Chapter 4 Settling In
When Dean came out of the large apartment Ron knew he was still red in the face although it had been quite a while since he’d left. The minutes of sitting on the stairs hadn’t helped. “Do you want to know what she said about you?!”
“No,” Dean held up a hand, “I already know what she said, mate, I didn’t have to hear the words.”
They sat there in silence, Ron fuming and Dean just staring ahead – his face an unreadable mask. The girls joined them as the sun was setting. Luna had her usual dreamy look, which infuriated Ron a little, but their guide Sarah was very nervous. She looked straight at Dean. “I’m really sorry, Dean, I didn’t expect ... they’re under so much stress here…and, I’m sorry, alright.”
“No, it’s ok,” Dean began, but Ron interrupted.
“How can you, I mean she, expect us to believe that the Palestinians are the problem and they hate Jewish people when she reacted like that to Dean?” he said, “It looks like she’s the one making prejudiced conclusions about people she doesn’t even know. Bloody Hell, Sarah, he came here to hear her side of the story and just because of his skin color…”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said, “But not everyone here is like that, ok, and you shouldn’t take what she said seriously. It’s just words, all they want is peace.”
It wasn’t just this one woman, Sarah’s aunt, though. It wasn’t just talk. They had all felt the stares that followed them, the extra searches and security and the questions that Dean had received at the airport. The security people had tried to be professional about it, but the tension was palpable and it was obvious that they didn’t search Dean’s companions as much.
Ron did not know what to say, though. Hermione’s voice in his head told him not to hurt Sarah any more. The girl was already very upset.
They returned to the apartment in Tel Aviv in silence. Luna seemed to be studying every detail of the streets and people intently and Dean was closed and silent as usual. Finally they reached the doorway and Sarah suggested they go to a restaurant or even a club afterwards, have some fun. Dean and Luna seemed to be alright with the idea of going out. Ron pulled out his set of keys and let himself in. “I’m staying here tonight.”
He walked over to his and Deans’ room and pulled out the Notebook they had agreed to use for communication. It still made him a little nervous, but even Ginny seemed to think it was an excellent idea. She was the only person Ron knew that had recovered completely from the disastrous events after the end of the war. Well, almost… you couldn’t fix everything.
It took Ron all of fifteen minutes to locate a stupid quill and then he spilled his ink all over the nightstand by the pillow. He scanned the room automatically although he was the only one in the house and then pulled out his wand.
“Tergeo,” he said irritably and then, “Repleo.” Finally, with the ink cleaned off and the inkwell refilled he began to write.
Zabini,
***
Hermione could not get the images of the past night out of her head. The horrific drive from the border to Samir’s grandparents’ home had driven everything else out of her mind. She shuddered.
It had taken them all night to get from the border to this small city, which was only really a few kilometers away. The trip should have taken less than an hour by car, but they had driven around in crazy winding routes to avoid checkpoints and Israeli settlements. At one point the taxi driver had completely lost track of where he was.
When they had finally arrived Hermione was tired and afraid. She was fidgeting with the rubber hair band in her hair, wondering if she should turn it back to the wand it was and keep it more readily available. She was completely unprepared for Samir’s grandmother who fussed over her like Mrs. Weasley although they had never met in their lives. She couldn’t take it.
They climbed the stairs to the top floor where their rooms would be, but Hermione noticed that there were more stairs leading upwards. “Can I go up on the roof?”
“Yes,” Samir’s grandmother said in pretty good English, “I call you for breakfast.”
Hermione practically ran up the last flight of stairs and she found the door hanging open. She let herself out into the fresh air, the rising sun. Taking a deep breath she twirled in a complete circle only to be met with the wall on every side. It loomed all around the city, almost blocking out the sun so that the only way you could feel free was to look straight up. She hadn’t known an entire city could be a prison.
***
Zabini found himself staring at the ceiling again. This was not good, because it was difficult to comprehend how the Weasley’s roof stayed up after all the crazy magical modifications and the strange shape of the whole building. The only logical conclusion was that it would collapse at any moment, which was not a pleasant thought, since he was thoroughly stuck here. He reached into the small pack by his bedside (couch, really) and pulled out the Notebook. He had wanted to go on this stupid mission of Granger’s and now he was stuck here for another few weeks.
