Closure at Saida

Saida is entering its third day under curfew, with no let up and no end in sight. It was at seven o'clock on Tuesday morning that the curfew was announced. The military trucks and police jeeps were revving loudly up Saida's narrow, gravel roads. More and more military vehicles were gathering around the house we were in. The five of us ISMers went out onto the porch to be visible to the troops gathering outside. Soon there were fewer vehicles parked near the house, and then none.

A beautiful house further up the hill was occupied shortly after that, and two of the ISM volunteers went there to show support to the family inside and stayed there for the next 30 hours or so. Curfew is a mass house arrest. People are forbidden to enter or exit their homes for the duration of the curfew. It is announced through loud speakers that blare across the town from the tops of jeeps and trucks, and no end-time for it is given. In Saida these megaphones replaced the muezzins: there has been no collective worship since the curfew. Houses' gates were being decorated with palms to welcome those returning from the Haj to Mecca - they would be waiting longer than they had expected.

While the house up the hill was being occupied with approximately 50 soldiers settling in the lower floor, the military operation in the village began. House to house searches were conducted through most of the houses in the village, with the worst treatment seemingly meted out to the houses of the men who are "wanted" by the Israeli authorities. In these homes crockery and glassware were smashed, furniture broken, walls in cellars and outhouses hacked through with sledgehammers, and worst of all - nearby village wells were blown up.

Collecting water in run-off tanks, and boreholes is common practice - when the well is destroyed, it cannot be used. To replace a well can cost up to 5000 shekels and may take up to three months to replace. In the meantime, neighbors help out. When we asked one man whose two boreholes had been blown up whether he would be seeking compensation from the Israeli authorities, he laughed. "The issue is whether they will blow the new ones up," he said.

Later in morning, the generator failed, leaving the village without electricity. Our hearts sank. By late afternoon power from the local generator had been restored. The mayor said the troops had been in touch with him about it that day, because they needed the power themselves, so they allowed one of the men from the village to tend to the situation despite the curfew.

On Wednesday, three of us broke curfew. People looked out from their roofs and through their window grills: do they want anything from the shops? We asked. No request for help of that kind was asked for - rather people wanted us to get the curfew lifted. So in the afternoon we went up the hill to the occupied house to appeal to the commander. The senior officer we tried to approach treated us like a large fly, brushing us off with a wave of his hand.
"Can we have just a minute?" we asked. "I won't give you one minute; I won't give you one second."
And he ordered us to be escorted back to the house where we were staying. He showed up shortly thereafter with a couple of his men and addressed our hosts angrily - "Yours is the only house that's open," he remonstrated as if it were flies. "I want this door closed," he declared, "and no faces in the doorway, or I shall post a guard on your porch."

So much for our care for the villagers' wishes. So much for the army's ethics, published on their website, always to be decent and polite in carrying out their duties.

The sunny afternoon was punctuated with enormous explosion reverberations. We are told that these were wells and caves being exploded. From the town, the search had fanned out into the fields and hills surrounding the highest of villages in the Tulkarem region. This was all part of a West Bank wide mission, we are told, to round up wanted men.

In the evening we smuggled ourselves to the mayor's house. He had just returned from a leniency trip facilitated by the army - to buy bread in the neighboring village and distribute it in Saida. The mayor was hospitable, as are all the Palestinians we meet. He served us sweet tea, and opined that the Israeli army's actions are designed to frighten the local people. The army did not give him the courtesy of letting him in on their plans, their intentions, or the duration of their stay. "The people can't go to work so they will lose their salaries. Many people are farmers and people cannot get to their land," he said.

At that point, one of the men in the room said, "When you're ready to leave, I have feed I need to get back to my goats, will you accompany me?" Outside he mounted a large bag on his shoulder, and one of us heaved the other on his shoulder and hefted the loads down to the goat shed near the man's dwelling. His gratitude was palpable, but we were sorry we couldn't stay to drink tea and acknowledge his appreciation. It was dark by then, and the soldiers would have been jumpy.

The whole purpose of this mission should be called into question by one factor; Israel's massive Separation Wall. The Israeli government states that the Wall is being built to provide security. This Wall, illegal according to the International Court of Justice, has been completed throughout the entire northern part of the West Bank, including the region surrounding Saida. Israel's security interests in this area, therefore, should have been fulfilled. A mission on the scale that we're seeing in Saida is not only inhumane, but completely unnecessary.