(Hanan Ashrawi’s daughter telling her story)

I am Palestinian - born and raised - and my Palestinian roots go back centuries. No one can change that even if they tell me that Jerusalem , my birth place, is not Palestine , even if they tell me that Palestine doesn't exist, even if they take away all my papers and deny me entry to my own home, even if they humiliate me and take away my rights. I AM PALESTINIAN.

Name: Zeina Emile Sam'an Ashrawi; Date of Birth: July 30, 1981; Ethnicity: Arab. This is what was written on my Jerusalem ID card. An ID card to a Palestinian is much more than just a piece of paper; it is my only legal documented relationship to Palestine . Born in Jerusalem , I was given a Jerusalem ID card (the blue ID), an Israeli Travel Document and a Jordanian Passport stamped Palestinian (I have no legal rights in Jordan ). I do not have an Israeli Passport, a Palestinian Passport or an American Passport.

Here is my story:

I came to the United States as a 17 year old to finish high school in Pennsylvania and went on to college and graduate school and subsequently got married and we are currently living in Northern Virginia. I have gone home every year at least once to see my parents, my family and my friends and to renew my Travel Document as I was only able to extend its validity once a year from Washington DC . My father and I would stand in line at the Israeli Ministry of Interior in Jerusalem , along with many other Palestinians, from 4:30 in the morning to try our luck at making it through the revolving metal doors of the Ministry before noon – when the Ministry closed its doors - to try and renew the Travel Document. We did that year after year. As a people living under an occupation, being faced with constant humiliation by an occupier was the norm but we did what we had to do to insure our identity was not stolen from us.

In August of 2007 I went to the Israeli Embassy in Washington DC to try and extend my travel document and get the usual "Returning Resident" VISA that the Israelis issue to Palestinians holding an Israeli Travel Document. After watching a few Americans and others being told that their visas would be ready in a couple of weeks my turn came. I walked up to the bulletproof glass window shielding the lady working behind it and under a massive picture of the Dome of the Rock and the Walls of Jerusalem that hangs on the wall in the Israeli consulate, I handed her my papers through a little slot at the bottom of the window.

"Shalom" she said with a smile. "Hi" I responded, apprehensive and scared. As soon as she saw my Travel Document her demeanor immediately changed. The smile was no longer there and there was very little small talk between us, as usual. After sifting through the paperwork I gave her she said: "where is your American Passport?" I explained to her that I did not have one and that my only Travel Document is the one she has in her hands. She was quiet for a few seconds and then said: "you don't have an American Passport?" suspicious that I was hiding information from her. "No!" I said. She was quiet for a little longer and then said: "Well, I am not sure we'll be able to extend your Travel Document." I felt the blood rushing to my head as this is my only means to get home! I asked her what she meant by that and she went on to tell me that since I had been living in the US and because I had a Green Card they would not extend my Travel Document.

After taking a deep breath to try and control my temper I explained to her that a Green Card is not a Passport and I cannot use it to travel outside the US. My voice was shaky and I was getting more and more upset (and a mini shouting match ensued) so I asked her to explain to me what I needed to do. She told me to leave my paperwork and we would see what happens.

A couple of weeks later I received a phone call from the lady telling me that she was able to extended my Travel Document but I would no longer be getting the "Returning Resident" VISA. Instead, I was given a 3 month tourist VISA. Initially I was happy to hear that the Travel Document was extended but then I realized that she said "tourist VISA". Why am I getting a tourist VISA to go home? Not wanting to argue with her about the 3 month VISA at the time so as not to jeopardize the extension of my Travel Document, I simply put that bit of information on the back burner and went on to explain to her that I wasn't going home in the next 3 months. She instructed me to come back and apply for another VISA when I did intend on going. She didn't add much and just told me that it was ready for pick-up. So I went to the Embassy and got my Travel Document and the tourist VISA that was stamped in it.

My husband, my son and I were planning on going home to Palestine this summer. So a month before we were set to leave (July 8, 2008) I went to the Israeli Embassy in Washington DC, papers in hand, to ask 2 for a VISA to go home. I, again, stood in line and watched others get VISAs to go to my home. When my turn came I walked up to the window; "Shalom" she said with a smile on her face, "Hi" I replied. I slipped the paperwork in the little slot under the bulletproof glass and waited for the usual reaction. I told her that I needed a returning resident VISA to go home. She took the paperwork and I gave her a check for the amount she requested and left the Embassy without incident.

