I had already crossed the border once. Only that then, I had my Hebrew speaking Jewish friend with me to sympathise with the soldiers. We were going to enjoy the beach at Teleaviv. We spent only a short time at border control and were left free to go afterwards.

This time I was feeling nervous. I had considered several times whether I should them the truth. Two Palestinians I had met in my way had advised not to lie: “they know everything.” This meant I would have to explain I have family in the West Bank, and that I just met them when I came to Jordan in a celebration. They have invited me to join them for the weekend.

It was 10:00 AM. As I was waiting I noticed the female soldier who was to interrogate me. She would constantly come out of her cubical and shout at all the Palestinians waiting in line doing an intimidating and threatening body gesture. I pulled away from the line, looking for a more pleasant soldier, to whom I explained my situation.

The interrogation went on for 20 minutes, in which the interrogator threw several rather clever questions designed to uncover any possible lies I may be saying. She gave up after collecting my telephone numbers and e-mail address, and said: Take a Sit.

Next to me was a Canadian girl who was asked to wait because she had volunteered in Syria and worked with Palestinian refugees there. I was prepared to wait a couple of hours, so pulled my book and began to read. My concentration was down. The shouting soldiers would distract me from my task. I had seen a very old man with a cane begging for entrance for a while. Now, the young female soldier in from of him screamed at him in Arabic “Halas Hage,” (stop it old man). The old men took a sit as well, and I later learned he was rejected entrance. Reason?
He was bringing car parts to fix his vehicle and
was now asked to mail them.
This would cost him a large amount of money.

The wait went on with similar stories and with soldiers coming out of their cubicles every so often to yell. The tension was such that a Belgium woman with her son next to her began to cry. She was asked to wait because her kid was mixed. She insulted the soldiers telling them they behaved like animals. Shortly after, a fight broke down and the curious crowd, that was nothing but bored, surrounded the scene. People were in unrest and the Canadian woman next to me started crying. I tried to calm her down, although I was myself rather anxious.

After three hours of waiting I noticed that the soldiers were rushing through the lines. They finished their work day at 2:00 PM, which meant I would soon be called for an answer. The soldiers now did not worry about interrogating the people in line. “Pick up your son.” “HIGHER” No body argued with them. They can do whatever they want, I was told, and now I saw this was about right.

Unfortunately, I still waited for my passport to return to me. Now around 4:30 PM, and the room was full of flies that sat on our legs and face. I decided to keep moving my feet and arms to keep the flies away. I got tired of that after I while, and was left with no choice but to ignore them.

The soldiers went around now shouting at us again to sit in the chairs. By this time I was tired of their nasty voices, and chose to ignore them. Because I carried an American Passport they did not dare to treat me the way they treat Palestinians. So they also ignored me.

Almost 5:00 in the afternoon I hear my name called, and I am told I am given a one week Visa….Such a contrast to the three month Visa I was given the first time I crossed. Someone had said to me that they did all this so that we do not ever return. They do not want us to take pictures and to bring evidence back to the public. What goes on in Palestine today is not known. I accepted my one week Visa.

I joined my family who had been waiting in a Jeep in the desert for five hours for me. I had called them several times and told them I would take a taxi, but they refused to leave. As we drove to the West Bank, there rose the big dividing wall. It was written in graphite “Palestine, GETTO.” So much hatred!

Because we were driving a jeep with yellow plates we did not have to stop in the many checkpoints from the border to the destination. However, in the way back, everyone was asked to show IDs to the well equipped soldiers who I did not dare to look at. I was left with nausea. I wonder how my eight year old cousin next to me reacted to these scenes that caused me so many disturbances. How can a child grow up in peace when he is surrounded by armed military people and illegal Israeli settlers who stone them in their way to school?

Arabs are known for their generosity and hospitality. My family did everything to provide all comfort possible during my stay even though no one in that city suffering from an apartheid system is economically comfortable. The live on remittances, protecting the only peace of land left to keep a nation, which is now economically and socially blocked.