by Omar Tesdell

I was headed into Jerusalem on a Palestinian bus when we reached the checkpoint that keeps Palestinians on the Bethlehem Reservation. It is here that those with special military permission to pass are gleaned from the rest of Palestinians. Unlike the Israeli settlers in front of us who got waved through, our bus had to pull aside and we all had to get off. One by one, the Israeli soldier silently checked our identification and we all boarded the bus again--except one person.

This person was a man of at least 70 years. He was a Palestinian from Bethlehem who needed to go to the Augusta Victoria hospital in Jerusalem for an operation that day. The day before, he was not allowed to pass and he had returned today with special military permission for medical reasons to be allowed have the operation in Jerusalem.

The soldier said simply in Hebrew that the man could not pass. Blood rushed to my face. Here was a an elderly man who needed an operation that day, and this 20 something year-old Israeli soldier, who was clearly having a bad day, was telling him could not pass. The man had even caved in to the apartheid laws of the occupying Israeli army and applied and gotten permission to leave Bethlehem, something impossible for most Palestinians. Even with this permission, the soldier refused.

I stayed quiet in the back of the bus as we all watched the obviously experienced Palestinian bus driver argue in Hebrew with the soldier about the man's condition. The soldier was not budging. The man, not understanding the argument being conducted on his behalf in Hebrew, stood at the door of the bus clearly humiliated that he could not even defend himself in argument.

A barrage of questions about the man's condition and whether he really needed the operation. His voice cracked as he answered the questions. His answers in Arabic were translated by the driver.

Then a pause came in the argument between the bus driver and the soldier.

The soldier fidgeted.

Without saying a word the Israeli soldier handed the man his Palestinian ID and military papers giving him permission to leave Bethlehem and walked away, signaling that the elderly man could pass.

The man climbed slowly back on the bus, sat down next to me without saying a word, and stared ahead. The lump in my throat prevented me from saying something to him.

I tried. Nothing came out.

I wish I could have said to him that I was sorry. I wish I could have told him that experts believe that the Israeli system of control and repression in Palestine is not sustainable. I wish I could have wished him a speedy recovery. I wish I could have said something.