He found some general notes from Theo who was so absorbed in his research he didn’t even send Blaise any personal notes anymore. There were sketches by various people and Loony Lovegood had even taken the time to make one that moved.
Then there was another message from Weasel-boy. It was addressed “Zabini”, in Ron’s messy script. Blaise rolled his eyes and began to read. Weasley really needed to start talking to Pot-head again; he was beginning to scare Blaise. And whose stupid idea was it to split him and Granger up?
Zabini,
I’ve been here for what feels like ages now and it feels like we’re only looking at the tourist attractions. I mean, Luna’s drawing like crazy, she’s got some nice pictures of old forts and stuff, and we ask the people we meet here what they think about the conflict, but I feel like we’re getting nowhere. Like there’s this huge history to discover, but we’re too scared to take the first step.
Most young people here are far from what I expected of people living in a place with perpetual conflict. It doesn’t seem to reach the cities as much, not these days anyway, and all anyone ever has to stay is things like “it’s them – they want to push us into the sea” and other similar things.
It’s a beautiful country and we’re having fun, just sitting by the sea here makes you want to hate anyone who would even think of ruining it. The thing is, after that day with Sarah’s aunt and Dean…It just made me feel like this isn’t all there is to it. It’s not all pretty, you know. Dean says we’re not here to worry about what their views on color are, we’re here to address one specific issue, but I don’t think those are two separate thing and t know where to start. We’ve asked Sarah what she thinks the important issues in the conflict are, but like everyone else here she says that all they want is to be left alone to live in peace. I feel like I’m nowhere closer to finding out why the conflict exists, maybe when we hear from Hermione and Neville it’ll make sense. I don’t know.
One thing Blaise hated about Weasel-boy’s writing style is that he was unbelievably repetitive and unorganized. He sympathized with their old Hogwarts teachers now for having to put up with this. Then again, they probably never got to see this except on exams when Granger wasn’t there to help him.
He pulled out a quill and murmured a self-inking charm – he was becoming very good at those.
Weasel, he began.
Thomas is right, you’re there for a specific purpose and it has nothing to do with whatever discomfort a couple of people might have made him feel. If it doesn’t look like there’s much your Guide feels that you need to see then why not ask about the things the other side of the conflict, the Palestinians, feel are important. See what the people you meet think of that. Of course, this is probably difficult for you since I’m sure you relied on Granger to have all the answers and didn’t bother doing any of your own research.
Blaise wasn’t surprised when Ron ‘s script interrupted his. He really was bored. Very funny. Weasley really was expressive sometimes. Blaise chuckled and continued to write as if he had not been interrupted.
I am surprised, however, that Lovegood and Thomas haven’t got any ideas. Or perhaps they are doing their own research without letting you know. Lovegood’s sketches aren’t just idle drawings, from what I can tell, she’s trying to show the tension she feels in some neighborhoods and scenes. For now, take a careful look at her Sketches from your Canada Park outing and I’ll do some research and come up with a little travel plan for you of places you should visit. I won’t tell you what questions to ask, though, Weasley, I’m bored here, but I’m not Granger. Just get out there and look a little harder, don’t be afraid of what you might see, either, we handled two Wizarding wars, how hard can this be?
Blaise really needed to start moving about again. He was scaring himself; offering help to the Weasley. The front door opened with a bang and he realized it was becoming a habit. Maybe the Matriarch had spelled the couch he was sleeping on or something…
Ginny was in a bad mood. She kicked off her heels and pulled her wand out of her pocket, stuffing it into her hair and messing that up a little bit on purpose.
“Why do you still go out with him?” Blaise found himself saying. It was amazing the levels you sunk to when you were bored.
“Why did you have to go get shot and Splinched and then land yourself on my bloody couch, Zabini?”
He did not respond. By now he knew that she would talk eventually no matter what he did so there was no use sounding like he was too eager to hear her insult the “savior of the Wizarding world”.
“I can’t hurt him, Zabini; that would be too cruel after all he’s been through.”
Blaise sighed at her stupidity. “Well, you just keep doing what you’re doing then, Weasley, it’s not like I’m fond of Potter.”
“What?!” she jumped at him.
“None of my business,” he held up a hand, smirking, and wondering if she would curse him in this state, “You know what you’re doing, right? I’ll just enjoy the show.”
