Silent Night
A dozen Palestinian men are lying on the ground by a metal gate on the outskirts of Bethlehem. It is 3:07 am on a clear, chilly night. To keep warm, the men have covered the asphalt with cardboard.
The men are on their way to work. The gate they are waiting at is blocking an opening in the 8-meter high concrete wall, built across the road to Jerusalem. To pass through the wall, they need a permit, allowing them to be on the other side after 5am. The journey to Jerusalem takes about 30 minutes and most of the men start their work at 7am. To me it seems like plenty of time: so why are they here this early?
Another man joins the group. He greets the others and the conversation is surprisingly cheerful, given the early hour. A moment later, the group expands by yet another commuter, part of an uneven stream of newcomers. At four o clock, there are already more than one hundred persons waiting. One by one, yellow vans arrive and leave their passengers. When the doors open, the travellers run out from the vehicle, up toward those who are already queuing. The hurry seems strange to me as an observer; there are already so many people in the line.
It is soon 5am, the minarets are calling out for Morning Prayer, and there are somewhere between 700 and 1000 Palestinians waiting. Today, the metal gate opens at 5:26 am, and the men are rushing toward the first turn style. Here they just have to show that they carry an ID card. The men continue into what they call the terminal. There are three lines to choose between, all leading to turn styles. Behind two of these turn styles are metal detectors and x-ray machines. The third turn style has never opened during my months in Bethlehem.
The procedure is more or less the same as the security check at any airport: put your belongings into the x-ray machine and walk through the metal detector. However, here unlike an airport, there are no polite employees to further check people setting the metal detector off. In airports, smaller metal detectors determine if perhaps you forgot a coin in your pocket, or if a zipper in the jacket is causing the problem. Instead, there are Israeli soldiers sitting behind glass screens, yelling instructions through microphone s. Now and then, an Arabic or English word comes out from the loudspeakers, but mostly the communication is in Hebrew.
After an OK from the window, the turn style on the other side of the metal detector opens, and it is possible to continue to the next station. More soldiers are sitting in boxes checking the permits of the commuters. The soldiers use a card reader to sweep the ID, and a photo of the permit holder appears on the computer screen facing the soldier. Those allowed to pass can then finally get into a bus to go to work.
The first in the line pass the procedure relatively quickly. However, the terminal soon becomes crowded, and stress spreads among soldiers and Palestinians. The lines get longer, and the shouts from the loudspeakers get louder and stronger. I am starting to understand what is making people come here four hours before they need to be at their workplace. Nobody knows how long it will take to pass the terminal. Each day the uncertainty is the same. Will the terminal open earlier or later? Will the soldiers work faster or slower? The only way to pass through more quickly is to arrive early. Even then, there is no guarantee; some days the gate does not open at all.
