Religion, Nationalism, and Terror

Among the most shocking passages in Bernard Chazelle’s account of his recent trip to the West Bank are these:

Fifty shekels!” shouted the cab driver. I said fine but warned him that, for that price, it had better be an interesting ride. It was. The driver, an immigrant from Morocco who had served as a tank crewman in the Six-Day War, let me in on his peace plan: “Kill them all! Men, women, and children: all of them, like you did in Hiroshima.”

If going to Ramallah was easy, returning was not. I’ll fast-forward a few days and tell you why. The bus stopped at the imposing Qalandiya checkpoint and several passengers got out for X-ray screening. The line inched along at a snail’s pace until a female soldier boarded the bus to check our papers. She was strikingly beautiful, a sort of James Bond girl in training. She stepped in and smiled gently at the children in the front rows. Then suddenly, unprovoked, she metamorphosed into a rottweiler, barking orders at the parents in Arabic. Why a 20-year-old would feel the need to yell at older people sitting quietly is a mystery to be filed under “Pathology of the Armed in the Presence of the Unarmed.” She singled out an elderly couple and ordered them off the bus. The man protested meekly and followed his wife out. I turned around and through the rear window watched the old couple shuffle away in the dark, carrying their belongings in small garbage bags. They would have to wait for a bus back to Ramallah. Not sure if it was the old age, the hobbled walk into the night, or the raggedy plastic bags: all I know is that it was a sight of crushing sadness.

The Ramallah-Jerusalem trip took 3 hours and 45 mins. The two cities are 6 miles apart.

A woman reminisces about her high school friend who had to run the “beauty line” gauntlet at checkpoints. Israeli soldiers would divide up the women’s line into two: the “pretty girls” line and the “ugly girls” line. To spice up the fun, they would force the women to choose the suitable line and shove them to the “correct” one if necessary. Another woman tells me how a guard ordered her to kiss the men in the line. And so on. Humiliation is the dominant theme.

For up-close-and-personal encounters, there’s nothing like the Hawara checkpoint. Travelers split into three lines: women; men under 35 (often denied entry); others. The mood in the line is somber. The soldier who checks my US passport comments, “You were born in France, it says here.” He pauses, then asks, “Why?” Why? “You know, those things happen,” I reply ruefully. He smiles. He is young, friendly, and completely out of his depth. He seems distraught, fearful, and, perhaps, ashamed. He shakes his head in disbelief as, a few feet away from us, a frail elderly woman is verbally abused by soldiers while she stands squeezed in a dusty cattle chute, waiting to be processed. Guards laugh as they turn away a large family.

Bernard Chazelle’s West Bank Trip in March 2008

For all the Americanization of Israeli society, Tel Aviv is very much a European city, not an American one. I hadn’t been there in a decade and I was struck by the changes: not so much the glittering skyline of shiny high-rises but the stunning Bauhaus buildings renovated to their former glory. Tel Aviv is easy to like: it is a city of cafés, beaches, conversation, and cats-and, for me, friends and memories.

The bus ride to Jerusalem was packed with religious passengers. It was so eerily quiet on that bus I wondered if perhaps I hadn’t volunteered by mistake to join one of those Jewish monastic orders known for their vow of silence. Then I remembered there was no such thing, so I relaxed and dozed off. Once I reached my destination, I got past the metal detector and left the bus depot for my next stop, Damascus Gate. “Fifty shekels!” shouted the cab driver. I said fine but warned him that, for that price, it had better be an interesting ride. It was. The driver, an immigrant from Morocco who had served as a tank crewman in the Six-Day War, let me in on his peace plan: “Kill them all! Men, women, and children: all of them, like you did in Hiroshima.”