Freedom of Movement of the Palestinians in the Old City of Jerusalem

I am a Palestinian from Jerusalem, born and raised in the Old City. My father is a native of Jerusalem and my mother is from Gaza. Since my childhood, I have experienced restrictions and obstacles to my freedom of movement imposed by the Israeli military occupation authorities through their laws, military forces, and police. Because my mother is from Gaza, she was unable to include me in her identity document (ID) and I was unable to obtain an independent ID, which imposes additional difficulties on my daily movements within and outside of my city.

These are glimpses of the obstacles to movement that I shared in our collective discussions around “Movement”:

My Mother and the Public Phone in the Sharaf neighborhood, 2001
I was about four years old when I went with my mother from our neighborhood Aqbat al-Khalidiya to the Al-Sharaf neighborhood, which the occupation authorities renamed to “the Jewish neighborhood” after they expelled its Palestinian residents and replaced them with a large number of Jewish settlers.

My mother went to Al-Sharaf neighborhood regularly to use the public pay phone in order to talk to her family in Gaza, since she couldn’t travel to them, and they couldn’t come visit us. I didn’t understand why my mother couldn’t visit Gaza, which is just a few miles away, or why her family couldn’t visit us. I didn’t understand the laws or the logic behind them.

As my mother stood talking on the phone, the settlers passing by spat at her and insulted her with offensive words. My mother was calm, not showing her anger or reacting, and continued her phone conversation. I don’t know if her response was due to fear of confrontation because she had a “Gaza” identity, didn’t have legal papers and was vulnerable to being expelled from Jerusalem, or what?

I didn’t accept the insults, I spat back at those who spat at us and ran to hide in my mother’s dress. I climbed up to the neighboring stairs to be at the level of the adults and confronted them more fiercely, pulling their hair or kicking them with my leg and quickly running to hide.

The Checkpoint and the Mountain Nightmare 2002
I was five years old when I experienced a horrific incident that left open wounds on both my body and mind. I begged my mom to take me with her to the town of Al-Eizariya in the Jerusalem Governorate. On the way, while I was enjoying the scenes through the bus window, the bus suddenly stopped and the driver announced that everyone carrying a “West Bank” ID had to get off immediately due to an unexpected Israeli military checkpoint. The bus stopped in a rough, mountainous area. My mother and I got off the bus, as we were carrying Gaza IDs, which are more targeted by the occupation forces than West Bank IDs. A group of passengers, most of them university students, got off the bus with us. The only path in front of us was a steep and rocky road. While the young men walked quickly down the slope, my mother, from the Palestinian coast, and I, a small child, did not know how we would cross this road. We began to walk down the hill, but the slope was too steep for me to maintain my balance. My mother suggested that I sit and slide the rest of the way down, so I did, but it was painful and my pants were ripped as I descended. After we reached the bottom of the hill, the road leveled and we walked a few steps, relieved after the physical and mental exertion. But we faced a steep mountain ahead of us. I felt it pressing against my heart. It was clear that we had no choice but to climb this massive mountain, as all the roads around us were closed. We began ascending the mountain and in the middle of the road, we saw a cave that my mother calmly said might be the dwelling of a predatory animal. We continued climbing and the road became more difficult; the stones slid under our feet and made a sound as they were breaking. We were afraid that our fate would be like that of the rocks and stones, so we held on to the dry thorny plants to maintain our balance. We preferred to hold the thorns and let them tear our skin rather than falling and dying. When we approached the mountain top, the road narrowed and became even more difficult. My mother took off her shoes and walked in front of me, and I carried my shoes in one hand and held onto the dry plants with the other, walking behind her. When we reached the top of the mountain, there were barbed wires between the mountain and the road. We crossed the wires and walked until we saw some Bedouins who directed us to Al-Eizariya. When we arrived at the town, we went to the bank and cleaned our hands of the thorns while sitting in a cool place. When my mother finished her work at the bank, we returned to Jerusalem. This time, and as always when we leave Jerusalem, my mother climbed the wall and jumped to the other side, and I, with my small body, was able to pass through a small opening in the wall blocks. This was always the case when we visited the West Bank, the barriers were not permanent like today: then, they were mobile and unpredictable. After that experience in the mountains, my mother and I suffered from similar nightmares, waking up distressed, dreaming that we were falling from that mountain. These dreams stayed with us for a long time, and it was not uncommon for them to be similar, as they repeat the mountain incident that became a real nightmare for us.

