I will think of Moses. Moses parted the Red Sea. But my friends can’t drive me to the Red Sea.
Zuzu will take half of us in his BMW convertible. Haneen and Mohammed will take half of us in the white rental car. It is only an hour and a half away. It will be a mini-vacation. We will wear swimsuits and tank-tops because it is acceptable there, because of all the foreigners. We will have delicous food, heineckens, and nargila with our friends. We will rub ourselves all over with Dead Sea mud. It will make our skin look nice. My swimsuit is in my lost suitcase, but I will borrow a tank top from Sama. I will think of Moses.
No one told me it would be so difficult to get there. And that even if we did, our odds were slim to none of actually getting to the shore.
Zuzu and Sama
We go to bed fairly early for the Dead Sea. As a group, not all of 6+ are convinced we should go. There are things to do for the show in Bethlehem (like replace my lost equipment) and just deal with jetlag. Yet we all end up at The Office with towels, sunscreen, snacks, and big bottles of water discreetly tucked away. (It is impolite to drink or eat on the street while people are fasting for Ramadan…and I am Southern.)
Leaving Ramallah
We take one street to get out of Ramallah and the traffic has stopped. There is discussion as to whether it is a flying checkpoint or accident or either government has closed down the street for something. Zuzu is an amateur race car driver. He weasels us out of traffic onto side streets. We lose Haneen and the other car. Zuzu is on both of his cell phones at once, the Jawal (West Bank service) and the Orange (Israel service). I can’t tell which is which, the phones look the same, but they both ring all the time. Haneen is located, and we approach the first checkpoint out of Ramallah.
…………………………………………………………
I think to myself, it doesn’t look that special. It reminds me of the Daniel Boone Tollway in Eastern Kentucky. Just a little booth between 2 small car lanes with a person inside to take your quarters. The only difference is that no money is exchanged and the person inside has a semi-automatic weapon. Also there are some other people with semi-automatic weapons hanging around for assistance.
As we approach I get nervous. It never occurred to me that someone could actually prevent us from leaving the city….that our mini-vacation could be stopped right there by a 19-20 year old. That we would have to spend our mini-vacation hanging out in The Office. In this moment the phrase “welcome to our open air prison” finally makes sense.
I am so uncomfortable pulling out my passport. This is bad. The gun is casually slung around his hip so it is all I see when I look out the window. The closest I ever got to a gun before this experience was peeking through the glass door into my father’s gun cabinet as a little girl. He had a few old rifles in there that were passed down through our family. It was always locked. It was dusty on the inside. This is a very big gun. I do not like guns. I’m a little frightened. But I can’t take my eyes off of it. Maybe this is the point, to make me afraid.
Zuzu says something about his Press ID and we get through. The rental car may have issues. Haneen and Zuzu’s ID’s say they are from Bethlehem and Beit Sahour, which are Christian towns. Mohammed’s ID says his name is “Mohammed” and that is enough to give him problems passing any checkpoint. Even though his skin is fair and his hair is light brown. Even with his Press ID.
Waiting for Haneen’s Car at the Checkpoint
Zuzu has pulled over and I am looking out the back window snapping pictures and holding my breath. They take awhile. Will they get through? They do get through. I think to myself, “Oh certainly this was the hard part. It will be easy and downhill from here.”
I was wrong. Actually I thought that a few times throughout course of the day. Each time I was wrong. By the end of the evening I was pushed over the edge into hysterical laughter. But first………………
Only checkpoint #2 is between us and the Dead Sea. As we approach it, you can already see the water on the right…. so close.
We are pulled over to the right. On the left cars are flying by with no guns pointed at them. It takes a few minutes for me to notice they have yellow Israeli plates instead of our white and green Palestinian ones.
A really young soldier with purple/green Oakley sunglasses steps up to the car. Gun slung at his hip of course. He takes our passports and walks away for 15 minutes. Haneen has pulled over in front of us.
A group of soldiers come over and pull us out of the car. They begin searching and questioning Zuzu. Another group goes up to Haneen’s car and pulls him out. They do not like Rozalinda’s Romanian passport and one leans in the window to get a look at her. She tells me later that he pushed her in the seat.
What’s wrong with Rozalinda being Romanian? Actually its similar to America’s immigration issues. If you are Jewish, Israel’s policy is that you can get instant citizenship. However, this gets murky when immigrants come from poorer countries like Romania and even Ethiopia. The unemployment rate in Israel fluctuates close to 20%. The Eastern Europeans are accused of stealing the lower wage jobs and often end up living in the settlements. Again, very similar to America.
Sama and I are standing outside of the car marked as Americans. The soldiers are searching and having an argument with Zuzu. I contemplate whether my American identity is helping or hurting the situation. On one hand, Americans have the branded identity of being rich tourists and the least likely to make trouble for Israel. Maybe I should be really nice and friendly, even a bit of a flirt and it will give us a smooth exit out of this checkpoint.
On the other hand, Zuzu is a well-known cameraman driving us around in a BMW convertible. Like any teenage boy, I’m sure they desire the sportscar they can’t have. But as IDF soldiers, they are in the position to humiliate Zuzu, especially in front of two American girls. Maybe our presence makes it worse. At this moment I am sure of it and stare at the ground.
Zuzu throws his hands up in the air and we get back in the car. Obviously we’re not going to get in. We are in the West Bank…but we can’t go to the west bank of the Dead Sea.
He is silent and angry. He turns the music up really loud and sits there for a minute.
“Zuzu, let’s just go, OK?”
He pushes the button that puts the top down. It slowly peels back, the sun feels hot, and the soldiers are yelling at us to turn around and leave.
Zuzu turns the music up louder and smiles.
Then in an act of pure defiance and male ego, he punches the gas and spins out of the checkpoint and around to the road taking us out, tires screeching.
Leave a Reply