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| Meeting violence with a violin at a West Bank checkpoint | Meeting violence with a violin at a West Bank checkpoint |
| (1 day later) | |
| One evening, riding home from a concert in Bethlehem, Alá, Rasha, and a few of their fellow musicians suddenly came upon a military barrier erected hastily in the road. “Halt!” commanded a sign, in Arabic and Hebrew. Just beyond, an olive-clad soldier was checking documents. | One evening, riding home from a concert in Bethlehem, Alá, Rasha, and a few of their fellow musicians suddenly came upon a military barrier erected hastily in the road. “Halt!” commanded a sign, in Arabic and Hebrew. Just beyond, an olive-clad soldier was checking documents. |
| Related: One man’s search for harmony on the West Bank | |
| “Flying checkpoint,” Rasha said. These were temporary barriers the military erected on the fly for the stated purpose of catching suspected militants, and those without proper documents, who might try to evade the fixed checkpoints. Also known as random or “surprise” checkpoints, they were so ubiquitous that Alá and Rasha were never surprised to encounter them. “It’s normal,” Alá said. | “Flying checkpoint,” Rasha said. These were temporary barriers the military erected on the fly for the stated purpose of catching suspected militants, and those without proper documents, who might try to evade the fixed checkpoints. Also known as random or “surprise” checkpoints, they were so ubiquitous that Alá and Rasha were never surprised to encounter them. “It’s normal,” Alá said. |
| Encounters at checkpoints could be deadly, but mostly, for Alá and Rasha, they were humiliating – dehumanising reminders of who had control. At Huwara, at the height of the second intifada, two pregnant women had been shot on consecutive days; another had given birth to a stillborn baby after waiting for five hours to get to the hospital; a 10-year-old girl had died of a ruptured appendix when soldiers denied her passage; and a man with metastasising liver cancer, a 45-year-old who worked in a Nablus hummus shop, was denied his wish to die at home. He died at Huwara. | Encounters at checkpoints could be deadly, but mostly, for Alá and Rasha, they were humiliating – dehumanising reminders of who had control. At Huwara, at the height of the second intifada, two pregnant women had been shot on consecutive days; another had given birth to a stillborn baby after waiting for five hours to get to the hospital; a 10-year-old girl had died of a ruptured appendix when soldiers denied her passage; and a man with metastasising liver cancer, a 45-year-old who worked in a Nablus hummus shop, was denied his wish to die at home. He died at Huwara. |
| At the flying checkpoint the van carrying Alá and Rasha slowed and came to a stop. The sisters gazed at the sign. Behind the soldier a military Humvee blocked the road. The soldier beckoned the van forward. He opened the sliding door. | At the flying checkpoint the van carrying Alá and Rasha slowed and came to a stop. The sisters gazed at the sign. Behind the soldier a military Humvee blocked the road. The soldier beckoned the van forward. He opened the sliding door. |
| “What’s that?” the soldier asked Alá, pointing to her soft blue instrument case. | “What’s that?” the soldier asked Alá, pointing to her soft blue instrument case. |
| “This is a violin,” replied Alá, now 10 years old. The soldier told her to step out of the van. | “This is a violin,” replied Alá, now 10 years old. The soldier told her to step out of the van. |
| “Do you know how to play?” he asked. | “Do you know how to play?” he asked. |
| “Yes.” | “Yes.” |
| “Play,” instructed the soldier. | “Play,” instructed the soldier. |
| “Don’t play for him!” Rasha yelled in Arabic. | “Don’t play for him!” Rasha yelled in Arabic. |
| “Play,” repeated the soldier. | “Play,” repeated the soldier. |
| Alá frowned, looking into the van uncertainly. | Alá frowned, looking into the van uncertainly. |
| Muntasser, the clarinet player, said softly: “It’s OK. Play, habibti.” Play, my dear. | Muntasser, the clarinet player, said softly: “It’s OK. Play, habibti.” Play, my dear. |
| Rasha, staring intently from inside the van, felt a surge of pride in her little sister, playing unfazed | Rasha, staring intently from inside the van, felt a surge of pride in her little sister, playing unfazed |
