SIFTAH

"Siftah" is the Openning, the Start. A word used by merchants to describe the first sale of the day, the one that sets the tone for the rest of the day. A Siftah does not have to be very profitable, but it has to be early, and in good spirit to allow for good luck.

So today I went to my Siftah demonstration since returning to Israel. It was funny, and sad, and hollow and in the end there was no demonstration. I put on my new pants, my "The Wall Must Fall" T-shirt, I took my new camera and my new car to Ofer prison camp on the new road to Jerusalem.

All the important elements of the day were already there: First of all, since I am still staying with my parents (I am looking for a place!!!) going out of the house with this shirt was the main demonstration of the day. Secondly, taking my car to the demo was a first. I never used to do that. I dislike driving, I get lost a lot and I cannot imagine worrying about all that and about the demo too. And finally - I actually found the place. so you see, total success for the day's work.

The place - a big army camp, partially a prison, partially a military court complex, just off the 443 highway. A very weird place. soldiers, police, barracks, towers, walls, a lot of barbed wire, a lot of dirt roads going all over the place. Cars parked everywhere. Patrols.

Today some of the imprisoned Palestinian ministers and head of the PA parliament were supposed to be brought there to some court procedure, and the Palestinian Prisoners' Committee planned a demonstration at the prison, and invited Israelis to join.

I arrive at the camp complex and start asking around for the meeting place - the families visits' shed. Noone knows. One soldier tells me, perplexed, "but they are ARAB families!". yea I know. After driving back and forth, I find it, just in front of the big dirt road on which I have parked. There is a small parking lot next to it, with Palestinian licence plate cars and taxis inside. I cannot see any way in. I go around it. It is a cage of fences and barbed wire.

A few minutes later other lefties start arriving. I arrived at 11am, but I realize I was reading the invitation too literally. The first car to arrive was Gush Shalom's. Then a second car arrived with K, the organizer, from Jerusalem, and later there were three other activists who joined us, two from Tel Aviv, and one from Switzerland, a tall guy on a motorcycle. When I asked him "what brought you here" he answered, very solemnly, "Jesus spoke to me and asked me to spread his word". So we were about 10 courageous Israeli activists (including the Swiss prophet) - coming from all over the country, from 7 different organizations, with extremely good intentions.

Coming closer to the fence, we managed to understand how the people got in there. there is a narrow narrow path, along the outer concrete wall of the camp, leading people by foot further and further away... past the nearby "cargo only" checkpoint, all the way into the Palestinian city Ramalla. I never saw where the cars enter, but they must have a similar route. This is just another one of the intricate meeting places of Israelis and Palestinians in the West Bank. We can almost touch, through the fence, Israelis outside, Palestinians inside, the actual prison just an extension of that, a site of special privileges. A real touching place.

K speaks on the phone with the Palestinian organizers - they were denied entry to the prison. they are demonstrating on the other side of the checkpoint. We drive there, we are not allowed through. Trucks only. This is one of the places where goods can pass from Israeli trucks to Palestinian trucks and vice versa. Is that considered touching? The soldiers at the checkpoint are amused. They suggest we try the next checkpoint over, or Qalandia checkpoint. "They will let you pass" they tell us, "but you will never get there on time". "On time?" I ask them. The time is a quarter to twelve, and the soldier winks: "the demonstration will end by noon". "How do you know?" - and he says - "I have my sources..." (I think it was clearly hinted that he knews they would be dispersed at noon).

We turn back to the prison. There are hordes of international media inside, and we decide to go into the courtroom. Apparently, it is our right as Israeli citizens... We leave the banners outside, ring a buzzer at the gate, and when asked "what are you here for" K utters the words of the spell: "we are Israeli citizens". And like magic, the little gate opens and we are let into the cage, to the families visits' waiting shed.

The Waiting Shed (note the design on the inside wall):
By now we were down to six apostles (including the Swiss prophet). And that was it. We were never let into the court. First we waited some, then there was a lunch break, then we waited some more and so on...

I chatted with the Swiss... he asked "why are we here" and I explained about the prisoners. He was appalled "but this is not democracy" then he was told that the prisoners' lawyers do not get to see the evidence against them, sometime they do not even know the full charges and he said "surely this is not democracy" and so on. I hope he does have some influence with higher powers.

I went inside to use the toilet (with an accompanying soldier) and got to talk to the press near the court, all of them Arab press, including Al Jazeera. At least in some parts of the world, imprisoning the elected political leadership is still considered big news. They interviewed the lawyers coming out of the courtroom, and I understood nothing and was pulled away by my nervous soldier, back outside to the shed...

K, who speaks Arabic, tried helping some of the people around us in the waiting shed to communicate with the guards of the gate to the courtroom. (I have read that book, The Trial?). One was there for the third time, each time she was sent back to her village 5 hours away. Each time she came back trying to explain herself, and now she was almost sent back again. Her story: she had posted bail at the court for a relative. 1000 shekels. Now, she wants a receipt. I do not know if she ever got that receipt.

The entrance to the courthouse:

When we tired of the whole thing and decided to turn back home, there were only three of us left, and the Swiss prophet. Next time, we promised each other, next time we will organize something. But today, today it hot and dusty we are too few and it is too late.

See also Adam Keller's report of the same day.