A few days ago I got a phone call from Dina at the Israeli Embassy telling me that she needed the expiration date of my Jordanian Passport and my Green Card. I had given them all the paperwork they needed time and time again and I thought it was a good way on their part to waste time so that I didn't get my VISA in time. Regardless, I called over and over again only to get their voice mail. I left a message with the information they needed but kept called every 10 minutes hoping to speak to someone to make sure that they received the information in an effort to expedite the tedious process. I finally got a hold of someone. I told her that I wanted to make sure they received the information I left on their voice mail and that I wanted to make sure that my paperwork was in order. She said, after consulting with someone in the background (I assume it was Dina), that I needed to fax copies of both my Jordanian Passport and my Green Card and that giving them the information over the phone wasn't acceptable. So I immediately made copies and faxed them to Dina. A few hours later my cell phone rang. "Zeina?" she said. "Yes" I replied, knowing exactly who it was and immediately asked her if she received the fax I sent. She said: "ehhh, I was not looking at your file when you called earlier but your Visa was denied and your ID and Travel Document are no longer valid." "Excuse me?" I said in disbelief. "Sorry, I cannot give you a visa and your ID and Travel Document are no longer valid. This decision came from Israel not from me."

I cannot describe the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach. "Why?" I asked and Dina went on to tell me that it was because I had a Green Card. I tried to reason with Dina and to explain to her that they could not do that as this is my only means of travel home and that I wanted to see my parents, but to no avail. Dina held her ground and told me that I wouldn't be given the VISA and then said: "Let the Americans give you a Travel Document".

I have always been a strong person and not one to show weakness but at that moment I lost all control and started crying while Dina was on the other end of the line holding my only legal documents linking me to my home. I began to plead with her to try and get the VISA and not revoke my documents; "put yourself in my shoes, what would you do? You want to go see your family and someone is telling you that you can't! What would you do? Forget that you're Israeli and that I'm Palestinian and think about this for a minute!" "Sorry" she said," I know but I can't do anything, the decision came from Israel ". I tried to explain to her over and over again that I could not travel without my Travel Document and that they could not do that - knowing that they could, and they had!

This has been happening to many Palestinians who have a Jerusalem ID card. The Israeli government has been practicing and perfecting the art of ethnic cleansing since 1948 right under the nose of the world and no one has the power or the guts to do anything about it. Where else in the world does one have to beg to go to one's own home? Where else in the world does one have to give up their identity for the sole reason of living somewhere else for a period of time? Imagine if an American living in Spain for a few years wanted to go home only to be told by the American government that their American Passport was revoked and that they wouldn't be able to come back!

If I were a Jew living anywhere around the world and had no ties to the area and had never set foot there, I would have the right to go any time I wanted and get an Israeli Passport. In fact, the Israelis encourage that. I however, am not Jewish but I was born and raised there, my parents, family and friends still live there and I cannot go back! I am neither a criminal nor a threat to one of the most powerful countries in the world, yet I am alienated and expelled from my own home.

As it stands right now, I will be unable to go home - I am one of many.

So today is the third day of Eid Al Fitr that all Muslims worldwide celebrate right after the culmination of the month of Ramadan. Not sure if it’s only me, but Ramadan seems to have lost its glory. Years ago when I was a child, people’s attitudes towards both Ramadan and Eid (festival) were way different than now. Maybe I have grown up to the extent that I see in them nothing but the mere fact that few arrogant relatives come for a visit for a couple of minutes, and everyone just sucks them up.

It has been a gloomy day in deed. Being self-centered often times, I thought that my own family never enjoyed the Ramadan that other people celebrate. But the night prior to the Eid, I went for a drive to Ramallah with my uncle and three sisters, we toured around Al Manara and the mall a bit, and felt the legendary atmosphere. People were happy. That hit me; I am not accustomed to seeing them vividly preoccupied with the preparation for the big “day.”

So I came back home and wrote to all my contacts wishing them a Happy Eid and expressed my astonishment and satisfaction to see promising smiles in the crowded streets of Ramallah. But the sad part was that I knew it was merely fleeting moments and that those smiles would be wiped off soon. Not only have my fears become true, but I was blind. Yes, blind. Or may be I just chose not to see it. May be I wanted to believe that we are actually happy.

