The West Bank Blog

Once more with the Rabbis

This time was better. Many came, and on a mini-bus too. Last night I went to the monthly general meeting of Yesh Din. What stuck in my mind is that from three or four reported incidents of settler violence against Palestinians in a normal week, the current rate during the olive harvest is 30-40. They're bowled over, finding it difficult to cope. So, with that ringing in my ears and with Liora's flatmate pulling out I once more got up at 5:30 and cycled to Arlozerov Junction for the lift.

We drove down Route 5 which becomes Road 505, past Ramat Hasharon where my Dad lives, past Ariel in the middle of the northern West Bank to Tapuach Junction. There amid the concrete slabs we stretched our legs while we were split into teams. A Californian journalist approached us and I spoke into his mike until I was called away. Nothing big, the territories are crawling with them, we bumped into a French freelancer on the way back. I chatted also to a soldier there, the place is also a checkpoint. He'd just arrived a fortnight ago from the North. I didn't ask whether he'd fought in Lebanon. It turned out that before enlisting he'd himself come to the checkpoints as an activist.

On we went, north to Hawarra. The bus turned, there was an almighty thud as we slammed into a taxi. Neither driver was looking. Now both we arguing, shouting. Others got involved to calm the two. A large bearded man in white robe and caffiah (Arab head-dress) strode over. He settled things.

We turned west but needed the help of the farmers' car to navigate the steep slopes to Ein Abus. Then the car stopped its rocky ascent. The road had been cut by the settlers. Using a bulldozer they'd pushed the earth away then placed a boulder in the gap. We walked, which was hard for one of the older ladies. I talked to the landowner who's name I forget. His Hebrew was perfect. He'd lived for 23 years in Tel-Aviv, working at the now closed Gordon Swimming Pool just by my flat.

Arriving, things looked bad. We saw burned trees and others without olives. It turned out however that the trees had been burned by settlers two years ago, since when the Palestinian farmers had not been on the their land. Now the trees have grown back and, even though they're smaller than before, have produced a bumper harvest. The settlers had stolen some olives, but not many. The work was difficult. The landowner had not brought enough equipment, having been told by his wife that there would be no olives. The trees too were hard to work with, having not been cared for in two years.

Ahmed, the nephew of the Hebrew speaker and the co-owner of the land, kept getting closer and closer to the settlement. We were now is the "Red Area" of 100m (I think and I'll check) around the parameter. Illegal or not, on his land or not, this was not advised. I shouted my concerns up the hillside. But I'm in no position the give orders.

We got a call from Arik. We were on the eastern hill of Ein Abus. The next along is Hill 725, perched upon which is the illegal (by Israeli law) settlement of the same name. There too our presence was needed. After many phone calls it was decided that the older pair would head off. We gave them Liora's phone. Arik wanted me to stay. It seems that the settlers on top of our hill, the settlers of Zvi Yitzhak, have gotten quite a name for themselves.

We continued to work, keeping an eye on the top of the hill. At one point Ahmed sang. I replied with some Jewish tunes, badly. A man and his dog started coming down the hill towards us, then more people, coming from the direction of the settlement. But these turned out to be Ahmed’s brother and co. Suddenly there were many people around us. They had been working on the neighbouring slope. Only then did we (Liora and I) learn that the settlement where we had been working had been removed by the Israeli authorities. But they had resettled on the next hill top, (where of course they are protected by the army and connected to the electricity and water mains). Then three soldiers were pointed out to me, moving across that hill. They were probably there to check on us, officially to protect the Israelis. The farmers had been lucky to find amicable soldiers, who had allowed their work without Israeli civilians twisting their arms.

At one thirty we earnestly headed down the hill, with the impending onset of Shabbat (the Sabbath) in our minds. Jumping from stone to stone I looked up a few times. It was one of the most beautiful places I've been to in the West bank. We had a 270 degree panorama of rising hills and twisting valleys, of villages and settlements, and Hawarra in the middle. A loudspeaker blasted a sermon out across the valleys, echoing off the hillsides. The rains of last week had rendered the ground green in places. Elsewhere it was rich dark blown dirt, littered with wild flowers. I need to break with the idyllic pastoral picture to mention that the Palestinians don't much seem to care about it. All and any rubbish is thrown and left to lie where it land. The place is littered with a rich and varied debris.

Back in Hawarra we eat its famous two-shekel-falafel (it's 10 in Tel-Aviv) and waited for the other teams to show up. None reported an incident today.

Back in Tel-Aviv I need to get ready for my Dad to come and take me and my girlfriend for Friday Night dinner.

Shabbat Shalom.