“What are you talking about?”
Her voice was becoming dangerous, and he decided he couldn’t put it past her to curse an injured man. He had no desire to stay on this couch longer than he had to, so he would, unfortunately, have to save Potter from the horrible fate he had just been imagining.
“What happens when you put up with him for years and years, just to be nice and save him from himself, and then a few years down the road you realize you can’t put up with the idiot any more?”
She turned her back to him, but he pressed on. “Six or seven children and a ruined future later, you’re going to get fed up and then you’ll have more people to hurt and the cuts will be a lot deeper. The Boy Who Lived might be able to deal with his feelings of inadequacy after the second blasted War, Weasley, but he won’t be able to handle finding out you stayed with him just out of pity.”
“He’s drained, Zabini,” she said, “He needs more help than the lot of you ‘save the world’ freaks put together, but he won’t admit it, and that’s worse.”
“Your life, Weasley, not mine.”
She sighed. Blaise knew that when a woman sighed like that it was time to make yourself scarce. He could not, however, leave the room and she didn’t look like she was about to so he pulled out his wand and summoned the Muggle research contraption. It sailed onto his lap, but it had run out of power. Arthur Weasley really was a clever man, he thought as he cast the ecelecticity charging charm on it.
He hissed. The wound was not reacting well to energy charms, this was the fourth time he noticed, and he’d have to tell the Healer about this.
“You’re not supposed to be doing so much Magic, Zabini!” Ginny scolded, “Here I’ll do it; I don’t want you stuck here for bloody forever!”
“Ginevra!” her mother walked into the room with some cookies and then hurried back to the kitchen, no doubt to check her clock and make sure none of the hands pointed towards “mortal peril”.
He grabbed a cookie and began tapping away at the magically enhanced Muggle computer. There was something to be said for not having to go through an interrogation with that ancient Ministry Archivist every time he needed some information. And the Muggle libraries were hell on earth for any Slytherin.
***
Neville did not like the idea of splitting up with Hermione, especially after hearing that a nearby house had been bombed by the Israeli Military just last week. It was, however, necessary in this case. There was a big chance that either of them could be stopped from leaving the city so if they split up at least they had more chance of one of them getting somewhere today.
Hermione was going to go to a University with one of Samir’s cousins and Neville was going to try and get to Jerusalem with Samir and his grandparents. The British passports would help, apparently, but there was still very little chance of actually getting there. Although they had lived here all their lives, Samir’s grandparents hadn’t been able to visit it for years.
They took a lot of food for the way there and Neville knew this was a precaution in case they got stuck somewhere on the way. It took them an hour to actually get out of the city, but even when they’d passed that first checkpoint no one seemed encouraged. The bus they were in was packed. Old, tired looking people sitting alongside children and this country’s version of youth. Faces were hollow and weary, and even the young seemed to be looking straight ahead at their deaths. Everyone looked years older than they really were, but that wasn’t new to Neville, he had seen it on the streets all last week.
The bus had to stop in the middle of nowhere for another random checkpoint and everyone evacuated and waited in the hot sun, guns pointed at their heads, while the bus was searched. Neville had never understood the Muggle’s attachment to papers that proved their identity, but even so he felt very ill at ease with his fake Muggle papers lying there in the bus. Finally, they were allowed back in and Neville took the window seat this time, giving Samir the aisle seat. He stared out the window at the trees and the hilly landscape.
“See the olive groves,” Samir pointed out, “Most of these belong to the people in nearby cities, but they can’t always get out pass the Wall and the checkpoints in order to take care of their land and their groves. They’re cut off from their source of living.”
A few minutes later Neville saw houses that were unlike anything he had ever seen here in the West Bank. Atop a very high hill, almost a mountain, there were large shining houses, freshly painted and surrounded by gardens and flowers. The most curious thing of all was that they weren’t surrounded by that fifty foot wall that went around everything here.
“That’s an Israeli settlement,” Samir said, “They’re always on top of hills like that, usually there’s a Palestinian village somewhere down below, this one’s probably on the other side we can’t see. And they alwaus give the settlements names similar to the old Arab villages so that when the Arabs are finally gotten rid of they can say ‘this village was always here – it’s a historical Jewish area’…”
“But aren’t we on Palestinian land?” Neville asked.
