SOLDIERS OF IDF VS ARAB TERRORISTS

SOLDIERS OF IDF VS ARAB TERRORISTS

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Stuck in Ramallah by Orit Arfa | Israellycool

This past Friday, I remarked to my friend in Beit El, a “settlement” north of Jerusalem, where I was staying for Shabbat, that for serious shopping, I’d have to drive about 40 minutes to the Mamilla mall (or 30 minutes to the Pisgat Ze’ev mall, but I wanted a Crocs store).  She answered that she’s gotten used to it.
On my way out of Beit El, I noticed how the checkpoint for journalists and diplomats into Ramallah was just a few yards off the road. I would’ve loved to stop for some cliché hummus – and even check out shoes (although not optimistic I’d find Crocs). Alas – a large red sign indicated that Area A is illegal for Israelis to enter. But does that apply to accredited journalists?
I’d been to Ramallah last year when an American friend who lived there wanted to prove to me that I’d be completely safe. I look Western enough as to not draw attention, and Ramallah is like the “Palestinian Tel Aviv.”  We ate, drove around, and even sat in an all-men’s coffee shop. I got some curious (or was it flirty?) looks and left Ramallah one piece, even though my heart was beating the whole time.
Ramallah is like a foreign Arab city within Israel. There’s no Hebrew, but we pay in shekels. They have a different cell phone provider, but I could still catch my Golan signal. There’s no kosher food, but a lot of familiar hummus and halal meat. There are hardly any Jews, but a lot of east Jerusalemites with Israeli plates.
Ramallah is like an in-between world – Israel doesn’t really want it, but doesn’t want to let go either. That leaves this entire Arab metropolis out of reach from thousands of Jews who live within a five mile radius.
Driving back with new Crocs in tow, I decided I had enough. I would enter Ramallah. I would break this cycle of segregation foisted upon us by the Oslo Accords, European and US powers, and Zionists from both the Left and Right, who want us to live in two separate ghettos. Ramallans may hate me as a Zionist, but maybe would we could find some common ground as people who need cliché hummus and shoes.
Nearing Beit El, I at least wanted to see if my press card would grant me access. I drove through, and the Israeli soldier in olive said, “yalla” – as in, “come in, we’re not checking.”
I drove in ready to make a U-turn at the round-about about 500 yards ahead, but 10 yards in I saw men with guns. Great! Israeli soldiers to protect me! But from their red berets I realized they’re Palestinian police. I proceeded to the round-about, but at the U-turn exit, the Palestinian police told me I couldn’t go through. I didn’t ask questions, continued to the next exit, and pulled over on a dirt pavement
How do I get out of Ramallah? What will happen to me? I called a friend who works insecurity, and he reasoned that the checkpoint was temporarily closed. He advised me to wait it out, which is not good for the imagination. I waited for ten minutes – ten minutes in which I wondered if I’d be identified as a Zionist and shot in cold blood, or worse….
I noticed a convoy leave, which must explain the closure. Finally, with my friend on speaker, I tried to exit again. The two Palestinian policemen politely told me to wait.
“I’m a journalist, and I want to leave,” I said nonchalantly, my heart beating.
The English, and possibly my gender, put them at ease, and they smiled and said, “five minutes.” They instructed me to pull over – oh s#1t! Five more minutes for the imagination! Will they check my ID and somehow figure out I love Israel?
Turns out I didn’t have to wait. The traffic moved. I was out.
At the checkpoint, I asked the Israeli soldiers why they didn’t check my ID. “You were here five minutes ago,” he commented.
“Yes. I thought you would check my ID.” I didn’t reveal I was scared.
“We check going out. Not in. That’s your responsibility.”
Noted.
But during those fifteen minutes, I also let my imagination take me to a safe place. I allowed myself to dream of the day when I, as an Israeli Jew, could freely drive into Ramallah, as we used to before the Oslo Accords. When Jews and Arabs understand that we have to live together, even if we don’t like each other, and that peace doesn’t involve building frightened walls. I imagined the better cost of living, the tourism opportunities, the diversity we could enjoy if the violent haters were defeated and Ramallah became a secure part of Israel to the benefit of all.
I got a lot of flak from people who told me that the people of Ramallah want me dead. I’m sure there are some Ramallans who do, but is the city any less safe for visibly Jewish people than Muslim strongholds in Europe? Why would we not tolerate anti-Semitism there, but we allow it to fester in our own backyard? Is Ramallah really less safe for Western looking Jews than is France, England or Jordan?
I guess I’d have to drive a little further to find out, for without confronting and overcoming the anti-Semitism of Ramallah, I’m not sure how we’d be able to confront and overcome it anywhere in the world.
Below are pix from my previous trip to Ramallah.
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All of sudden, no Hebrew is to be found.
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Apartment in Ramallah anyone? Maybe this will solve the housing crisis.
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I’d happily help with trash collection to clean up this beautiful land.
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Movenpick. For a five star vacation.
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A random building.
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A random alley.
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All billboard in Arabic, but it didn’t always used to be like this.
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Fancy Arab bank building.
Orit on Arab Street small
La dee dah. Shopping in Ramallah.