Would I miss Ramadan? NO. Not really. It has been made hell this year.

While Ramadan is believed to be the holy month during which people get closer to Allah by fasting from food and drink all day long and focus on their faith instead, I am not pretty sure this was the case with us Palestinians. It was only a drug. Ramadan numbed our pain. We could handle both the Israeli and Palestinian political, economic, and security pressure knowing that the day of salvation was approaching; the Eid. But after the three days elapsed, then what?

Now thousands of Palestinians are waiting for the next phase. It has been seven months now. Seven months, and thousands of the PA employees have not received their salaries. And two months elapsed with millions of students deprived form their right of education. I have three sisters and two brothers who do nothing but stay at home. They have not attended school from the very beginning of this term. It is both sad and frustrating that they have to “do the time” and pay a high price.

Reading the news headlines on the first days of Eid is not healthy at all. It lessens the effect of the drug, and one starts to get sober. Sounds funny in deed, but that was the case.

Few minutes ago, I surfed some of the blogs and came across few Iraqi bloggers writing on both Ramadan and Eid. If the titles did not mention “in Iraq,” I swear I could never tell the difference between Iraq and Palestine. The hunger, misery, constant killing, and lack of security are all Palestinian symptoms.

I am speechless now; I can hardly verbalize the so many conflicting thoughts. Heaven knows how things would be like next Ramadan, but I would not speculate it already. It is not time to worry about it now, other issues are on stake; food, money, and education. Until then, there are a lot of things to sort out.

Yesterday, I realized that I believe in love at first sight. Not the romantic kind, rather the sense of connecting with another human being without ever having to say a word. Indeed, the person I was so enthralled with last night was a five-month-old girl, who smiled at me and then hid her face in shyness. Those few moments of interacting with this baby lifted my spirits, but it also made me reflect in sadness about the fact that many children in this current conflict are robbed of their joy and their childhood.

I often contemplate how mature Palestinian children seem. Sure, they play the childhood games that we all played in our day, but there is wisdom in their words that is eerily sobering. Their age defines them as children, but if you have a conversation with a Palestinian child, you will realize how much awareness she has of the world around her, of suffering in the next village, in Gaza, in Lebanon. She is a child that has empathy and understands that life, by nature, is wrought with all sorts of difficulties.

A Palestinian child knows better; life is not as it is depicted in cartoons, where those who die are miraculously resurrected not once, but several times, where injuries are healed instantaneously, where death is a joke and life is a series of slapstick moments. A Palestinian child escapes into imagination, but she is never far removed from the reality of children and adults alike being indiscriminately shot outside her window, in her classroom, at the local bakery.

Who would have thought that normal things, simply walking down the street to grab a falafel sandwich, could result in your untimely death? Perhaps the Israeli army mistook the falafel stand for a bomb-making factory, or an ammunition shop? Make no mistake about it; the Israeli military have made too many “mistakes” that there is obviously a pattern there, wouldn’t you think?

A child that is robbed of the sense of security, therefore, is a child that is mature beyond her years. She knows that the bullets and the tank shells do not discriminate. Her father can shield her from the neighbor’s vicious dog, from the crazy drivers, he will hold her hand to cross the street, but he will not be able to capture a bullet in his hand like the mythological superheroes in blockbuster movies out this summer in theatres near you. He might be able to take the bullet for her though. But once gone, who will be her protective shield against the harsh reality of life that goes on in what seems the periphery of the conflict? And who will be there to share some of her joyous milestones; graduation, marriage, the birth of a child? Hers is a joy that is always overshadowed by a greater sorrow.

Is it fair that 31 Palestinian children have died in a 31-day period? A child-a-day; is that the new Israeli army mantra? Khaled was just a one-year-old, Aya was seven, Sabreen was only three. What lost potential, what lost promise – who knows what Khaled would have grown up to be? An astronaut? A veterinarian? A philosopher? What about Aya; she could have become a fashion designer, a teacher, a mother. By what right has this promise been so violently plucked and trampled upon cruelly and without a moment’s hesitation on the part of the Israeli soldier, who heartlessly unleashed a fiery rain of bullets and shells on a neighborhood as if he is in a simulated video game and those who die are fictitious and unreal? Perhaps that is what he is made to believe, otherwise, who in clear consciousness is so willing to pull the trigger and with one spray of bullets destroy life, potential and rob joy?

