Once again, the IDF was not cold to me. My passport, being one that is a supporter of both sides here, bears no stigma or bias for my visit.
Ramallah's centre is even more crammed and jostling than either Jenin or Nablus; far more affluent that either of those northern towns, here is the apparent 'capital' of a Palestinian state. Indeed, the apartment blocks were finely constructed, of new tile, and more of them seemed to be popping up everywhere. These people are certainly not living poorly; indeed, Ramallah bore the finest living standards amongst all Palestinians. Indeed they are imprisoned like animals, yet to some extent are not all of us like that? This finely gated community, Ramallah, with all of its beautiful shops and good exchange rates for money into Shekels. And everything's much cheaper here than it is in Israel; yet, of course, something does not sit right. These people are partitioned against their will, and while it is certainly possible to forget of the injustice against them while in Ramallah's centre, the reality of their existence is a minibus ride away.
To the checkpoint. "Ah, Caaaa-nadian. Very good sir, have a nice day." The Israeli soldier, an older gent who spoke perfect english and tipped his helmet to me. He, like the other IDF people I saw while doing my tour of the northern West Bank towns, was certainly not disrespectful of these Palestinians. None of them at this checkpoint were; they seemed professional and organized. The Palestinians, as well, seemed willing to oblige.

In and out, briefly, yet Ramallah's affluence was educational. Palestinians do get a decent amount of money devoted to the development of their cities. Erasing these people is an impossible task for the Israelis, and indeed it does not seem like something the Israelis are attempting at any length. Yet the number of taxi drivers has doubled, since cars inside of Ramallah cannot go outside, and vice versa. All minibus and taxi connections must be changed on either side of the checkpoint.

Jerusalem was less than ten minutes away by minibus, and I was dumped in front of the Gates of Damascus. An Israeli soldier stared down from the top wall, which was also surrounded by razorwire and dotted with security cameras. Palestinians still roamed the streets, the roads around Jerusalem's fabled Old City were cluttered with vehicles. I crossed the road, looking at my map for the way to the bus station. A police checkpoint blocked the road on the other side of a main road, and I needed to present my passport. Past that mark, the demographic changed drastically.






The Arabian factor vanished; their culture, their smells, their sights, their vehicles. Orthodox Jews wandered down the street, oblivious to me in their path, and I walked up steep hills as I began to hear english and hebrew spoken amongst those around me. The people became more sparse, the traffic less clogged, and the atmosphere not at all Arabian. For the sake of one block Jerusalem had changed completely.

My walk to the central bus station took me through many clogged streets, all of them filled with buses. To me, the uninitiated traveller to Israel, this was nerve-wracking. Given that buses have often been central targets, the option of them exploding beside me was continuously appearing in my mind. Yet, of course, all of that was all merely in my mind. However the security at the bus station was serious - documentation checks, full hand searching of luggage, then X-rays and metal detectors, as if boarding an airplane. Security and paranoia prevails in Jerusalem in these times, and one is left wondering, indeed, which society lives with more worry on their shoulders - the Israelis or the Palestinians?

Tel Aviv



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