“Of course,” Samir said, “But they keep building settlements here anyway, even though they’ve signed dozens of agreements to stop it and the UN has passed laws against it, still they increase the settlement building.”
Predictable enough they were stopped at another checkpoint when they got closer to the settlement. There was a larger road closer to the settlement running parallel to the one they were on, and Samir said that this was a road reserved only for Jewish settlers; Palestinians were not allowed to travel on it.
They left the bus at the checkpoint, but there was a huge line up there and it didn’t look like anyone was moving. Neville heard the soldiers shouting so he put his insta-T on. “Go back!” they were saying, “You can’t pass from here today!”
The people, some of whom were shouting that they’d been standing there for hours, did not look ready to go back anywhere. Samir moved closer to the beginning of the line up, trying to reach the soldiers to talk to them. He spoke to them in English and they called a Soldier that knew some English to speak to him, but they were immovable. When Samir asked why no one was allowed passing today they just laughed. “Not important for you to know.” The one told Samir and then repeated the order to go back.
Someone people were leaving, but many still had hope. Neville looked around. It was ridiculous. A road almost in the middle of nowhere being blocked for no apparent reason. And all around them was more empty hilly land. It was difficult for him to adjust to this Muggle sense of movement. Why did you have to go on the road? Why not just go around? But of course he knew that in this particular case you would probably get shot at if you attempted such a thing.
Suddenly, and without warning, something was thrown into the crowd and smoke went up. Neville’s eyes began to water and he lost his sense of direction. He heard bullets being fired and remembered Zabini. He ran with Samir’s grandparents back to the bus and Samir joined them moments later. The bus filled up quickly and turned and sped around. Some people were calling for the driver to try another route, but one teenage girl was injured so that was out of the question. There were two doctors on the bus, one of them a young woman so Neville did not offer his help and just watched her work on the wound.
They should be back home in the afternoon, Samir’s grandmother said, with enough time to make a proper dinner. Neville accepted a cucumber and a cheese sandwich and leaned his forehead against the glass of the window.
***
Weasley,
The message that Ron was waving around wildly stated. Here are some good areas for you to investigate while you’re there. First of all, you should probably find an Arab-Israeli, one of the Palestinians who remained on the land when Israel was created, and ask them about their perspective. Second, you should visit Jerusalem. You should also go to one of the settlements in the West Bank if you can. Hebron is a Palestinian city with many settlers in it, for example, but there are many others you can visit.
Luna grabbed it from his hand and read it then passed it to Dean. “That sounds like a good plan,” Dean said handing it over to Sarah.
“I know an Arab-Israeli,” Luna said, “Met him a couple of days ago. But he’s got exams now, I think, so maybe we can all visit him next week. We agreed to meet next Wednesday.”
“That’s great,” Sarah said, “But I don’t think we should go the settlement, it’s dangerous to go there into the West Bank, very dangerous.”
“We can go alone,” Ron pressed, “Just find us a way to get there and we can go alone, this is why we came here, Sarah, not to see tourist attractions, but to find out about the conflict and go to the dangerous areas!”
Sarah nodded and then there was a short silence. Finally, she spoke, “Ok, I will, I might even come with you. My mother, she refuses to come here, but she told me if I was going to come and spend money here then I needed to understand what was going on.”
“We can go to Jerusalem after that,” Ron said, “And then we can meet up with Hermione and Neville in Gaza.”
***
By the time Hermione got back that night Neville had discovered the herbs in the kitchen and he was keeping himself busy studying them. Samir’s grandmother was looking on, obviously amused. He didn’t think she minded, though, her own granddaughter was still out there and the distraction from worrying seemed welcome. Besides which, Neville had come to the realization that people here were very straight-forward about what they wanted or thought, so he knew that if she wanted him to stop messing in her kitchen she’d tell him.
“What do you use this for?” he asked, holding up a small plastic container. He didn’t bother trying to remember the Muggle name, because he knew they had completely different names here than the Muggles in England anyway.
“That is good for cough,” she said, “We boil it like tea and drink it when we have cough. Also, sometimes we put little bit in sweets and bread for taste and smell.”
“Hmmm,” he said, already reaching for another box. That was when Hermione arrived. One of Samir’s young cousins, a boy of about five who lived on the bottom floor, came running up the stairs to let them know.
