Yesterday's blog probably left you in suspense and with a certain level of anxiety in light of the edgy experience that I alluded to in the last paragraph - my inaugural witness of an Israeli military incursion into the Dheisheh camp. My intention was not to leave you in the dark for long, so this will be the primary topic of today's entry.
Late in the night on Thursday I was engaged in my typical routine of returning emails, perusing websites for the latest news, and watching a bit of TV four stories up in the Ibdaa restaurant. What happened next was undoubtedly one of the most unique encounters I have ever experienced. The only light in the large space of scattered tables and chairs emanated from my computer and the small television set in front of me, while outside in the streets below the descending quietude made the half-lit atmosphere, save for a few barking dogs and rogue taxis, especially eery. Around 2:30 a.m. my ear caught what first sounded like a horse's cantor clacking on the hard cement and I ran to the western row of windows to look down over the camp to get a better view.
Directly below, in a tight alley framed by 6' cement walls, and lit only by the faint visual echo of a distant streetlight, I could see four lumbering bodies running in my direction. The olive drab helmets, robust packs, and lithe black M-16's immediately revealed the identities of this nocturnal quartet. The crew of four ran to the base of the Ibdaa building, stopping at every corner to cover for any threats that might have been looming in the dark. As they navigated their way around the building I ran to the other row of windows and was literally right on top of them, watching their every move. They were very young, each couldn't have been more than 20, and trying to secure the area below me by shuffling along the high walls, stopping to kneel and point their rifles to cover each others positions, and making short, low-volume commands in Hebrew that I couldn't make out. One wouldn't have to be a proficient linguist to understand how they were instructing one another.
It felt like I was another member on their mission given my proximity, and obviously at a much better vantage point than they were. I could hear their rapid, sometimes shaky breathing, could almost sense their adrenaline levels rise, and I could tell that they were scared. I was scared too, though with the rush of fear I also felt a jolt of excitement rising up my spine, the surging bioelectric current making my palms tingle. However, I was aware that I was safe for the most part, for the local military is well aware of Ibdaa's typical international contingent. Yet I wasn't about to make any brazen, daring act to get closer to the action. It was no time for impulsiveness, this was a full-force military incursion and they were in the camp for a reason.
I was alone in the restaurant and felt it would be wise to have a seasoned witness to share the experience with, so I called Ziad to come take a look. In the meantime, I glanced again towards the street of the soldiers origin and there in a well-lit square 100 yards away was an armored transport vehicle half hidden behind a tall cement wall, diesel engine idleing loud enough to hear from a distance. My friend arrived in the restaurant and for the next two hours we sat in the dark, whispering to each other behind drawn curtains and doing our best to remain in the shadows while still holding a clear line of sight on the action below.
Scattered beams of light from the soldiers gun-mounted flashlights shone on the cement walls and in the gardens around the area as they got closer to reaching their destination, the home of the Al Fandi family, about 40 yards directly west of the Ibdaa building. Several heavy fist blows on the metal front door of the home resonated throughout the camp, and moments later the entire family was shuffled out of the house. Peering from behind a slit that I fashioned from two curtains I kept an eye on the front stoop, hearing the pop and crunch of a porch lamp, and I soon saw several soldiers moving throughout the house. They were looking for something. As the time transpired I could hear glass, kitchenware, and other assorted fragile material crash and shatter on the hard floor. Meanwhile, the small group of armed men on lookout, stationed in the shadows below, kept an open eye for potential opposition.
It was kind of amusing actually, because initially these soldiers on the ground seemed exceptionally alert, kneeling in proactive poses with guns ready and gazes scanning the area around them. Soon, however, their legs seemed to tire because they began to change positions frequently, leaning on the wall occasionally, with one actually sitting down on his rear end next to his friend when he couldn't seem to bear the weight he was carrying. I can't imagine how difficult it must be, and how much patience it takes, to be a soldier in such a prolonged operation.
The soldiers have recognized that it is hardly an easy operation either. In '02 and '03, when incursions into the camp were much more frequent, they would be shot at occasionally, though no soldier has ever been killed here. Today, it's the teenagers who pose the greatest threat, lobbing stones on the soldiers from above or by quickly emerging from and then dissapearing into the dark alleyways after they are able to express their angst through momentary acts of frustrated aggression. Based on what I have observed, though it may come as a shock to you, I can hardly blame them for it.
