A blocked feeling that looks like the place.
There are places that you cannot get used to no matter how often you visit …or you’re forced to visit.
The ministry of interior is one of them.
It is any official\governmental office, and no one wins over the worse feeling that imposes on me.
Today I had this unpleasant forced visit to that bad place.
What should I say … how could I describe?
It is one of those times where what you feel and what you see can unite.
Both as bad as it gets.
The squishing of the metal gate with a full metal entry that reminds you of a prison, a checkpoint, a ghetto… two lanes one for men and one for women, surveillance cameras with notes saying that you are under supervision of cameras after every few meters.
Waiting for the unknown is the title of the situation
Maybe it is not the unknown.
The unknown could be a pleasant outcome.
This has nothing pleasant
It is just waiting
Waiting for the mercy of a soldier to give you order in Hebrew to pass.
While filth surrounds you
And stirring looks of people losing their patience mount
Women start nagging each other
A fight erupts
A smile broadens my face
Yes some entertainment while waiting
The smile shamefully shrinks back
Women fighting again
Men interfering giving advises
The woman with the hijab is the woman of virtue
The woman without the hijab is the slut
A man interferes again
“Calm down ladies.”
The soldier gives the order to another to pass.
It’s my turn
No, my turn
The soldier gives order with impartial distaste
Take this side
Your shoes off
Your belt out
Your watch, ring, bracelet, earring
You are ringing
Take her inside and body search
A machine buzzes with no stop
It is a human sensitive machine
Anything makes it buzz
Same crew reunion
I don’t understand Hebrew
Who cares, Hebrew words
What does it mean?
Just take a number
No, go right
No, go there
Just wait in line
Surveillance cameras around you
Don’t go there
A voice there: just register my son
Another view: I brought you all the papers you requested
Another: I swear he lives here
Voices of stories begging
Voices mixed with humiliation
Arabic in Hebrew dialect
Or Hebrew in Arabic dialect
I cannot grasp any of that anymore
The cameras warn me that they are around
Missing paper, missing photo, missing application
How do I know?
I don’t know
You should know
Who should be aware?
I don’t know
Someone should know
I don’t know, missing papers…
Swearing, mumbling, never to come back again
Beautiful olive tree that must have been stolen from our other land
Bids me goodbye
See you soon she tells me.