The Wall

There are two walkways next to one another divided by grey bars, one buffered by a 30' wall separating Israel from Palestine. There are two signs – Exit & Entrance. I looked to Heather as we approached. Were we exiting Palestine or entering Israel? This was only the beginning of the confusion. A woman repeating “Inshallah,” or “God willing” passed under the entrance sign. We followed, but took our time slowly proceeding down the “entrance” path while looking at the graffiti that covered the wall – “Down with the wall,” “Free Palestine,” “Only God can Judge.” I stopped. One particular image caught my eye. A woman in a headscarf was sprayed on the cold gray wall. The text below read “I am not a terrorist.” I unzipped my backpack and reached from my camera to capture and image that was just about to take on a stronger meaning for Heather and me. As I framed the shot, a woman approached on the other side of the bars heading back into Palestine. She stopped.

The pride she had put into her outfit was apparent. She wore a pressed white blazer and matching hat. She clenched her purse in her right hand. Her hair had been styled for her visit to Jerusalem – only 15 minutes by bus, this was a big trip. But she was walking the wrong way. On the other side of the bars, she was walking back to Bethlehem, agitated. She stopped and spoke to us.

“They said they would help me. They said if I went back to get my papers that they would help me through. When I came back, they laughed at me. They laughed at me.” Her emotions were erupting as she spoke. She had been strong and had held it together, but with kind ears listening the building frustration, shame and anger melted into tears. Her words were jumbled and confused by despair. Her pain was chillingly clear and her story echoed by the graffiti behind her.

“I was born in Jerusalem. This is my home. Jerusalem is my home. They said they would help, but instead they laughed. I am a human. I did as they asked. I took a taxi back home to get my papers. I took a taxi. I had it. I had it. I am not a football. I am a human. I did as they said.” She was crumbling before me. Heather and I both reached through the bars and grabbed her hand as tears streamed down our faces as she continued, “They wouldn’t treat their sisters like this. All they did was laugh…They said they would help, but they laughed at me. They treat me like I’m not human. They played with me. They wouldn’t do this to their sister…”

The woman who had led us under the entrance sign appeared again, now on the other side of the bars still repeating “Inshallah” as she walked, head down, back into Bethlehem. She stopped where we stood with the woman in white, grabbed her hand and led her back as well. Heather and I stood still for a moment. Wiped our tears and in a haze began our own journey through the dehumanizing border crossing from the West Bank back into Israel.