Here is the headline dominating the media about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. The sample is taken from the Israeli left-leaning daily the Ha'aretz.

Last Update: 01/06/2003 12:41

Israel lifts closure on West Bank, Gaza

By Arnon Regular and Aluf Benn, Haaretz Correspondents, Haaretz Service and Agencies



Defense Minister Shaul Mofaz lifted the closure on the West Bank and Gaza Strip at midnight Saturday, ahead of a three-way summit comprised of U.S. President George W. Bush, Prime Minister Ariel Sharon and Palestinian Prime Minister Mahmoud Abbas (Abu Mazen) in the Jordanian port city of Aqaba on June 4.


.... let's see the on-ground experience, rather than what the journalists say (wonder if the New York times has many more "wonderful" examples of journalism to throw at us) ...

visiting a refugee family

W and H took me through the narrow alleyways between the buildings of this decades-old refugee camp. Balata camp, to which 10 000s of refugees from Yafa fled to. I was to visit a family I knew from my last stay in Palestine. Their son was a suicide bomber in a Jewish settlement in the West Bank. His bombing occurred at the same time a year previously that the Israeli army invaded the refugee camp. In this invasion, they took all the men in the camp back to the military base, before letting the majority (not all) return to the Camp.

Their home had been demolished. Now the family was staying with the sister of the mother: short the 2 teenage sons that are in "administrative detention" (prison). There is another problem; it seems with the amount of room available, so the father cannot stay with the family. They are also very poor since having their home destroyed. (The 15 year old son told me they lost their computer, but smiled when he recounted that the soldiers first allowed him to rescue their mountainbike before the explosion).

I entered into a guest room, into a wild frenzy of kids, of which I recognized but 3 to the family I knew. They were crazy. "Hi! Hello! Salaam! What's your name! Where are you from!" running around, into each other, in a wild frenzy. They were too excited to have the foreigner in this tiny room with them.

Chairs were flying. Kids were screaming, crying and dancing about. Everyone was shaking my hand, or being encouraged to do so. The 10 year-old daughter of the AZ family was in love with my new hair colour, and had to constantly rub her hands through it. The sister if the AZ family was there, as well as a couple other sisters and an old daughter, with her children.

I faced an onslaught of hospitality: tea and this strange, super-sweet "purple drink" that somehow the people love here, and I'm always forced to bear through out of good hospices. Perhaps the sugar in this was the reason for the wild melee of children when I entered the room.

So I sat answering many questions in pigeon-Arabic as they used their pigeo-English. M, the AZ's second daughter, was able to translate, but she was shy to talk too much with me. After an hour of this, mother AZ came to me and greeted me well, also offering me a meal (it consisted of a rice dish, yogurt, olives and a pita bread) which was very kind.

So the half-conversation carried on. It would be broken by occassional outbreaks of fierce argument and slaps between members of the family. This can be very uncomfortable, as they seem to fall into violent dispute. However, I've come to realize that a hit or slap and wails at the other, are just normal ways of communicating for this family. Well, we all have our own ways of communicating.

Towards the end of my stay, the 3 older sisters, the AZ daugters and a few younger children had me surrounded with a semi-circle of chairs. I was on display. Finally, just after 10 PM I had to leave. They were very sad to see me go. I stepped out the door into the melee outside.

violence in the streets

When I left the home of the family I was visiting in the refugee camp, I saw a street with kids lining the sides. It was bright, and they were anxious, throwing stones or archaic molotovs lighting the streets. There were Israeli jeeps incurring into the Camp by the mosque. The sound of gunfire was present, though fortunately not as prevelant as with other attacks. It was 10 PM. Was this the Roadmap?

The mother AZ insisted I take the back alleys to escape away to the home where I would spend my night. She pointed me in the general direction. In the background were Palestinian youth's catcalls, and the occassional response of gunfire. Mother AZ and the young daughters said "bye" and insisted that I came back again: soon, tomorrow.

I walked off in the narrow alleyways. I was not completely sure about the direction. More importantly, I did not want the Palestinians to mistake me for an Israeli special forces flitting in between the ramshackle buildings. So, I quickly found a pair of guides.

M and H spoke little English, and again my Arabic is nearly non-existent. They asked if could speak Hebrew (the language of Jewish Israelis) but I said no. M exclaimed that it was too bad, is he only speaks English and Hebrew.

I was asking what was happening. They said the Israelis were invading many places in Jenin, Tulkarem and Nablus. (It turns out these were not full invasions, but rather incursions in targeted attacks on certain areas of these cities. Horrible, and bringing death and misery, but not as bad as full-blown invasions.) I asked if any of the boys throwing stones was killed. None, luckily. They did explain to me that one had been shot in the penis (they kept pointing there) and was in the hospital. Hopefully it was a teflon-coated bullet rather than the real thing.

On the way, we walked by H's door. He showed me a poster. It was what the Palesetinian's call a martyr's poster. He father was on it. The Israeli military had entered the home two months prior, coming in the evening. He was a member of the Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade, and was killed that evening.

nighttime violence

So I arrived where I would have to spend the night (there is no city transportation during a night-time incursion). M and H said their good-byes, and called me their friend. They were maybe in their mid-teens. The army had left, but only to return with some gunfire 20 minutes later. They left again, but not really. The confrontations with the boys died down as they went home to bed.

The night meanwhile was dominated by the sound of tanks and explosions. Operations, killings and arrests were being carried out in different parts of Nablus. Apparently, this was the real easing of restrictions on Palestinians. The people weren't surprised by this real Israeli government response, as opposed to what they are saying.

Well, by 330 AM things finally died down somewhat. The "witching hour" was past.

the consequences of the night

I was woken up by a chicken in bed with me. I found it odd as I don't normally go to bed with a chicken nor do I remember having ever slept with a chicken in the past.

Then I saw two other chickens, followed by a friend chasing them around. I got up to help her chase them up the stairs. This refugee family I spent the night with keeps their chickens on the roof. Every once in a while, they wander out of their coop down the stairs and pay us a visit. This morning, they decided to wake us up. She had herself woken up to the sound of about 5 chickens rustling around.

Things were back to the semi-normal city life in the morning. However, things are never that normal in this ruined city. There are also always consequences from the previous night.

I spoke to one of my great friends. She was very sad. She explained that an exam went poorly. Then, she said: "By the way, did you know a volunteer from Operation Smile was killed last night?" Operation Smile is a great charitable organization that organizes surgeries for children with major deformities, that would leave them otherwise ostracized from society.

She explained that he was killed and another volunteer injured when they and a group were fired upon. She was very sad and had to go home to be alone. She is also a volunteer in this organization, and it was her friend.