The Israeli response to this 'misbehavior' is to lob non-lethal stun grenades, also known as "flash and bang" devices, in order to give them a little larger window for escape. Two such grenades were detonated Thursday night, their blinding flash and deeply concussive blast shaking me up a bit, and I was at least 150 yards away. It was obvious then that the soldiers were on their way out, and was confirmed as I saw a larger group of soldiers scramble towards Ibdaa and the main street. Two vehicles began to creep down the alley and I was ultimately able to count 8 trucks in total; two armored carriers and six military jeeps, one white, signifying the intelligence officer. Later sources confirmed that 30 soldiers made their way into the camp that night, and after 3 cars were vandalized, one stolen car retrieved (belonging to a Shinbet - or Israeli FBI - officer), two homes ransacked, and a community was kept awake for three hours in the middle of the night, their mission was complete.
Frankly, I have been anticipating such an experience ever since I arrived, and perhaps before, to the chagrin of those who care for me perhaps. In some way this may result from my boyish affinity for covert operations or my tendency to be overconfident in times of stress, though I would like to think that the most fundamental reason emerges from my knowing that such an experience will bring me much closer to understanding what life is like under the Israeli occupation. I would be naive to assume that the soldiers were present in the camp that night for the sake of harassment alone, they had a job to do, though in combination with how I am observing this occupation play out elsewhere on a daily basis it would also be naive to assume that great intentions lie beneath the unfortunate reality that has existed for the last 40 years, which is at best obdurate and at worst tragically brutal.
I don't wish to leave you on a solemn note, so allow me to briefly share with you my trip to a Palestinian water park with 40 young Dheisheh friends. Yesterday, around mid-morning, I had the opportunity to join the Ibdaa youth to a private water park 20 min. south of Dheisheh in the village of Beit Sahour. 'Water park' might not be the two words that come to mind when you think of Palestine, but rest assured than when you put water and children in one place together the formula will yield standard results. I spent about an hour immersing myself in the unheated and rather refreshing 50m pool and tossing young boys into the water from the poolside. The children were exuberant and it was a temporary solice to see them enjoying themselves as any children would. Such an experience strengthens the foundation underlying my decision to spend this short 4 months of my life living in a refugee camp in Palestine.
Late in the night on Thursday I was engaged in my typical routine of returning emails, perusing websites for the latest news, and watching a bit of TV four stories up in the Ibdaa restaurant. What happened next was undoubtedly one of the most unique encounters I have ever experienced. The only light in the large space of scattered tables and chairs emanated from my computer and the small television set in front of me, while outside in the streets below the descending quietude made the half-lit atmosphere, save for a few barking dogs and rogue taxis, especially eery. Around 2:30 a.m. my ear caught what first sounded like a horse's cantor clacking on the hard cement and I ran to the western row of windows to look down over the camp to get a better view.
Directly below, in a tight alley framed by 6' cement walls, and lit only by the faint visual echo of a distant streetlight, I could see four lumbering bodies running in my direction. The olive drab helmets, robust packs, and lithe black M-16's immediately revealed the identities of this nocturnal quartet. The crew of four ran to the base of the Ibdaa building, stopping at every corner to cover for any threats that might have been looming in the dark. As they navigated their way around the building I ran to the other row of windows and was literally right on top of them, watching their every move. They were very young, each couldn't have been more than 20, and trying to secure the area below me by shuffling along the high walls, stopping to kneel and point their rifles to cover each others positions, and making short, low-volume commands in Hebrew that I couldn't make out. One wouldn't have to be a proficient linguist to understand how they were instructing one another.
It felt like I was another member on their mission given my proximity, and obviously at a much better vantage point than they were. I could hear their rapid, sometimes shaky breathing, could almost sense their adrenaline levels rise, and I could tell that they were scared. I was scared too, though with the rush of fear I also felt a jolt of excitement rising up my spine, the surging bioelectric current making my palms tingle. However, I was aware that I was safe for the most part, for the local military is well aware of Ibdaa's typical international contingent. Yet I wasn't about to make any brazen, daring act to get closer to the action. It was no time for impulsiveness, this was a full-force military incursion and they were in the camp for a reason.
