Who wants to live in Hebron?

To be able to enter the area Tel Rumeida we have to go through a checkpoint. After passing a couple of sandbags and a metal detector, two soldiers with M16s ask us in broken English what we are doing here, and that is really an appropriate question. The street in front of me used to be a busy place filled with shops. Now all shops are sealed by the Israeli army and it is so empty that you almost hear the echo. I feel as if I am part of a movie, and it is not a comedy.

Hebron, or al-Khalil as the name is in Arabic, is the biggest city on the West Bank. The city is religiously important since Abraham, the father of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, is buried here and until 1929, when a massacre of Jews were implemented by Arabs, Jews and Muslims lived in peace here. At the end of the 1960s, the first settlement was established in Hebron, and since then the city is characterised by violent conflicts between Palestinians and settlers.

In 1997 Hebron was divided into two areas. H1 is the biggest area and it is run by the Palestinian Authority. In H2 you find settlements with some of the most aggressive settlers on the West Bank, and in this area the Israeli military is patrolling. Ever since the division in 1997, the experience of the Palestinians inside area H2 has been a struggle for life.

I meet Hashem who lives with his wife and three children close to the settlement Tel Rumeida. The family's house is situated only a few hundred metres from the checkpoint, but to be able to get there without the risk of provoking settlers we must wind between the houses, climb over big stones and crouch on the way. One of the accompaniers says: "Imagine when this family bring their groceries or the new refrigerator home." Cars are not allowed in the area to others than the Israelis.

When we finally reach the house we step in to a flourishing garden - with big piles of rubbish. Among other things we find an old electrical stove that the settlers from the neighbouring house have thrown down. In the beginning Hashem tried to take the rubbish away but it always resulted in attacks from the settlers, so he has stopped now. Hashem shows us around the house. We see Stars of David sprayed on doors, the vines chopped off at the root and bullet holes above the entrance. He tells us that the water pipes, the electricity and the telephone cables have been cut off over and over again. I feel my throat is getting stuck and one question goes around in my head: How can the family stay in this place?

Many times the family members have had their lives threatened. The Israeli children throw stones at the Palestinian children. Hashem shows me the latest scar on his son, who has not yet started school; it is a big gash on his right temple. I ask if the family gets any psychological help from any non-governmental organisation. "No," says Hashem, "but we usually throw parties for internationals in the house. That is our mental help."

There are no shops, no transportation and no health care in the area. Most of the Palestinians in Tel Rumeida have no job. Hashem tells us that Palestinians are not allowed to carry weapons, including kitchen knifes, in H2. The punishment is up to three years in prison. This means that all food that it is not possible to cut with an ordinary table knife must be cut up in the shop where it is bought.

Between the years 2000 and 2003 there was a curfew for Palestinians. People were only able to leave their homes for an hour a day. Today the freedom of movement has increased to some degree, but Hashem can still not leave his house unattended. If he and his children want to go for a picnic for example, his wife has to stay at home. Otherwise the settlers will probably take their house. Hashem has been offered money for the house several times, from 10 million dollars to a blank check where he himself could fill in the amount. And a visa to the United States. But Hashem refuses to sell.

"But how come you don't leave Tel Rumeida?" I ask. "I have to protect my house from the settlers. They are not going to take my house away from me" is the self-evident answer I get. "But," I say, "you have a family!" Hashem is sitting with his 10 months old son in his lap and asks me to direct the question to his eleven year old daughter Rahad. I turn around and say to her: "Don't you want to leave this place? When they throw stones at you?" Her big eyes look at me and she says: "No, I like it here."

I cannot resist any more. I let the tears run down as I try to tell Rahad that she is an incredibly brave girl. Would I have been strong enough to live here with my future family if I were in the same situation? While sobbing I wonder if I have frightened Rahad with my sudden emotional reaction, but she is soon back in the room. With a accustomed gesture she hands me a roll of toilet paper. It is as if she wants to tell me: "I understand that it can be difficult for you to hear our story."*