Hermione followed him in before Neville had time to put back the containers and rush downstairs. She collapsed on the battered couch and her companions on the trip followed suit. This seemed to trigger a spontaneous family gathering in the grandparent’s living room. Soon Neville was having a hard time following the various half-English half-Arabic conversations even with Samir’s amused running commentary and his Insta-T on. His head was beginning to swim.
Hermione finally turned to him and began to give a clearer explanation. “It’s utterly ridiculous,” she began, “By the time we got there it was about one in the afternoon, Manal had missed half of her classes and we’d gone through like a million checkpoints. They threw tear-gas, I think that’s what it was anyway, at one of the checkpoints, and this pregnant woman actually gave birth on a checkpoint. There was an ambulance waiting to take her to the hospital and everything, but they wouldn’t let her through. You know what she called the kid?”
Neville waited in silence, giving her a chance to take a breath and then she continued.
“She called him Hajiz, which means checkpoint. And apparently that’s become a really common name. There’s also Mak – Makhsoom,” he almost grinned at the way she tried to make that distinctive sound, “I still haven’t figured out what the difference is between the two, but they’re essentially synonyms, I think.”
“So what happened when you got there?” Neville felt he should interrupt her linguistic musings at least, those could wait for later.
“Well we stayed in Nablus for two bloody hours, after all the time we’d spent getting there.” Hermione said, “I went to one of Manal’s classes, but even with the Insta-T on, I couldn’t make head or tail of the Muggle subject, and I really wanted to explore the city. So I spent the next hour touring the old streets and markets. Beautiful place. I passed by a Church as well and I found this small community…”
She pulled out her notebook to show him. He saw a sketch of a building and a map of some sort. Neville looked up at her to explain and Hermione offered the notebook to Samir. Neville had to remind himself that even if he flipped the pages he wouldn’t see the mentions of Muggles and the moving sketches because Hermione had bewitched it.
“They’re called the Samaritans, an Ancient Jewish tribe, there aren’t many of them left because they don’t like to intermarry or accept converts, but what’s really interesting is that they lived with the Palestinians and spoke Arabic and considered themselves Palestinians until very recently – they even had a seat in the Palestinian Legislative Council up until 1996. They’ve moved away from Nablus and closer to an Israeli settlement now, but their synagogue is still there, that’s what the picture is of.”
She turned to Samir. “You know, up until now I really thought Palestinians were all Muslim, but in this city it’s like all three Religions are living there and they all consider themselves Palestinian. There’s this impression that the war is all about Religion, but that’s now what I felt when I was there.”
Samir nodded. “I know what you mean,” he said, “Usually people think it’s about Religion, but it’s not from the Palestinian side. You can be any religion, even an atheist and still be Palestinian. The reason that people think it’s religious is because from the Israeli side it’s very important to them if you’re Jewish or non-Jewish. They built their whole state so that it would be a ‘Jewish State,’ and so they think that if we oppose Israel we are opposing Jews, but that’s not true. It’s about opposing the exclusion and oppression of everyone else. No one here as anything against Jews or their Religion as long as they are willing to live as equals side by side with everyone else which was the case for hundreds of years before Israel, but the problem is this separation, you know.”
“So you are against Israel?” Neville said, wanting to be clear on this issue which seemed all-important to the conflict.
“I’m against a state being exclusively for people of one religion. If you oppose the reign of Hitler and his oppression of non-Aryans does that mean that you hate Aryans? Of course not.”
“If you win,” Neville echoed the same words he had asked of a Ministry of Magic official years earlier in reference to the Pureblood state, “You would be willing to live side by side with the Jews and give them the same rights as everyone else?”
“Sure,” Samir said, “The people who committed atrocities should get trials and everyone else should be able to live side by side as they have always done. You know, this land is big enough to hold everyone. If all the refugees and their children and grandchildren were to return to their homes that they were kicked out of, there would still be plenty of room for the Jewish people here. It’s not about religion for us, just actions and equality.”
“Do you think it’ll happen,” Hermione’s voice was hushed, “Do you think ending this conflict is possible.”
“Every Palestinian hopes that in their lifetime they will be able to live here again with dignity and equality.” Samir said.
“Samir!” one of his uncles called, “Bokra ma troohoosh mahall, Ma’zomeen ‘indi.”