I was alone in the restaurant and felt it would be wise to have a seasoned witness to share the experience with, so I called Ziad to come take a look. In the meantime, I glanced again towards the street of the soldiers origin and there in a well-lit square 100 yards away was an armored transport vehicle half hidden behind a tall cement wall, diesel engine idleing loud enough to hear from a distance. My friend arrived in the restaurant and for the next two hours we sat in the dark, whispering to each other behind drawn curtains and doing our best to remain in the shadows while still holding a clear line of sight on the action below.
Scattered beams of light from the soldiers gun-mounted flashlights shone on the cement walls and in the gardens around the area as they got closer to reaching their destination, the home of the Al Fandi family, about 40 yards directly west of the Ibdaa building. Several heavy fist blows on the metal front door of the home resonated throughout the camp, and moments later the entire family was shuffled out of the house. Peering from behind a slit that I fashioned from two curtains I kept an eye on the front stoop, hearing the pop and crunch of a porch lamp, and I soon saw several soldiers moving throughout the house. They were looking for something. As the time transpired I could hear glass, kitchenware, and other assorted fragile material crash and shatter on the hard floor. Meanwhile, the small group of armed men on lookout, stationed in the shadows below, kept an open eye for potential opposition.
It was kind of amusing actually, because initially these soldiers on the ground seemed exceptionally alert, kneeling in proactive poses with guns ready and gazes scanning the area around them. Soon, however, their legs seemed to tire because they began to change positions frequently, leaning on the wall occasionally, with one actually sitting down on his rear end next to his friend when he couldn't seem to bear the weight he was carrying. I can't imagine how difficult it must be, and how much patience it takes, to be a soldier in such a prolonged operation.
The soldiers have recognized that it is hardly an easy operation either. In '02 and '03, when incursions into the camp were much more frequent, they would be shot at occasionally, though no soldier has ever been killed here. Today, it's the teenagers who pose the greatest threat, lobbing stones on the soldiers from above or by quickly emerging from and then dissapearing into the dark alleyways after they are able to express their angst through momentary acts of frustrated aggression. Based on what I have observed, though it may come as a shock to you, I can hardly blame them for it.
The Israeli response to this 'misbehavior' is to lob non-lethal stun grenades, also known as "flash and bang" devices, in order to give them a little larger window for escape. Two such grenades were detonated Thursday night, their blinding flash and deeply concussive blast shaking me up a bit, and I was at least 150 yards away. It was obvious then that the soldiers were on their way out, and was confirmed as I saw a larger group of soldiers scramble towards Ibdaa and the main street. Two vehicles began to creep down the alley and I was ultimately able to count 8 trucks in total; two armored carriers and six military jeeps, one white, signifying the intelligence officer. Later sources confirmed that 30 soldiers made their way into the camp that night, and after 3 cars were vandalized, one stolen car retrieved (belonging to a Shinbet - or Israeli FBI - officer), two homes ransacked, and a community was kept awake for three hours in the middle of the night, their mission was complete.
Frankly, I have been anticipating such an experience ever since I arrived, and perhaps before, to the chagrin of those who care for me perhaps. In some way this may result from my boyish affinity for covert operations or my tendency to be overconfident in times of stress, though I would like to think that the most fundamental reason emerges from my knowing that such an experience will bring me much closer to understanding what life is like under the Israeli occupation. I would be naive to assume that the soldiers were present in the camp that night for the sake of harassment alone, they had a job to do, though in combination with how I am observing this occupation play out elsewhere on a daily basis it would also be naive to assume that great intentions lie beneath the unfortunate reality that has existed for the last 40 years, which is at best obdurate and at worst tragically brutal.
I don't wish to leave you on a solemn note, so allow me to briefly share with you my trip to a Palestinian water park with 40 young Dheisheh friends. Yesterday, around mid-morning, I had the opportunity to join the Ibdaa youth to a private water park 20 min. south of Dheisheh in the village of Beit Sahour. 'Water park' might not be the two words that come to mind when you think of Palestine, but rest assured than when you put water and children in one place together the formula will yield standard results. I spent about an hour immersing myself in the unheated and rather refreshing 50m pool and tossing young boys into the water from the poolside. The children were exuberant and it was a temporary solice to see them enjoying themselves as any children would. Such an experience strengthens the foundation underlying my decision to spend this short 4 months of my life living in a refugee camp in Palestine.
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