Letter from Palestine, 9. A crazy world.
28th October 2004
Dear friends!
It is crazy. I live in a crazy world. Where will this end? I have had one of my toughest days today, a day with heavy experiences. We were to pick olives with farmers from the village Teqoa. They had not been in these olive fields the last four years because of the illegal Israeli settlements spreading around them. But with more than 20 international representatives it should be possible to harvest their own property without being shot by militant settlers.
We did not find any olives on the trees. They were poisoned. Before we had understood that there were no olives to pick, some saw a settler with his machine gun coming towards us. Everybody was ordered down on the ground. I can admit that my pulse got a higher frequency sitting than walking. We shouted that we were internationals, it might have caused that we were not shot at. Short after a group of soldiers came, and then more settlers. The settlers, men in their twenties, took stones and threw towards us. Some of the soldiers then turned to us, with their weapons ready, to shoot if any of the Palestinians would answer with throwing stones. Luckily, nobody did.
Some intense minutes followed. The soldiers tried to make the settlers return. At the same time they said that it was no use for us to stay. It might be the first time I felt sorry for the soldiers. More soldiers came. I counted 19. One of them told that he wanted the settlers to withdraw from the West Bank. He did not want to spend his military service to take care of them. Some Israeli policemen came also. We could report to them if we wanted to complain about anything, as if it would give any result.
When surrounded by Israeli soldiers, with crazy settlers a stone’s throw away, Palestinian farmers at my side and international olive pickers in intense discussion with the soldiers, I discover how cowardly I am. I tried to feel if I was afraid, but fear was not quite the feeling I had. My feelings were closer to hopelessness, sadness and anger about an injustice so impossible to understand and difficult to communicate. My cowardice consisted of the fact that I did not dear to confront the soldiers in the same way as my heroes from USA and Great Britain. I did not dear to take many close photos either, but was grateful for the ultra zoom on my camera. I felt the cowardice and struggled with my tears as I did what I could of standing between the soldiers and the Palestinians to try to avoid the latter from being arrested.
Nobody was killed. Nobody was hurt. Nobody was arrested. But I wonder how much life and health means in this context. Peaceful Palestinian farmers are deprived of their basis of existence by a group of fanatic terrorists saying that God has given them the land. What sort of god supports such a violent, racist apartheid practice which I experience here? Not my God, and not the God of the Muslim farmers or our Jewish olive pickers either.
Yesterday I thought that today’s letter would be about Nader in YMCA. He was driven out from his olive fields in Cremisan close to Beit Jala last week when he was to harvest, this week his olives were stolen. The same happened to the olive fields of the Armenian Church near the checkpoint between Bethlehem and Jerusalem. The olives were stolen before we had the chance to come there to pick. Tuesday I would have written about a family fenced in by the separation barrier which now goes in a half circle around and soon will be completed with and extra fence crossing over, just to force the family to move “voluntarily”. Monday I would have written about how we were denied picking olives in Bir Oneh by soldiers claiming that the property of the Palestinian farmers was no longer their property, but part of Israel because Israel had found it necessary to move the borders… Olive picking is not as easy and enjoyable as I had imagined.
In addition I would like to tell about Laura from USA who has given me a new view of Americans, sweet older, strong Pat from Scotland who has fought against apartheid in South Africa and now continue the fight here, energetic Jane from England who has an abundance of knowledge and contacts, the brave Jewish girls from England who really dear to confront their own people, and many others among my friends the olive pickers. I would also have liked to write about some of the good lectures we have had and NGOs we have met. Today’s website for those who are interested in the settlements and the sick strategy Israel has for their expansion, can visit Applied Research Institute Jerusalem: http://www.arij.org/
Desperate greetings from Hanne.
Dear friends!
It is crazy. I live in a crazy world. Where will this end? I have had one of my toughest days today, a day with heavy experiences. We were to pick olives with farmers from the village Teqoa. They had not been in these olive fields the last four years because of the illegal Israeli settlements spreading around them. But with more than 20 international representatives it should be possible to harvest their own property without being shot by militant settlers.
We did not find any olives on the trees. They were poisoned. Before we had understood that there were no olives to pick, some saw a settler with his machine gun coming towards us. Everybody was ordered down on the ground. I can admit that my pulse got a higher frequency sitting than walking. We shouted that we were internationals, it might have caused that we were not shot at. Short after a group of soldiers came, and then more settlers. The settlers, men in their twenties, took stones and threw towards us. Some of the soldiers then turned to us, with their weapons ready, to shoot if any of the Palestinians would answer with throwing stones. Luckily, nobody did.
Some intense minutes followed. The soldiers tried to make the settlers return. At the same time they said that it was no use for us to stay. It might be the first time I felt sorry for the soldiers. More soldiers came. I counted 19. One of them told that he wanted the settlers to withdraw from the West Bank. He did not want to spend his military service to take care of them. Some Israeli policemen came also. We could report to them if we wanted to complain about anything, as if it would give any result.
When surrounded by Israeli soldiers, with crazy settlers a stone’s throw away, Palestinian farmers at my side and international olive pickers in intense discussion with the soldiers, I discover how cowardly I am. I tried to feel if I was afraid, but fear was not quite the feeling I had. My feelings were closer to hopelessness, sadness and anger about an injustice so impossible to understand and difficult to communicate. My cowardice consisted of the fact that I did not dear to confront the soldiers in the same way as my heroes from USA and Great Britain. I did not dear to take many close photos either, but was grateful for the ultra zoom on my camera. I felt the cowardice and struggled with my tears as I did what I could of standing between the soldiers and the Palestinians to try to avoid the latter from being arrested.
Nobody was killed. Nobody was hurt. Nobody was arrested. But I wonder how much life and health means in this context. Peaceful Palestinian farmers are deprived of their basis of existence by a group of fanatic terrorists saying that God has given them the land. What sort of god supports such a violent, racist apartheid practice which I experience here? Not my God, and not the God of the Muslim farmers or our Jewish olive pickers either.
Yesterday I thought that today’s letter would be about Nader in YMCA. He was driven out from his olive fields in Cremisan close to Beit Jala last week when he was to harvest, this week his olives were stolen. The same happened to the olive fields of the Armenian Church near the checkpoint between Bethlehem and Jerusalem. The olives were stolen before we had the chance to come there to pick. Tuesday I would have written about a family fenced in by the separation barrier which now goes in a half circle around and soon will be completed with and extra fence crossing over, just to force the family to move “voluntarily”. Monday I would have written about how we were denied picking olives in Bir Oneh by soldiers claiming that the property of the Palestinian farmers was no longer their property, but part of Israel because Israel had found it necessary to move the borders… Olive picking is not as easy and enjoyable as I had imagined.
In addition I would like to tell about Laura from USA who has given me a new view of Americans, sweet older, strong Pat from Scotland who has fought against apartheid in South Africa and now continue the fight here, energetic Jane from England who has an abundance of knowledge and contacts, the brave Jewish girls from England who really dear to confront their own people, and many others among my friends the olive pickers. I would also have liked to write about some of the good lectures we have had and NGOs we have met. Today’s website for those who are interested in the settlements and the sick strategy Israel has for their expansion, can visit Applied Research Institute Jerusalem: http://www.arij.org/
Desperate greetings from Hanne.
posted by Hanne at 1:59 AM
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