Roadblocks and Checkpoints: Duality

Sept. 2002

You hear a lot about roadblocks and checkpoints. Usually what you hear is that the Palestinians are sick of them. They are tired of the long wait in Israel's torrid summer heat. They are tired of what they consider insulting treatment, cars, trucks and even ambulances searched, men being told to lift their shirts to ensure they are not packing explosives.

What you don't hear much about is how the Israelis live with roadblocks, checkpoints and 10, 20, 30 or more personal searches a day in that most every public and private place employs an armed guard. In our depressed economy sporting almost 25% unemployment, security is one of the only growing industries. I haven't used the latch on my handbag for over a year; I leave it permanently open because it is searched as I enter the bank, the mall, the supermarket, the school, you name it.

A very nice Russian man sits outside my HMO sporting an automatic rifle. Most of the guards wear the strap over their shoulder like a guitar, probably so a "bad guy" can't easily grab and use it. Security guards have become part of Israel's landscape; like humus and falafel stands, they are ubiquitous.

Yesterday, like always, my children and I passed through a space narrowed by metal barriers to allow the HMO guard to check each entrant individually. He ran the airport style hand metal detector in front of and behind the gentleman in front of us. As I approached him I raised my bag towards him, like an offering at the alter. He peered into its dark recesses, feeling its weight from the bottom, passing it back to me with a nod to enter. Given the number of children I have, he's sees me almost as often as my husband. I say "hi, how are you?", trying to break the monotony of his job. He always smiles with a "fine". Nonetheless, he goes through this ritual examination of my bag each and every time.

After we left the HMO, we went to fill up on gas. I slowed as I approached the uzi packed guard. He looked into my GMC, noted the kids, surveyed the empty seats, and cocked his head signaling that I could pass into the gas station. After filling up, we set out for my son's regular session of physical therapy (Eldad was born with a motor problem that requires ongoing treatment) in Ramat Aviv, a small city just North of Tel Aviv. Hannah is a great therapist and worth the 35min drive. Little did we know what was in store for us.

The kids usually make enough noise in the car such that listening to the news is just a frustration for me and sometimes upsetting and confusing for them, given the unpredictability of the violence and the ensuing media coverage. So without a news update, we went blithely on our way for a routine trip we'd made literally scores of times before.

As we approached the main East-West/North-South intersection of the Netanya-Tulkarm road, we saw a sea of cars in every direction. I immediately switched from music to the news station in the hopes of finding out if it was a car accident, an unidentified package (throughout Israel's history, such packages invite the immediate attention of professional sappers and explosive equipment for remote bomb detonation which means closing off the surrounding area - even if the area is a main thoroughfare). I could see that going West toward the beach highway was not an option. We had 40min. to travel 20mi and the logjam going West was dead stopped for no obvious reason. The line of cars turning South (the direction of Ramat Aviv) extended over a mile. We had little choice but to turn North and head for an intersection where we could return south.

As we passed the bottleneck from the North we heard it - the reason for the extreme situation on the roads. Suicide attack warnings in the Sharon - the county 20-40miles North of Tel Aviv, much of which borders the pre-1967 border of Israel - forced police to close the roads since 6:30am. We continued south on the inland road for a couple of miles until we hit another scene of bumper-to-bumper traffic. Every time I turned West to make a go for the beach highway, we were hit with a wall of cars. We listened for news, "An Israeli making a routine delivery near his village in Nitzanei Oz was just found murdered and mutilated at the Israeli industrial area near Tulkarm. Palestinian workers are suspected of carrying out the crime with nationalist motives." Nitzanei Oz is about a mile East of my house toward Tulkarm.

As we made our way at a snail's pace to the beach highway, the next report came as a shock. "All residents of the area near the kav ha tefer are asked to stay home until further notice."

The periodic and often daily terror attacks of an ever-increasing range, style and virulence resulting in our regular confrontation with checkpoints and roadblocks, was now causing us experience a curfew. A Curfew. Citizens of Israel are asked not to leave their homes until further notice - for their own security.

What to do now? Turn back? Forge on? We were near the highway by now - the road that would take us out of the Sharon County and into Ramat Aviv. What might we confront if we retraced our steps? Better to stick with the plan. Hopefully Eldad would still have some time with the therapist and more importantly, the threats that caused the road closures, checkpoints and the makeshift curfew would be nullified.

There is suffering across the board. I along with 6million Jews and Arabs Israelis as well as 3.2 million Palestinians endure these daily trials and tensions in the name of safety. These security measures are in place in the attempt to countermand the constant barrage of terror attacks that are now targeting everyone in Israel, be they Jew, Arab, or visiting Student. Representatives of every sector of Israeli society, including Israeli Arabs and foreign workers, have been killed by suicide bombs, gunshots and remote explosive devices. Plenty of Palestinians have been killed by their own mines and through work accidents in bomb preparation, not to mention dying as suicide bombers.

The pain touches each and every one of us to varying degrees. My 14yr old son, Shmuel, had a classmate who was shot dead on a boarding school basketball court while visiting to decide if he wanted to attend the institution the following year. A Palestinian gunman appeared on the court, shot his friends and as he turned to run, was hit with a bullet in the back of his skull. Not long after this incident, Shmuel's English teacher's grandson was seriously injured when a mine exploded as he was picking fruit in an orchard with classmates in North, Central Israel.

Some Israelis say they aren't changing their routine - much. When I speak with friends and associates, they tell me they factor the security risk into almost every decision of the day that involves going anywhere outside their immediate environs. I can't, in good conscience, let my children ride the buses, go to the mall, attend a screening of Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. These crowd pullers are exactly the places being targeted. The Scouts holiday camps were cancelled during most of the year. Eldad's Challenge Camp for special needs children was moved from the richly wooded area near the Sea of Galilee to Tel Aviv's main park where they could secure closed areas. Now, when I go to the Netanya shook (outdoor vegitable market), which has been the target of both remote explosives and suicide bombers, I make a point of shopping during Israel's 2pm-4pm rest hours when it is relatively empty. When my husband and I finally went to a restaurant after a 6 month hiatus because it just "wasn't worth it", we noted the security hand scanner and were relieved that there wasn't a crowd. We also noted the new charge on the bill - 2% surcharge for security.

So Israel imposes roadblocks, checkpoints and curfews on Israelis as well as on Palestinians trying to stem the flow of blood. It's terribly annoying. Extremely frustrating. Eldad missed 2/3 of his session, but the therapist understood, as did the mother of the next patient, so some of the time was made up.

This is the new reality for all of us in these very violent times.

Carice Witte
BK '83