Neville felt around his neck for the Insta-T, but Samir translated anyway. “We’re invited to my uncle’s house for lunch tomorrow; he says not to plan any trips anywhere.”
Neville and Hermione agreed, Neville because he wasn’t ready to waste another half a day only to be turned back and Hermione because she was very tired from today’s excursion. The gathering finally broke up and everyone returned to their beds.
Neville pulled the blanket over his head and read by the light of his wand. He had turned it into a small flashlight just in case, but Samir was already asleep and he had his back to him. The cracking sounds of gunfire and faraway explosions as well as the clicking rumbling noise of Israeli tanks would not let him sleep. He spent a greater part of the night looking at Hermione’s sketches. She had definitely used some sort of spell to make it so accurate; he hadn’t known Hermione to be good at drawing, but she could still outshine anyone he knew with her spellwork.”
He fell asleep dreaming of another war, many years ago, after the fall of Voldemort…
They were celebrating the victory against Voldemort. The Death Eaters were gone, the war was supposed to be over, and then suddenly, the world was in chaos again. Neville stepped over broken glass and the shattered remains of tables and chairs. He tried not to look too hard at the blood all over the place. He saw familiar figures weaving their way through the chaos looking for loved ones and assessing the damage, and breathed a sigh of relief.
But I left his lungs empty and hurting. As suddenly as relief had come it had left him. He realized that although many familiar faces were here none of the women he knew were anywhere to be seen.
He fought his rising panic and grabbed Ron’s shoulder, pulling him closer and whispering his concern. The months of fighting had taught him to try and contain fear and panic from spreading to others. Ron’s eyes widened. “Hermione…” he breathed.
“She’ll be fine!” Neville hissed, “She’s the best and quickest with her wand. Let’s just try to figure out what exactly has happened.”
Ron nodded numbly and they began to search the frightened crowds and the debris. There was no Dark Mark and they would come to understand over the next few days that this was not the work of Death Eaters. They had truly managed to destroy Voldemort and his supporters, but they had not managed to cure the Wizarding World of the problem that had led to Voldemort.
Finally, their search took them inside and they found a note fixed to the door of the Great Hall. Ron read it aloud, his voice shaking, whether with fear or anger Neville did not know.
The Pureblood Warriors are cleansing England of the filth of Mudblood usurpers of magic as we speak. Nothing you do will bring them back or sway us in our determination. The Pureblood State of Brittany has risen. Muggles will be under our complete control in a matter of days and the Mudbloods have already been subdued. This day is henceforth declared the day of the Pureblood Independence.
Sure enough, minutes later they were watching magical fireworks launch into the air as they recovered the dead bodies of some Muggleborns and tried to make sense of what had happened. Some of the most prominent fighters in the war against Voldemort, Muggleborn and Pureblood alike, were still missing.
Ron shook himself out of the memories and tried to concentrate on the passing landscape again. They were almost there, according to Sarah and the other guide she had hooked them up with. They were headed for the City of Hebron, which had a large Palestinian Population and was also a lot of Jewish Settlement.
Finally, the car pulled up to a house and they got out. They were ushered into the house and Luna began asking the woman of the house questions immediately. Ron glanced around and noticed the same uneasiness he always felt here around Dean, but he kept his mouth shut and listened.
“So,” Luna was saying, “There are many Arabs here as well, how is life like?”
Well, the woman said, “It’s beautiful here, but it’s not perfect. It will get better, it will get better. When I came here there were not so many Jewish families, but it is getting better.”
“Better?” Luna pressed.
“Those houses across the street are Arab houses,” she said, “I look out the windows, I call them motivational windows, and I think of what it will be.”
She had this smile on her face, a huge grin. Ron felt that Luna was afraid to press more. He could only think of one meaning for her statement. She dreamed of the day when those Arab houses would become Jewish houses. She wanted the Palestinians out of the city.
He could not remember the figures that Zabini had sent him. Something like a few hundred settlers with six thousand soldiers to ‘protect them’ and more than twenty thousand Palestinian. He decided not to bring up those figures and the absurdity of expelling twenty thousand people for the sake of a few hundred. He felt adrenalin rushing through his veins and took a deep breath before doing something that was probably a bad idea.
He snorted. “This is Jewish Land anyway,” he said, “Why don’t they just leave you alone.”
