It was the Second Holiday (the seventh day of Passover). Another two days of closure. Not many Palestinians come to the checkpoint on days of closure. A sleepy soldier, probably bitter because he had to stay at this evil place on the holiday, absentmindedly pushed the button to open and close the path. He opened it and closed it, and then again, he opened it and again closed it. The minutes passed and people were waiting; time seemed be running out and the soldier remained aloof. To him, time was crawling. The minutes and the hours were all the same, and so were the people; they were all the same. A small group passed in front of him and then another group arrived. And he just pushed the button and then let it go. What's the rush? He let them pass in groups of three. Three and then he locked the gate. He waited. Opened it and then locked it. Even when this count caused a child to separate from his mother — he was on the inside while she remained outside and both were in a state of terror — the soldier didn't hurry to unite the mother with her son. “What can we do? They have the button,” one man said, an elderly who had experience with the system. He was right. This button as well as other buttons are all under their control. The button that opens and the button that closes, the button that shoots and the button that makes arrests. These are all buttons and they are all under their control. But the much more grim truth was hidden from the eye; the DCO (District Coordination Office), where Palestinian receive — or do not receive — passage permits, was closed for four consecutive days. And with Saturday being so close to the other holidays, those in need of a permit were left helpless in front of locked doors and cold heartedness. There was a gray sign with blue font: On weekends and Jewish holidays The DCO can be contacted on this number: 02-9703762 But salvation couldn't be found there either. The calls were answered but no solutions were offered to the problems presented. A father of a baby girl, who had “only three days before turning a month”, learned the hard way. Surgery for the infant was scheduled at Saint John Eye Hospital in East Jerusalem, and she had to be hospitalised on Monday, which was a holiday. The father came to Qalandiya checkpoint to ask for a passage permit for his wife, so that she could take care of their daughter at the hospital and feed her. But the offices were closed. It was the eve of the holiday, so there was closure. He made a call to that number; he also called the health coordinator as well as the Physicians for Human Rights Association. “Go to Zaitim checkpoint,” he was told, “that's where you will get it.” He went to Zaitim checkpoint, but it was also under closure. The offices there were also closed. He stood outside, waiting and making phone calls to all those he had already called. “It's being prepared,” he was told. He waited for hours. He didn't eat and he didn't drink. “I'm just standing here burning cigarettes,” he said. All the hotlines said that there was nothing to prevent his wife from getting the permit, it already exists on the computer, but the man that issues the permits onto paper wasn't there. The Palestinians know that if they don't have the papers in their hand there is no permit. He kept waiting. After more attempts and phone calls they promised the father that everything was going to be alright, that if on the next day, during the holiday, he would arrive with his wife and child, the soldiers would let them pass without the paper that he was supposed to get from the officer. Doubt kept eating at him and troubling him during the night. But in the morning something unbelievable happened: The soldiers at the checkpoint knew what to do and allowed the mother and her baby to pass without the paper. What is taken for granted in any human society seems like a small miracle when you live under occupation. Many thanks to Hussam Liftawi and to Amal Ziada from Physicians for Human Rights for putting the time and the effort into opening the locked doors before that one baby and her mother. The writer is a member of Machsomwatch, which documents checkpoints between Jerusalem and Ramallah. She is also a member of the Coalition of Women for Peace and volunteers with Breaking the Silence.
