I wrote this essay the day after the events described. That was four years ago, in 2002, several months after the Israeli incursion into Jenin. Although I am sure the situation in Jenin has changed, this will still give you an idea of what life is like under occupation. I hope it proves informative.
Jenin is a closed city. You can't get in or out on regular roads; the Israeli Army will stop you.
But, of course, there is a back way. It involves driving off-road, on dirt paths, through steep hills, through farmer's fields, but after several hours of circumnavigating earthen barricades or where the Israeli Defense Forces destroyed the road, you get in.
Downtown is eerie. The city is under curfew. 12 noon and the streets are deserted, except for a tank commanding an intersection and jeeps racing to the house of a suspected terrorist.
A Palestinian cameraman films the scene. An Irish girl, long stringy blonde hair, dressed for the East Village, approaches the Jeep. She, and a few of her friends have been living in Jenin since March.
She is worried the Israelis will execute the man inside the house. She, and her other lefty Western European friends have appointed themselves "witnesses", hoping their presence will prevent IDF brutality.
The soldier pushes her, then stops, deterred by the presence of a camera. A jeep with a loud speaker shouts in English, " This is a closed area. Get off the street. This means you."
The air is filled with menace. The Palestinian cameraman and the Irish "witness", intimidated by the 12 well-armed, well-armored, Israeli soldiers, beat a retreat, looking over their shoulders. You follow them.
An older woman, crying, waddles towards the soldiers. Her baby is just across the way. She needs to get across. The Irish girl forgets her fear and escorts the old lady towards the soldiers.
The cameraman, emboldened by the Irish girl's courage, continues to film. Another jeep rushes up, its back door opens, a nineteen year old kid pokes his head out, pulls the pin on an orange concussion grenade, and gently rolls it in your direction. You run down an alley and hear the explosion.
It finally becomes clear to you that the Israelis really don't want you around right now.
That's okay. The arrest of another "terrorist", Israeli tanks roaming the streets of a Palestinian city, tens of thousands of men women and children trapped in their homes at the whim of the IDF, none of these things are considered newsworthy, none of them brought you to Jenin.
You came to Jenin because of an article in Ha'aretz, the excellent Israeli newspaper.
On June 21,2002, during a break in the curfew, three boys ask their father permission to go to the candy store and buy chocolates. He looks out the window, sees the streets crowded with civilians, and allows them to go. He gives each boy a Shekel and they ride their bikes to the store.
While the three boys are buying chocolate, the curfew is reinstated. They did not know that. They ride their bikes home. A tank, probably shooting at somebody else, lobs two shells at them, killing Ahmad, 6, Jamal, 13, only wounding Tarik, 11. Ahmad dies his chocolate still in his hands. He is buried with it.
Again, nothing all that newsworthy. Since the beginning of the second intifada, the IDF has killed many children.
The difference, this time, is that an amateur cameraman filmed the encounter. You go to the family's home and watch the tape.
You see: an empty street in this solidly middle class district of Jenin. ("There have never been clashes in this neighborhood, never", the father tells you.)
You see: three children racing their bikes up the hill.
You see: a white car, swerving, blaring its horn.
You see: a tank, slowly following the car up the road, then turning its turret.
Then an explosion and the tape ends.
The man in the white car is a doctor. You go to his large and relatively prosperous house. He is lying on a day bed, resting, waiting for his wounds to heal.
He tells you his story. During a break in the curfew, he goes to the store to buy eggs and milk. When the curfew is reinstated he waits a while then asks an Israeli officer if he can go home. The officer gives permission.
Unfortunately, no one told the tank crew down the road. As he drives past them, they fire their machine gun, hitting him 4 times. Wounded, he races his car, desperate to get home. The tank lumbers after him. To stop this curfew breaker (it is the middle of the day, it is a good neighborhood, he has been given permission to drive home) the tank fires two shells. Ahmad and Jamal's bodies are scattered around their quiet, affluent neighborhood, half a block from their home.
When you ask the doctor why he thinks the tank gunner fired at him he replies, "They want to kill us all."
Imagine, if you can, that, say, the British Army has tanks in Belfast.
Now imagine a British tank commander, for whatever reason, fires two shells, in daytime, in a quiet residential neighborhood.
Now imagine he kills two children.
What a scandal it would be. What an outcry. The tank gunner would be identified, probably court-martialed, as would his commanding officer. Blame would go all the way up the chain of command. The minister of defense might have to resign.
The IDF has not identified the tank crew. They have not been punished. The IDF did say that the killing of Ahmad and Jamal was an error, but they have not apologized to the family. They haven't even asked to see the videotape.
You interview the father, the wounded brother, the amateur cameraman. Your work done, you want to get out of Jenin before nightfall. Again you drive through the deserted streets, past the shuttered gates of the stores. When you get lost, there is no one on the street to ask directions.
Finally, you make your way out of town. At an unmanned roadblock, you cut into a familiar field. You drive through the field, grateful to be leaving, looking forward to cocktails in the garden of the American Colony Hotel in Jerusalem.
After bumping around in the fields for ten minutes, you finally arrive at a paved road. Mounds of bulldozed earth block your access, except for a small pass. You had entered this way in the morning.
There is a car in the pass, blocking your way. You honk your horn, then get out to investigate. A middle-aged gentleman crosses the street. He tells you it is his car. You ask him to move it. He tells you he can't.
This afternoon, two IDF soldiers came to his house, take his car, take his keys, take his identity papers, park the car in the gap to block the pass, and tell him if he moves it, they will come back and beat him.
Of course, the man, who by the way works for the UN has not been accused of any wrongdoing. When you suggest moving the car then putting it back his eyes fill with fear.
You don't know what to do. You don't want to spend the night in Jenin.