If you can see the smiling face of your own child, then how do you go out and unquestioningly take the life of others? If you value life, then how do you live with the burden of knowing that you have taken it so unjustifiably? Perhaps that is your perpetual punishment; the judgment of a child scorned is the harshest of them all.

While the Bush administration (or shall we say ‘Bush regime’?) is pressing ahead with its short-sighted isolationist policy of urging the international community to boycott a Hamas-led Palestinian Authority (PA), and effectively punish the Palestinian ‘people’ for freely practicing what the US itself has clearly failed to achieve through wars (i.e. spreading democracy in the Middle East), the European Union has unblocked some funds (US$ 145 million) to the Palestinians in order to meet their most pressing needs, but made it clear that it has yet to reconsider further financial assistance to the PA after Hamas is formally sworn in. Meanwhile, the UN has issued a report cautioning that the occupied Palestinian territories will face a real threat of financial and institutional collapse (basically, all-out chaos) in the immediate future, should funds be cut off.

The Palestinians, in effect, are desperately trapped in the middle of what appears to be a prolonged interim period in which the foundations of their very existence (food, water, medicine, energy, etc) are determined by decision-makers in Washington DC, whose distorted version of reality has finally clouded their ability to meet the minimal ethical standards of humanity.

Have you forgotten why the Palestinians are impoverished in the first place, why we are unable to independently sustain our own social and economic development? In case we do need to state the obvious here, we have been living (or dying) under Israel’s brutal military occupation since 1967 (not to mention since 1948), arguably as a result of your inability/unwillingness to hold Israel accountable for its repeated violation of every single principle of international law (or must the universal applicability of international law also be regulated?).

Israel’s occupation of our land has deprived us of the right to utilise our natural resources; Israel’s strangulating restrictions on our freedom of movement (within our land) has diminished our potential to trade and create jobs; Israel’s repeated destruction of our institutions has limited our ability to accelerate and uphold our nation-building process; Israel’s continued rejection of our inalienable rights and basic national aspirations (i.e. freedom, liberty, and independence, in which you take pride in your own society) has shattered our hopes for justice; and most dangerously, Israel’s premeditated targeting (killing and maiming) of our civilians has provoked the radicalisation of our traditionally secular and progressive society.

The price we must now pay for these atrocities is starvation by verdict. Or is it “…like an appointment with a dietician…the Palestinians will get a lot thinner, but won't die” as the Israeli Prime Minister’s advisor Dov Weissglas so revoltingly and shamelessly put it, in reference to Israel’s contemplated measures towards the Palestinians under Hamas’ leadership?

Before rushing to issue ultimatums, before racing to condition international funding to the Palestinian people with Hamas’ acceptance of the state of Israel’s “right to exist,” while you continue to prolong the Palestinian people’s existence in limbo, ask Israel where it intends to draw the borders of its state: is it the June 1967 boundaries, in accordance with the universally-adopted UN Resolution 242, or is it the unilateral borders imposed by its Apartheid Wall, which annexes 46% of the West Bank, ultimately leaving the Palestinians with fragmented Bantustans to realize George W. Bush’s “enlightened” vision for “…two states, living side by side in peace?”

Meanwhile, while you continue to urge Hamas to abide by the agreements signed between the PLO and Israel since 1993, under your auspices, take a moment to consider Israel’s climactic illegal settlement expansion during the “moderate” Labour leadership of Ehud Barak, in which a total of at least 5,000 settlement housing units were built, in violation of these very agreements you want Hamas to honour.

And as you spend sleepless nights over Israel’s security paranoia in light of Hamas’ election victory, perhaps you can make good use of your time by reading about Israel’s appalling human rights record in the Palestinian territories (it is a nightmare!) Equally enlightening is the consistent pattern of Israel’s policy of rewarding any truce declared by the Palestinian side with extra-judicial killings and political assassinations.

To end on a slightly lighter note; if you are tempted to dismiss my views as “apologetic for Hamas” I am sorry to disappoint you: I am a Palestinian-Christian, and as secular as they come.

Rami Bathish is director of the Media and Information Programme at the Palestinian Initiative for the Promotion of Global Dialogue and Democracy (MIFTAH).

Note: the views expressed in this article only represent those of its author, and not of MIFTAH.

