Arrival in Tel Aviv

We arrived wearily at 4.30am, arriving into Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion airport. The airport was an apt beginning to a journey that has so far exposed many contrasts and inequalities. It was huge, with gleaming floors, tall pillars and impressive fountains and pools. While I was admiring it, I was informed that West Bank residents cannot use the airport in Tel Aviv; instead they must travel to Amman in Jordan.

I am here in the Occupied Palestinian Territory (OPT) to learn, to hear stories from Trocaire’s Palestinian and Israeli human rights partners. We have a packed week ahead of us, and I am looking forward to meeting some of the groups I have heard a lot about; B’tselem, the Israeli Human Rights group; Rabbis for Human Rights; the Palestinian Human Rights Centre in Gaza, and many others.

Today we met a remarkable group of young Palestinian Christian men in Ramallah, part of Caritas Jerusalem’s work to empower young people and encourage them to become leaders in their communities. They detailed the many challenges of living in the West Bank, the lack of freedom of movement, whether it be to go to college, to find work or to visit family in other parts of the West Bank. Some of them said they didn’t have much hope for the future, but listening to these articulate and determined people, I couldn’t help thinking that I was sitting across the table from Palestine’s hope for the future. Any one of these men could go on to lead their communities, given the opportunity, It is this lack of opportunity, with unemployment in Palestine running to 70%, that leads to a feeling of imprisonment. It’s something I cannot really fathom, having had the luxury of an Irish passport and free passage around the world.

Our taxi driver back from Ramallah to Jerusalem, where we are staying, told us that he has been to university to study hotel management and that he speaks 6 languages, “And now I am driving a taxi. That’s the way things are here”. We passed a checkpoint, and sat in a queue of cars. As there were a few cars ahead of us, I couldn’t see the checkpoint itself. But I could hear what sounded like a gang of boisterous teenagers. As we approached the checkpoint, I saw that they probably were teenagers, but they were also soldiers, with guns. In Israel, military service is compulsory; 3 years for men and 2 years for women. One of my fellow travelers remarked, “this is an area in which we women have not clamoured for equal treatment!”. Until the age of about 40, Israeli citizens must complete an annual military service of 40 days or so. It’s a frightening thought that even with your military service completed, and perhaps with a family, it is a long time before Israelis are free of the army’s demands. Our taxi driver is resigned to being stopped arbitrarily by youngsters half his age and knows better than to challenge them.