On the first Friday of Ramadan, Palestinians at Qalandiya Checkpoint faced harsh rejection, denied the right to pray at Al-Aqsa, while enduring the brutal reality of systemic control and humiliation.
The sky was gray—wet and cold, too.
It seemed that most of the Palestinians who braved the weather and the restrictions imposed by the Israeli authorities came from all over the occupied West Bank to the Qalandiya military checkpoint.
They stepped over the high threshold of the only gate that was not closed, holding out their identity cards and age documents to the Israeli officers standing on the other side. But most were rejected and had to turn back, stepping over the high threshold again, crowding out of the filthy area known as the ‘sterile’ zone.
Those who made it to the first checking post were turned away at the next one and removed via the bypass road downhill.
Unlike previous Ramadan Fridays, there were no attempts to soften the harshness of the situation. No sporadic holiday greetings from the authorities, no language to soften the restrictions.
Everyone who was rejected, regardless of their gender, age, or health, was denied the right to observe their faith and pray at their holy shrine.
A quick glance revealed the dominance of the rifle—its power unquestioned. The armed men seemed little more than an extension of it. Without the rifle, they cease to exist.
At a quarter past eleven, the entry gate was slammed shut, and metal barriers were dragged into place. Those of us who hadn’t crossed the line yet were left outside.
There was no answer or solution for those with permits to reach Al-Aqsa, for the elderly who dreamed of praying there, for holders of blue (Israeli) IDs who worked in the Qalandiya/Atarot industrial zone and held special permits—myself included.
As if on cue, a group of elderly women gathered. They too were turned away, sent back behind the metal fences. These women, strangers to each other just moments before, became sisters in the shared pain of rejection. They stood there, frozen and wet, for a long time.
As for me? After nearly an hour, I managed to leave. But I am the one telling the story, not its subject, so I’ll spare you the details.
I will only say this: When I finally left that hellish place, I was flooded with a mixture of anger and fear for what lies ahead for us all.
Above all, I felt a suffocating shame at the cruelty we witnessed—cruelty directed at human beings.
(All Photos: Tamar Fleishman, The Palestine Chronicle)
– As a member of Machsomwatch, Tamar Fleishman documents events at Israeli military checkpoints between Jerusalem and Ramallah. Her reports, photos and videos can be found on the organization’s website: www.machsomwatch.org. She is also a member of the ‘Coalition of Women for Peace’ and a volunteer in ‘Breaking the Silence’. Tamar Fleishman is The Palestine Chronicle correspondent at the Qalandiya checkpoint.
