeing the Wall for the first time and the “Free Palestine” graffiti scrawled on it, even on the Israeli side. I will never forget crossing Qalandia checkpoint, leaving manicured, first world Israel for the West Bank—Intifada rubble piled around the checkpoint. Men sold live chickens on the street in the shadow of the 14-foot concrete Wall—or “separation barrier”—with larger-than-life portraits of Yasser Arafat and Marwan Barghouti.
Posted on: Fri, 30 Aug 2013 05:16:50 +0000
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