A young friend thought that I shouldn't write. That I shouldn't write what? That students at Bir Zeit University near Ramallah threatened a lecturer who hung caricatures on his office door about polygamy and the burqa (the robe that covers a woman from head to toe ). The lecturer himself refused to talk - as I heard indirectly - and the university's public relations department thanked me for my interest, but said it was a very minor internal issue that was being handled.

I didn't get the impression from the lecturer's friends that it was a minor issue: The threats (by phone and on the social networks ) were very frightening. Nor did I get the impression from a female student who first told me about it that it was minor. I understood that the campus - both students and teachers - was actually abuzz two weeks ago for several days. Abuzz with rumors.

For example, that the teacher is a "Christian" (he isn't ) and the worst rumor - that the teacher would be facing a disciplinary committee. Nonsense. This false rumor accorded with the student's impression that most of her colleagues were angry about the caricatures. It's not clear how many actually saw them, but the majority "knew" that they mocked the Prophet Mohammed and that's forbidden, said the student.

One caricature showed Superman with a beard, with a woman next to him who wanted to marry him. "I'm sorry," he says to her, "but on our planet we can only marry four." The second shows a man talking to a curtain, thinking that it's his wife, who always wears the burqa.

The caricatures are nothing special, one of the teachers said to me. Somewhat infantile and not exactly the way to arouse the desired discussion of social customs that he fully agrees should be criticized.

But that teacher's comments led me to understand that the impression that most of the students were disturbed by the caricatures is mistaken. First of all, he told me, it's the summer semester. The number of students and teachers on campus is small in any case. And second, the Shabiba (the student organization identified with Fatah, which has most of the seats on the student council) has issued a statement supporting the teacher and freedom of expression.

The teachers' committee has also come out with a declaration of support for the colleague and for freedom of expression - but on the other hand, for some of the teachers is was an opportunity to recommend, in internal e-mail correspondence, the cancellation of several courses that are too liberal, in their opinion, and to replace them with others. Other lecturers were opposed.

At a very early stage in the crisis the university established an investigative committee. About a week ago the students and teachers received its decisions in an e-mail from the president's office. First of all, said the message, the teacher explained that the illustrations he had hung in no way meant to mock Islam, but were an invitation to a critical discussion of certain social customs. Second, the committee will keep track of the complaints submitted by the dean against the students suspected of threatening the teacher. Third, there are ways of deciding on an academic curriculum, and doing so by e-mail is unacceptable. And fourth, the university adheres to freedom of research, teaching and opinion, respect for religions and beliefs, and condemns any use of violence or threats.

Believing in hell

The young friend who suggested that I refrain from writing said: "They'll say that an Israeli reporter supports the teacher and his opinions, and that will work against him." This reporter also writes about the popular struggle against the occupation and about courageous activists, residents of the villages of Al Nabi Saleh and Bil'in such as Nariman Tamimi and Abdullah Abu Rahma. Is that supposed to work against them among the Palestinian public?

Were it not for the fact that the event in Bir Zeit points to a phenomenon of silencing opinions with the excuse that they offend religious sentiments, there really would be no reason to mention it. And incidentally, a few years ago students in the Arab American University-Jenin brought about the removal of a teacher who taught selections from "Persepolis," the graphic novel by Marjane Satrapi. They claimed that one of the Iranian-French artist's caricatures offended religious sentiments.

Of course, the natural place for discussing oppressive (or not ) social customs in Palestinian society is not in an Israeli newspaper. Even if there is a similarity to Israeli tactics for silencing other discussions. There is also logic in the implicit question as to whether an Israeli reporter suffers from a shortage of issues that touch directly on her society, but for reasons of lack of public interest do not come to the knowledge of Israeli readers. For example: the blocking of the road that connects Kufr Qaddum to its agricultural land and Nablus. The village holds a weekly demonstration because of that, and the Israel Defense Forces disperse it by force. Every week people are wounded.

Which reminds me.

Long ago I learned that it's hard to answer Palestinians directly when they ask "Do you believe in God?" I couldn't lie when I was asked this question by Shukriya Abdul Hadi, from the village of Nebi Samwil, which is besieged and cut off, and groaning under prohibitions against construction and movement.

This woman, who is in her 70s, has spent most of the past 45 years protecting what's left of her land, which like most of the village land was confiscated by Israel and was replaced by security fences and a national park, or fell into the hands of bogus owners. In response, I cited to her what a (Jewish) female acquaintance says when she hears about another of the methods of our foreign rule: "There's no question, our place in hell is assured."

"Aha," Abdel Hadi said to me. "I understand. You don't believe in God, but you believe in hell."