When a friend of mine generously offered to get me a special permit to join the convoy accompanying the Latin Patriarch from Jerusalem to Bethlehem for the Christmas celebrations, I was thrilled, I accepted without hesitation. Not only was I going to drive through red traffic lights all the way to Bethlehem, but the Israeli Police and army were there to make sure it went smoothly!

I did take part in the convoy, and I did go through red lights (ostensibly); unfortunately, I had not realised that these were the red lights of my very principles as a Palestinian, principles in which I take pride. What was I doing? Why was I driving to Bethlehem under the "protection" of my occupier? The very occupier who cold-bloodedly killed more than 300 of my people over the past three months, the occupier who made half of my people refugees, the occupier who denies my people's right to freedom.

The misery did not end there and then. I had stashed a Palestinian flag under my seat to reveal once we entered the Palestinian-controlled part of Bethlehem, as a gesture of national expression. When we finally parked the cars to join the procession by foot to Manger Square, I decided to take the flag with me. A friend of mine was eager to carry the flag all the way into the Church of the Nativity, and he did. George proudly raised the only Palestinian flag in that procession, attracting foreign journalists and photographers; it was almost as glamorous as that VIP convoy.

When we entered the church, I was absolutely shocked with the reaction of a Greek Orthodox priest. The priest approached us with anger and a clear gesture of protest. According to him, "...this is no place to carry the Palestinian flag." He said that "...this church is neither Palestinian nor Greek!" Greek? I could not resist answering back, so I said calmly, yet with a clearly sharp tone, "This is Palestinian." His "intelligent" response was that we cannot go into Al-Aqsa mosque raising the Greek flag! Anyway, we had no intention of starting a quarrel (especially with a Greek Orthodox priest) so we folded the flag and wished him a Merry Christmas.

I want to unfold my flag in the face of the whole world, in every church, in every mosque, in every corner of my country. I do not need to go to my Bethlehem accompanied by Israeli soldiers or police. I am a Palestinian. My religion is rooted in Palestinian culture and heritage. It is time for Palestinian-Christians to assert themselves more clearly as an integral part of Palestinian society.

Today would have been the perfect opportunity to make that expression. If there were a thousand Palestinian flags raised alongside George's in Manger Square, CNN's camera lenses would have conveyed to the whole world a crucial and valuable message from the Palestinian-Christian community: We are here not only to celebrate Christmas, but more importantly to assert our Palestinian identity, and to take a stance against Israeli occupation and oppression.

I will not praise here the important Palestinian-Christian role throughout the history of the Palestinian struggle. By doing so, I would indirectly doubt its legitimacy. Rather, I want to question its current standing, let alone its continuity. Yet I do not think that such an inquiry is possible without, first, re-assessing today's "Palestinianness" of the Palestinian-Christian community.

This is not an article; it is not even an essay. It is simply a question. How do we (Palestinian-Christians) perceive our Palestinian identity? We are as oppressed as all Palestinians, and yet the majority of us occasionally suffer from an illusion that we "have feathers on our heads." Why?

Meanwhile, on my way back home to Ramallah, I joined a far greater convoy. It was the daily one-hour traffic jam at Qalandia refugee camp, which is caused by Israeli closures.

Nabil is a Palestinian friend of mine whose family was forced out of northern Palestine in 1948. He was born in Lebanon in 1973, lived in Tal Al-Za’tar refugee camp until the age of five, and finally moved with his family to Vienna (Austria) in 1978 due to the civil war. I met Nabil in Vienna in 1984, we attended secondary school together, and we have been best friends ever since.

On many occasions, Nabil and I would talk about Palestine, its past, its present, and its future. We would even talk admiringly about Palestinian food; the conversation often ended with a sense of homesickness. Strange, Nabil has never seen Palestine; he used to spend most of his summer vacations in Beirut, just like I used to spend mine in Jerusalem.

Yet, I have never met anybody speak so proudly of Palestine as Nabil. Whenever somebody would ask him about his original hometown in Palestine, he would reply with a passionate tone, saying “Alma, Qada’ Safad (Alma, in the suburb of Safad).”

It always struck me how Nabil spoke of “Alma, Qada’ Safad” with such pride, passion, and familiarity; sometimes I felt that he perceived ‘Palestine’ as a dream land, a perfect place untouched by the merciless hand of time. His perception of Palestine differed from mine; it was a more idealistic perception.

