For the last week Palestinians in Rafah were reminded of what was, what could be and what is, writes Graham Usher in Rafah For seven days Palestinians in Gaza experienced life without borders, and borders without fear: that is, without Israel. Thousands streamed back and forth through the punctured walls, earthworks and fences that separate Egypt from Gaza or "Rafah Sinai" from "Rafah sumud," the most lethal front-line of the Intifada. How the fortresses were breached depends on who you ask. According to Captain Gamal -- a track-suited Egyptian police officer, with a glint in his eye and a smile permanently on his lips -- it was a "government decision, a humanitarian gesture to allow relatives on both sides of Rafah to join hands and taste some freedom," he grinned. According to a UN official, it was a fit of Egyptian pique, angered by Israel's decision on 7 September to close Rafah crossing without agreement on when, where or how Palestinians could leave Gaza. "They must have got an amber light from the Americans," he surmised. "Can you imagine Egypt opening the border unilaterally?" According to locals, it was a Palestinian right, sparked by the killing of a Palestinian boy by Egyptian police on 12 September. In retaliation a truckload of Hamas fighters blasted holes through Israel's eight-metre high iron wall. No Egyptian tried to thwart them. But whatever the cause, the breach allowed a flood of humanity that no force could contain or repel. There were thousands of Palestinian family reunions but one stuck in everyone's mind. It was of an old man, crawling through a crack in the wall on 12 September. Once through, he fell to his knees, kissed the earth and burst into tears. It was the first time he had touched Palestinian soil since the bulk of Rafah was taken from him by the 1982 Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty. He lives in Rafah Sinai, less than 200 metres from where he kissed the ground. Thousands crossed to trade -- Palestinians drawn by the cheap prices on the Egyptian side of the fence, Egyptians by the more luxurious range of goods on the Palestinian, like Ismar Khaled. "I came to shop," she said, waddling out of Rafah with a sack-load of bedding on her head. Exhausted, she lowered her load. "I still can't believe it. I'm in Palestine," she laughed. The traffic was greater the other way. Egyptian Rafah's main market street was a throng of people buying up cigarettes, cheeses, apples, aluminium pots, herbal medicines, the occasional stash of hashish and the even more occasional gun. "Business is booming. I hope the border never closes," said Mohamed Ghouman, a vendor on the Egyptian side. He too has family in Palestinian Rafah. All then were shipped in containers, bags and trolleys and freighted by a steady human canal over the fence, through the wall, across the Philidephi road, beyond a scorched earth of barren trees and blasted houses to the façades of pock- marked buildings punched to their foundations by endless rounds of Israeli artillery -- in other words, to Rafah. They arrived amid a snarl of cars and the music of a wedding. But many -- perhaps a majority -- came simply to take the air, "to breathe", inhaled Badar Safadi. A businessman, he was standing on the coastal road where Egypt and Rafah's Tel Sultan neighbourhood meet. "I'm from Gaza City. I'm crossing because for the last five years I've been prohibited from doing so. No, I have no fears about being trapped in Egypt. After the last four years in Gaza I have no fears of anything." He was joined by Samia Gashlan and three other schoolgirls from Gaza's Nuseirat refugee camp. They were looking for a taxi for a "day trip" to Al-Arish. "It's the first time I've ever left Gaza," she said. "In fact, it's the first time I've ever left Nuseirat. I hear there are banners welcoming us in Al-Arish, saying that they too will pray in Jerusalem." Finally, there is Hani Salim, aka Abu Mujahid, a slight man with a trim beard. He is a leader of Fatah's Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades. He too is going to Egypt. "I just wanted to move. I can't move in Gaza. I'm wanted." What did he think of the Egyptian and Palestinian Authority decision to seal the border? "It's a lousy decision. Before 1967 this was all one land. Before 1981 Rafah was one city. It was Israel which separated Rafah to cut the ties between the two peoples. We need an open border. We are one people and one nation. An open border would hurt Israel's economy and weaken its security. It's a kind of victory for us. So why divide Rafah again?" Abu Mujahid's wish is unlikely to be granted. The longer the week lasted the narrower the holes in the border became. By 19 September 750 Egyptian officers had taken up their positions on the Egyptian side of the border, buttressed by 2,000 PA police on the Palestinian. "The Egyptians and Palestinians must return to their lands or stay put. We have to stop the smuggling, especially the arms," said Jamal Kayyad, head of the PA's southern command. And Abu Mazen, while insisting that the Rafah crossing would remain the Palestinians' only passage out of Gaza, said its operation would require an "international agreement" -- in other words, permission by Israel. In Rafah, and elsewhere throughout the Strip, there was a feeling that the fairy coach was turning back into a pumpkin. Still, Palestinians enjoyed the ball while it lasted. On 14 September a man passed his six- months-old son over the fence to his sister in Egypt. It was the first time she had seen her nephew. "Is that Yusuf?" "Yes Yusuf". "Hello Yusuf". An Israeli drone flashed silver in the sky. Brother and sister scanned the horizon, hunched their shoulders and then laughed. "And what will the Jews do?" shrugged the brother. "Invade?"
