By Melanie Takefman

Until recently, Israelis could ignore the Occupation. People led normal lives: they drank their coffee and ate breakfast in the mornings, drove their kids to school, worked from 8-5, and went hiking on weekends. People did reserve duty, and some had relatives or friends who were killed in the line of duty or in terror attacks. But a majority, it seems, was able to keep the “conflict” neatly tucked away.
In recent years, something deep inside the Israeli consciousness has begun to rumble. Life is hard, really hard, now. …

The kids make a huge advance which elicits a loud “Khalas!” from one of the soldiers, and the kids slow down their pace. Two soldiers go up to them now and all of a sudden, they are actually talking. Some young men approach and join in. As if they are all human. And it is almost possible for Anita and me to forget what the military uniforms and guns mean and to see only young people talking to each other.

Standing at a bus stop, the bricks of the Old City hovering on the horizon and a deadly heat radiating off the highway pavement, I boarded a minibus that 20 minutes later had me face to face with the wall – yes, that wall – on the edge of Bethlehem. Disembarking the vehicle and walking (tentatively) toward the massive structure, complete with rusted barbed wire and ominous towers, I passed through the series of indoor turnstiles and ramps that landed me in a queue line. I knew these places existed, and equally knew the vitriol-strapped arguments surrounding them: security fence, separation barrier, land grab, open-air prison. Call it what you will because in this moment, standing in the stark reality of a hot-button issue, I’m not thinking about semantics.

Dipping bread, fresh from the oven

Olives, from our garden, pressed to oil

Biting goat cheese

And chilled watermelon

Red, White, Green, and Black

Palestinian evening

I thought I knew this city. Countless times in past years I have walked through its narrow alleyways on tired feet, on anxious feet, on feet crowded by the presence of many others. I have walked here, past these thick limestone blocks on my way to buy a book from the silver-haired clerk, on my way to pray at a wall currently a hopeful remnant of something greater, on my way to read in a quiet corner, unifying text with its origin.