In 2002, the occupation authorities began building the segregation wall as a part of the racial segregation, which prohibited my mother and I from traveling. For years, my mother went to human rights organizations and consulted lawyers until she was issued a permit that enabled her to pass through some of the checkpoints; I was issued a Jerusalem ID.

The Electronic Gates at Al-Aqsa Mosque, the “Idle Game” 2017
Two days after three Palestinians from the 1948 territories were shot and killed after they shot two Israeli soldiers, the Israeli occupation forces installed electronic gates at the Mosque’s doors and on our streets, with only a few steps between each gate. When we tried to cross the street, the soldiers would order us to return and re-enter through the electronic door. Meanwhile, armed settlers walked around openly without anyone stopping them. The doors made me feel humiliated and controlled, like I was an object controlled by a “remote control,” having to go back a few steps or even stop completely according to their orders. Special forces would also suddenly storm our homes without any warning. We would freeze in our place while they shouted and pointed their weapons at us. Even my mother didn’t dare to change her clothes, despite being religiously observant. Any movement made us feel like our end was near–this period was characterized by the paranoia of the Israeli security system towards any movement we made, even if it was just putting our hands in our pockets. The Palestinians were able to force the occupation forces to reopen and remove the electronic gates in the Al-Aqsa Mosque fourteen days after their installment. Through daily resistance, protests, prayers, and after eight Palestinians were martyred and more than five hundred were arrested. What became called “the electronic gates resistance” brought us together in the streets of Jerusalem with the spirit of unity and solidarity.

Inside or Outside the Old Walls of Jerusalem
When the settlers go on their celebratory marches in the old city of Jerusalem, the Israeli army and police swarm, putting up iron barriers and closing Palestinian commercial streets so that the settlers can march freely through streets while shouting anti-Palestinian slogans such as “Death to Arabs” and “Nakba again.” When the provocative marches begin, Palestinians outside the city walls are prevented from returning to their homes and are forced to wait for hours until the end of the march. Palestinians inside the city are not allowed to leave their homes. We are forced to close our doors, which we are used to leaving open. We watch the marches from our balconies or stand in front of our front doors, protesting the occupation’s actions.

Punishment for Challenging the Closure
During one of the settlers’ marches, I decided to go to the Damascus Gate before the march started to stand with other Palestinian demonstrators confronting the settlers’ march, and to raise the Palestinian flag. An Israeli soldier tried to prevent me, but I insisted on standing as close as possible to the Gate. The soldier hit me and violently threw me to the ground, and he and three other soldiers forcefully carried me away. They are known for suppressing us and serving the racist settlers. After that incident, I wouldn’t go outside for a long time.

The Security Cordon
The occupation imposes what is called “security cordon” in the old city, which prevents anyone who is not registered via their ID as a resident of Jerusalem from entering. If we are outside of the city, we are unable to return and are stopped at a military checkpoint to wait for the soldiers to check our identity and allow us to enter. Many Palestinians are prevented from entering Jerusalem, even if they are relatives or friends of its residents. This “security cordon” is imposed during some Jewish holidays, when they tend to storm the Al-Aqsa Mosque, and during protests against closures to reduce the number of protesters.

Complete Control of Movement
When there is an act of resistance or suspicion of resistance or the presence of a “suspicious body,” the occupation forces completely control our movement within or outside the Old City. Everyone remains in a closed area. The city is divided into small, closed areas, with groups of five occupation police officers located in each area surrounded by iron barriers that divide the streets, effectively turning them into checkpoints each about thirty metres apart.

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Freedom of Movement of the Palestinians in the Old City of Jerusalem in Arabic:

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Alaa Al-Dayah was born and lives in the old city of Jerusalem, Palestine. She holds a BA in Film Production and Cinematography from Dar Al-Kalima University in Bethlehem. Her film “Exit” was screened at the “Sin” Festival in 2017 and won the Best Palestinian Experimental Film Award at the Bethlehem Student Film Festival in 2019. Her film “Restoring Time” was screened at the Emerging Creators exhibition organized by the Al-Ma’mal Foundation for Contemporary Art in Jerusalem in 2019 and at an exhibition organized by the Franco-German Institute in Ramallah. She directed a short film titled “Majdoline” and two documentaries, and worked as an assistant director on a number of short films. Al-Dayah contributed to the project “The World Heritage of Jerusalem in the Hands of Jerusalemite Youth” and trained many youth from different schools in Jerusalem in photography, and helped exhibit their photos in a show organized by the Al-Ma’mal Foundation. Dayah is interested in Jerusalem’s architectural heritage and the hidden history of the city.