| Ramzi’s main purpose for founding Al Kamandjati, he had said many times, was to protect the children from the soldiers. The statement often sounded like a slogan or a sound bite. But Alá, Rasha and other children of Al Kamandjati had begun to wear their music as a kind of armour, and now, at the flying checkpoint, Alá calmly removed her violin, placed it under her chin, stood erect, and began to play. She had chosen El Helwadi, or The Beautiful Girl, a song by Sayed Darwish, made famous by Fairouz. | Ramzi’s main purpose for founding Al Kamandjati, he had said many times, was to protect the children from the soldiers. The statement often sounded like a slogan or a sound bite. But Alá, Rasha and other children of Al Kamandjati had begun to wear their music as a kind of armour, and now, at the flying checkpoint, Alá calmly removed her violin, placed it under her chin, stood erect, and began to play. She had chosen El Helwadi, or The Beautiful Girl, a song by Sayed Darwish, made famous by Fairouz. |
| A haunting melody floated from Alá’s little violin – an “Oriental” sound, as it was called in Israel and the West. Certain and strong, Alá’s notes cut through the low rumble of idling cars and floated above the flying checkpoint, into the night air. | A haunting melody floated from Alá’s little violin – an “Oriental” sound, as it was called in Israel and the West. Certain and strong, Alá’s notes cut through the low rumble of idling cars and floated above the flying checkpoint, into the night air. |
| “We saw in his eyes, he was shocked,” Alá remembered. “It was something he didn’t understand.” | “We saw in his eyes, he was shocked,” Alá remembered. “It was something he didn’t understand.” |
| In the melody, the sisters could recall the words, about a penniless child whose mood is serene, for she has put her life in God’s hands. With patience, change will come; all will be better. | In the melody, the sisters could recall the words, about a penniless child whose mood is serene, for she has put her life in God’s hands. With patience, change will come; all will be better. |
| Rasha, staring intently from inside the van, felt a surge of pride in her little sister, playing unfazed. “They claim that we are people with no identity, but Alá proved them wrong,” she said. Music, Rasha believed, was not only a source of pride; it was a means of assertion, protection, and even, at times, vengeance. | Rasha, staring intently from inside the van, felt a surge of pride in her little sister, playing unfazed. “They claim that we are people with no identity, but Alá proved them wrong,” she said. Music, Rasha believed, was not only a source of pride; it was a means of assertion, protection, and even, at times, vengeance. |
| Then the moment turned. | Then the moment turned. |
| Another soldier walked over to listen. He was smiling and seemed to be enjoying the impromptu concert. “I play, too,” he said when Alá finished. “May I try?” Another soldier asked Amir, the guitar student, if he could borrow his instrument. | Another soldier walked over to listen. He was smiling and seemed to be enjoying the impromptu concert. “I play, too,” he said when Alá finished. “May I try?” Another soldier asked Amir, the guitar student, if he could borrow his instrument. |
| The soldiers began to play, smiling at Alá and her fellow musicians, who gaped at them in astonishment. | The soldiers began to play, smiling at Alá and her fellow musicians, who gaped at them in astonishment. |
| Suddenly, to Rasha, the soldiers seemed like normal people. “I do not know how they can do something like this, but at the same time treat people so badly,” she said, genuinely confused. “I don’t know if they have two personalities, or exactly how it works.” | Suddenly, to Rasha, the soldiers seemed like normal people. “I do not know how they can do something like this, but at the same time treat people so badly,” she said, genuinely confused. “I don’t know if they have two personalities, or exactly how it works.” |
| Soon the van was on its way back to Ramallah, leaving its passengers to wonder who those soldiers were, and what it might be like to meet them under different circumstances. | Soon the van was on its way back to Ramallah, leaving its passengers to wonder who those soldiers were, and what it might be like to meet them under different circumstances. |
| Children of the Stone by Sandy Tolan is published by Bloomsbury at £20. To order a copy for £16, click on the link | Children of the Stone by Sandy Tolan is published by Bloomsbury at £20. To order a copy for £16, click on the link |
| One man’s search for harmony on the West Bank | One man’s search for harmony on the West Bank |
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