There were a few seconds in which he waited for his words to sink in, in which Luna and Dean looked shocked. And then a dam seemed to break.
“Come,” the woman said, “Let me show you.”
The two young men, the one that had driven them down here and the woman’s son, looked a little uneasy at first, but Ron encouraged them, just like he had done to the Purebloods before. “My Grandmother was Jewish,” he could see Sarah raising an eyebrow, “But she was stubborn. She didn’t want to leave England because she had grown up there. But she always said that this is Jewish Land and one day we would be able to live here in peace without these Arabs,” he hissed the word with as much contempt as he could muster, “Making trouble.”
They seemed to have no more reservations now. Sarah looked slightly frightened as they went out into the streets and Dean was clenching his jaw. As they entered one alleyway they saw children running around and then he noticed that they were attacking another child, the only one out on the street who wasn’t wearing his hair down in two long locks at the sides. The Arab boy. His mother was calling for him in what Ron knew to be Arabic from a nearby house, but she was behind metal wire and a settler woman was closing the door back in her face and laughing and calling her names. Ron saw Dean rip the earpiece of his Insta-T out of his ear at the language.
He didn’t do the same. He listened as the Arab woman called for the two soldiers standing near by to see what this other woman was doing, to let her out to get her son, to stop the harassment. They stood there immobile and one of them told her to close the door while the Settler continued to taunt her with insults.
Suddenly, Ron noticed something he had not seen before. Most of the settlers he could see were carrying guns.
“That cage,” one of the men they were walking with, “It’s actually not there to keep them in, but it’s good for that too. Their ‘authority’ built it for them to protect them from the rocks and garbage we used to throw. They will be out soon. Just stubborn.”
It took every ounce of Ron’s willpower to stop him from doing something. He forced himself to stay in step with his guides. Luna’s face, when he glanced at it, was still serene as always. He decided, then, that one day she would collapse from everything she was keeping in, all the frustration she wasn’t allowing to surface. His red face wasn’t doing anyone any harm; they thought he was just excited. They had even seemed to accept Dean a little more now.
“You know,” one of them was saying, “You have the right to come live here or even in the Cities like Tel Aviv if you like. Because your grandmother was Jewish you can come. Think about it.”
Ron nodded wordlessly. He didn’t think he could manage speech at this point. Finally, the two young men took their guns out and picked up broken bottles and sticks from an alcove. They seemed to be stored just for that purpose.
“See that over there,” one of them pointed out, “Arab farmers with their sheep. They always come too close here. And those fruits are very nice.”
“It’s their land, though, isn’t it? I mean legally.” Luna finally asked.
“Hah!” they just laughed, “It’s all ours, who cares what anyone else thinks. One day we will have it all.”
Something twisted in Ron’s stomach.
Suddenly the men started throwing things at the farmers and getting even closer and closer, soon they were hitting them and even shooting at one of the men. They picked some fruit while everyone shouted all around. Just when he thought one of the Arab farmers was about to collapse from the beating a woman came running with a Muggle camera in hand.
“Hey, no picture!” One of the settlers yelled. This was followed by a string of swear words. Ron’s arms were twitching as he watched one of them physically try to wrestle the camera from the woman. His friend, however, was signaling for him to go back.
“Come on!” he protested, but followed his friend back to the main city anyway, “They don’t even have those international ******* workers to help them today.”
The friend motioned to Ron whose arms were convulsing terribly now and Sarah who was almost in tears. A look passed between the two settler men and they headed back to the city in silence. Finally, Ron decided that his cover was probably blown by now, and that he didn’t care anyway, so he asked: “Why can’t you just live side by side in peace? They told us that’s what you want in the cities. Why can’t it be everyone’s land?”
“Ha! It’s our land; it was given to us by God. They can go somewhere else, we don’t want trash here.”
A/N: The stuff the settlers said as well as the events/situations in Hebron are all taken from B’Tselem (Israeli Human Rights organization) videos and other which are available online. The only changes I made were to cut out swear words and especially insults against Jesus (peace be upon him), which are present in one of the vids filmed by some Christian international workers. They’re very easy to find on youtube, so I won’t link them here, because I still don’t know this site’s policy in terms of outside links!
Info about the Samarians can be found on Wikipedia, though I first heard about them through word of mouth and discussions.
