Palestinians write novels about
the old days of suffering under occupation, as Ahlam Mosteghanemi
did. What stories will we tell about the checkpoints? Will they be
stories of bitterness or steadfastness, pain or hope?
Letter from Tasneem
_PHOTO
My name is Tasneem Turk. I was born and
raised as a Muslim Palestinian in America and currently live in
Arizona. I am eighteen years old and attend Arizona State
University. I am majoring in business communications and plan to
obtain a bachelor’s degree. I love to spend time with friends and
family and love dancing the Palestinian traditional dance called dabke . It is a folklore dance that many Palestinians perform
on special occasions. I speak three different languages: English,
Arabic, and am acquiring Hebrew.
* * *
Dear Ken,
Today is Friday, known for the day that
Muslims attend their Holy Sacred Mosque, called the Dome of the
Rock, located in the Old City in Jerusalem. It’s early morning, and
I am getting ready to leave my cousin’s house in Ramallah and head
out to the mosque. There are so many yellow cabs and taxis, and
they all want you to ride with them. It is a busy day out here
since everyone is trying to attend the prayer service. However, the
Palestinians who live in Ramallah and carry Palestinian citizenship
have no access in entering Jerusalem. I look at the crowd on the
street that passes by to the local mosque by our house. I think to
myself, “They do not have the right or privilege to go pray in one
of the Muslims holy sites.” It is sad to see that they cannot move
freely around their occupied land. They are imprisoned in their own
land.
Nevertheless, I ride the bus that is
strictly for Palestinians who do not carry Israeli citizenship. I
am now heading toward the main Israeli checkpoint, called Qalandia
checkpoint. It is the main checkpoint that separates West Jerusalem
from the West Bank by the apartheid wall that was built by the
Israeli government for illogical pretenses. There is a massive
crowd, and the lines are long.
If only you could see how much Palestinians
have to go through to get to a place that is less than twenty
minutes away in a car. We were probably about three miles away from
the checkpoint. Cars were trying to squeeze into small areas so
they can pass by, but there was no way to get out of this traffic
jam. Usually, a traffic jam in America would be during the time
that people are off from work and heading home. However, a traffic
jam in Palestine results in Israeli soldiers blocking Palestinians
from passing through and giving them a hard time. You can see there
is a clear difference in what Americans go through and what
Palestinians go through.
After about maybe two hours or so, we make
it to the front of the line of the cars. You would think this would
be the end of it; however, all passengers must get off of the bus
and go through the security checkpoint. Let me give you an example
as to what this checkpoint looks like. It is similar to the
security checkpoint you would go through in an airport. You have to
take off your belt (sometimes shoes), put all belongings in the
scanning machine, and pass through a body scanning device. As I
approach the checkpoint, the line is about a third of a mile long.
I never thought one would have to go through all of this to go pray
in their holy mosque. While the Palestinians have to go through
this disastrous procedure to get through to Jerusalem, those who
are Israeli or Jewish do not have to go through anything. Instead,
they are allowed to pass with no questions asked. It is hot,
sticky, smelly, suffocating, and frustrating as I am waiting for my
turn to pass the checkpoint. It has now been three hours, and I
still haven’t gotten into Jerusalem.
After a long period of waiting, my turn
comes, and I now proceed to the bus. As the bus heads off, I think
to myself what any person on earth would say about this crisis that
the Palestinians have to go through.
the old days of suffering under occupation, as Ahlam Mosteghanemi
did. What stories will we tell about the checkpoints? Will they be
stories of bitterness or steadfastness, pain or hope?
Letter from Tasneem
_PHOTO
My name is Tasneem Turk. I was born and
raised as a Muslim Palestinian in America and currently live in
Arizona. I am eighteen years old and attend Arizona State
University. I am majoring in business communications and plan to
obtain a bachelor’s degree. I love to spend time with friends and
family and love dancing the Palestinian traditional dance called dabke . It is a folklore dance that many Palestinians perform
on special occasions. I speak three different languages: English,
Arabic, and am acquiring Hebrew.
* * *
Dear Ken,
Today is Friday, known for the day that
Muslims attend their Holy Sacred Mosque, called the Dome of the
Rock, located in the Old City in Jerusalem. It’s early morning, and
I am getting ready to leave my cousin’s house in Ramallah and head
out to the mosque. There are so many yellow cabs and taxis, and
they all want you to ride with them. It is a busy day out here
since everyone is trying to attend the prayer service. However, the
Palestinians who live in Ramallah and carry Palestinian citizenship
have no access in entering Jerusalem. I look at the crowd on the
street that passes by to the local mosque by our house. I think to
myself, “They do not have the right or privilege to go pray in one
of the Muslims holy sites.” It is sad to see that they cannot move
freely around their occupied land. They are imprisoned in their own
land.
Nevertheless, I ride the bus that is
strictly for Palestinians who do not carry Israeli citizenship. I
am now heading toward the main Israeli checkpoint, called Qalandia
checkpoint. It is the main checkpoint that separates West Jerusalem
from the West Bank by the apartheid wall that was built by the
Israeli government for illogical pretenses. There is a massive
crowd, and the lines are long.
If only you could see how much Palestinians
have to go through to get to a place that is less than twenty
minutes away in a car. We were probably about three miles away from
the checkpoint. Cars were trying to squeeze into small areas so
they can pass by, but there was no way to get out of this traffic
jam. Usually, a traffic jam in America would be during the time
that people are off from work and heading home. However, a traffic
jam in Palestine results in Israeli soldiers blocking Palestinians
from passing through and giving them a hard time. You can see there
is a clear difference in what Americans go through and what
Palestinians go through.
After about maybe two hours or so, we make
it to the front of the line of the cars. You would think this would
be the end of it; however, all passengers must get off of the bus
and go through the security checkpoint. Let me give you an example
as to what this checkpoint looks like. It is similar to the
security checkpoint you would go through in an airport. You have to
take off your belt (sometimes shoes), put all belongings in the
scanning machine, and pass through a body scanning device. As I
approach the checkpoint, the line is about a third of a mile long.
I never thought one would have to go through all of this to go pray
in their holy mosque. While the Palestinians have to go through
this disastrous procedure to get through to Jerusalem, those who
are Israeli or Jewish do not have to go through anything. Instead,
they are allowed to pass with no questions asked. It is hot,
sticky, smelly, suffocating, and frustrating as I am waiting for my
turn to pass the checkpoint. It has now been three hours, and I
still haven’t gotten into Jerusalem.
After a long period of waiting, my turn
comes, and I now proceed to the bus. As the bus heads off, I think
to myself what any person on earth would say about this crisis that
the Palestinians have to go through.
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