Fridays of Ramadan at Bethlehem Checkpoint
We have been through four of these so-called Ramadan Fridays at the Bethlehem checkpoint, each time spending about 6 hours there, watching over 5000 people squeeze through bars and past each other. These people want to go pray; simply practice their religion in Jerusalem but instead they stand behind bars, push each other, step on each other and cry and beg and shout – sweat and tears always follow. There are so many disappointments on these days. As the prayer time ticks over at 11:45, often hundreds are left on the wrong side of the wall, unable and not allowed to access their holy sites.
Each of these mornings we would arrive at 06:00 and already there would be 400 men and woman clamouring to pass the first cement barriers that have been placed there temporarily. On top of these barriers, some 3 metres high, stand Israeli soldiers heaving assault rifles and full body armour. Behind me on a balcony of a Palestinian home lie two snipers who are constantly looking through their scopes. I haven't even had breakfast yet.
The heaving queues that develop are extreme and even with my head above the others I couldn't take a full breath and small quick breathing is all my lungs squeezed to half their size could do. You are immediately aggravated and then the man beside you still tries to squeeze in front. There is no space but he claws at your back and shoulders until you have to let him through. Eventually you are teetering on the edge of cracking and your balance on that edge begins to give way. Tempers flare. If I could have raised my fist from my side I would have struck out. In front and to my right, there was a man shorter than me whose feet hardly touched the ground and was merely swept along with me, his head buried under my shoulder. I think he fainted at one point but I couldn't be sure.
Each morning I would share this experience in true accompaniment spirit. I got crushed in the queue, I was shouted at, I was pushed by soldiers, I supported myself on the bars of the ramp and the sun beat down on me and I got sun stroke and I wanted a drink but never did as all the others around me were just as thirsty.
The last day of Ramadan was the first time this experienced scratched the surface for me. I had a hint of the frustration. Those who don't get through are left there waiting and hoping that the terminal will open again. They won't make it to the prayer but just to complete the process of making their pilgrimage, they continue to try. They are denied their right to practice religion. They plead with me to help them across. They think I can tell the soldiers what to do. I was standing on the other side of the bars from the people and one came and asked me to leave. Argument was futile and I eventually did so after a more forceful push on the shoulder. As I walk away I say, "It is entirely legal for me to be here, which is more than I can say for you."
He didn't get it.