Today, I took a day trip to the north of Palestine; I visited Nazareth and Lake Tiberias. The freshness of spring only made the beautiful scenery between Nazareth and the Tiberias area more hypnotic. The seemingly endless green fields, the giant mountains, the colourful flowers; it really seemed like a perfect place, untouched by time.

As we descended towards Lake Tiberias, my admiration of the scenery was interrupted by the tour guide’s explanation that “…the town on top of the high mountain to the left is called Safad.” I was thrilled. I immediately thought of Nabil, and his good old "Alma, Qada’ Safad!" The tour guide explained that Safad is the highest town in Palestine; it is 900 meters above sea level, which gives it a magnificent view of Lake Tiberias and the surrounding mountains. He also explained that Safad is an old city, very much like Jerusalem, with narrow roads and plenty of ancient mosques and churches. At that moment I was happy, I had promised Nabil that when he eventually comes to visit me in Palestine, I would take him to his original hometown. Now, I thought, not only will he be able to see Safad, but he will also be proud of its beauty.

Later in the afternoon, I went to speak to the guide. He was an old man, yet his knowledge about Palestine and its history was amazing. I briefly explained to him that I have a personal interest in Safad and its surrounding villages, and I asked him whether or not there are any Palestinians living in Safad. He said that Safad was invaded by Israeli forces overnight in 1948, its Palestinian inhabitants were terrorized and driven out, and most of its surrounding villages have been demolished. “What about Alma?” I said. “Alma no longer exists,” he replied pointing to a map he had on the table, “Alma was completely destroyed in 1948.” He then pointed on his map the exact location of Alma, and explained that, instead, there is an Israeli ‘colony’ of about 2000 inhabitants living there.

Alma is now called Ammiat, in Hebrew. But for Nabil, I am sure, it will always be Alma, Qada' Safad.

Like all Palestinian refugee camps, Qalandia camp is an overcrowded ghetto where the hardship of being a refugee becomes just another reality of life; where the promise for a better future lies deep beneath the ruins of past and present conflict.

Anybody travelling into Ramallah from the south will pass through Qalandia refugee camp. I take that route daily, in the morning and in the afternoon. The seemingly endless bumpy road through the camp does not exceed one kilometre, yet it never fails to leave miles of thought in my mind; sometimes anger, sometimes sadness, and sometimes even a sense of selfish thankfulness for what I have.

Today, it left a feeling of painful guilt in my mind.

As I waited in a long line of traffic through Qalandia, I noticed a crowd of children on my right, some of them had slingshots, and others just had stones. The boys appeared to be excited about something, the kind of excitement little children have when something is about to happen. This is probably the same feeling I often had when I was a child myself, playing football or hide-and-seek, or even watching my favourite cartoon on television. What were these children doing?

On my left, at the top of a small hill overlooking the main road, I saw about a dozen Israeli soldiers, full gear, camouflaged; some even had their tear gas rifles ready. But one soldier caught my attention more than the others; he was a ‘sharpshooter’, a sniper. I must have been one of the few people who took notice of his presence. He lay on the ground, at the edge of a rock, ready to shoot, like a skilful predator disguised in the shadow of its prey. He was close enough to hit any desired target; he was close enough to kill somebody. What did this sniper have in mind?

The line of traffic between the soldiers and the children started moving again. The site of the excited children soon became another vague image in my rear view mirror, and then it disappeared.

I wondered what would happen later on in Qalandia. I wondered if any of these boys would get hurt. And I wondered if any of these boys will eventually get killed. Did the sniper hit his target? Did the predator strike its prey?

Qalandia has witnessed some of the worst clashes over the past five months. There were times when the clashes were so fierce that I had to take the alternative road to Ramallah, through the camp itself. That would be another journey into guilt and thankfulness at the same time.

The narrow roads in Qalandia, the visible poverty, and the site of bare-footed children would haunt the by-passer like a bad dream. But then again, the traffic always seems to find its way out of Qalandia.

Its 9:30 in the evening, a news report just confirmed that a 15-year old boy was shot dead in Qalandia today. I guess the sniper hit his target.

Perhaps the line of traffic must finally make a stop in Qalandia, and stand between the prey and the predator, in the narrow roads of the camp, with the bare-footed Awlad Al-Mukhayyam.