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The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil,    but because of the people who don't do anything about it

Occupation magazine - Life under occupation Home page  back Print  Send To friend Pity God Didn’t Make Me a Donkey December 27th, 2009, afternoon. A workday nearly over. A year nearly at its end. One donkey nearly shot, Khadra from Umm al Kheir nearly killed, the words I hear from Id on the phone about this can hardly contain his surging shock, anguish and rage. Barely managing to keep my own feelings at bay, I start the Opel Astra bound for the South Hebron Hills, to Umm al Kheir (See our story of nearly two years ago: ‘A A little tale about donkeys’ http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/971762.html In the 50 minutes separating my home in Shoval from Umm al Kheir, Khadra has managed to come to, realize she is alive, and accompany the policemen to the station at the large Kiryat Arba Settlement, her neighbors have managed to control their anxiety, and I manage to arrive. I asked Id to see precisely where the donkey had gone, where did Khadra end up when she followed it, and from where the shots were fired. Everyone respected my request and helped Id and Na’ama reconstruct the event: “Khadra’s donkey went out walking. Usually it is tied up like all the other donkeys when they’re not working. But apparently he wasn’t, this time” says Id in his fluent Hebrew. The donkey took a stroll along the five-meter wide path between the top row of tents of Umm al Kheir and Carmel settlement. The donkey that has not yet learned to tell apart the settlement and the Bedouin locality of Umm al Kheir, has learned not to enter the old Carmel settlement built in 1981 simply because it has a fence. But new Carmel has been appended to it three years ago, and has no fence. So when the donkey reached the no-fence it simply strolled on. When Khadra, owner of the strolling donkey, realized the rascal was proceeding towards the new settlement, she hurried followed to get it back. The donkey stood on the army patrol track that is very close to Umm al Kheir and a bit further from new Carmel. Aware of the catastrophic implications of the donkey’s entry into the settlement area, Khadra steps on the sacred dirt of the patrol track, intending to teach her donkey its missing lesson in the political understanding of the area. Alas, that was a fateful step. Four bursts of M-16 rifle-fire just missed her head, in the direction of Umm al Kheir. Khadra fainted on the spot. She lost consciousness out of sheer fright. Id, then seated at the door of his home, ran towards the source of fire and saw Khadra flat on the ground and the donkey galloping in panic in the absolutely forbidden direction. Bilal immediately called the police. Id had seen the shooter. He knows him. “He’s the man living in the southern-most house of the new part of the settlement. He is always making trouble”, says Id. “Just this morning he pestered Taref who was out grazing. Not all the settlers here are the same. Those in the new part are more violent, and he’s the worst of the lot”, he points out. “If there are peaceful residents in Carmel, as well, why don’t they control these hooligans? What’s this, shooting just like that – is this a game?!” Id is furious. “And before the police arrived”, he says, “I saw the shooter removing the magazine out of his weapon and hide it”. “How come he has a weapon to begin with?” I asked. And if he possesses one, how did he manage to go and get it and shoot Khadra from such close quarters?” Id gave me his pained smile and said: “They possess weapons and carry them at all times”. The police and army arrived about fifteen minutes after the shooting. In the meantime the local women looked after Khadra. When the police arrived, she was still lying on the ground, motionless. “Her voice is very weak” Id answered the policemen who asked if she could already be questioned. After a while Khadra got up, helped by the women, and Yasser helped her reach the police jeep. She was then taken with Yasser to the Kiryat Arba police station for questioning. The shooting settler, on the other hand, went there driving his own private vehicle, accompanied by a policeman. As I stand at the edge of Umm al Kheir, concentrating on Id’s reconstruction of the incident, I observe the scene. The longer I look, the more stunned I become at the short range from which the man shot at Khadra, and the much greater distance between Khadra and the settlement houses, posing no threat whatsoever, let alone when the issue is to retrieve a stray donkey… Dusk enveloped us softly. Pink skies and a cool breeze of a warm winter day caresses upset faces. The village women and children gather around me. Everyone is glad to see me. Once again they can tell me exactly how the shots met each of them. How lovely eight-year old Rima, Khadra’s daughter, thought her mother was dead, and she is still coping with the death of her father five months ago. How others fell on the ground because the bullets had hit so close to them. How Amne saw a settler from old Carmel descending from his home with a gun. How the babies cried and the toddlers were dumbstruck with fright. They tell, and I contain them lovingly. I look at their faces and see through them. I see them bewildered and perplexed. Their bewilderment helps the people of Umm al Kheir to see clearly. With precision, in all its dimensions – the width of the path trodden by the donkey and its owner, the length of the trajectory of the four bullets into the village, the height of these when they flew over the woman’s head, and the death of the abyss that lay between Khadra’s action and the surreal reaction of the shooter. Seeing all these things – that is probably why God separated light and darkness. I look at their faces and see inside. I see how they differentiate between those who are violent and harass them, and those who are not. “The people of Carmel are not all the same” they say. An Israeli passing by told them they’re cowards. Otherwise they would enter the settlement and throw their weight around. They did not respond. I said, then, that they are strong for just that reason. They still did not respond. Then it was almost dark. Khadra had not yet returned from her police investigation at Kiryat Arba. Rima is concerned. So am I. In the failing light I see a man from fenced-in old Carmel speaking with Suliman, Id’s father. They stand there on both sides of the fence, talking about what had occurred here just a short while ago. I join them. “This is a good man, he is” says Id’s father in his raw Hebrew. I ask Haj Suliman permission to join their conversation. I told the man they must extend the fence to surround the new part of the settlement and thus avoid unnecessary incidents. I asked who was responsible for this. “The Ministry of Defense” he told me. We agreed to set a meeting with the secretary of Carmel and himself, and with Ehud, Boaz and myself, in order to move the matter of the fence and get them involved in preventing acts of settler violence against the villagers. “Somewhat bizarre, us talking here from both sides of the fence” I said, after a long pause. “I forgot to bring the key” he replied, slightly embarrassed. I bade farewell to my dear friends and went home before Khadra’s return. Only late that evening did Id call and inform me that she was back. The police did not take the trouble to bring her home respectfully. At the of the interrogation she and her escort were driven to the eastern entry of Hebron and were left there. “You’ll manage on your own” the policemen said, and left. The shooter drove back home in his own car. Failing to fall asleep, I ponder how the wheel turns – how in a state whose law forbids civilians to possess weapons at home, let alone use them, a civilian is allowed all of this when he is an occupier? How a hate-criminal shoots and is then home free, while his victim lags behind, having to manage somehow. Where the injured find the strength not to injure, while the perpetrators will perpetrate again in a day or two. They will throw stones at them from behind the fence, and flee. Their acts will not be counted. Only the stone-hurlers and shooters of the inferior nation will be considered outlaws. But after all, I am lucky – even the donkey cannot fathom all of this. 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